Last week was declared National Search and Rescue Week by the US Senate. We kicked it off Sunday night with an exciting rescue just outside Timpanogos Cave National Monument up American Fork Canyon.

Three men in their 20’s went hiking up the extremely steep, rocky, precarious AF canyon, then decided to hike back down. They downclimbed a 200′ cliff that was a big mistake for two reasons: they could have fallen to their deaths, and once they reached the bottom, they couldn’t get down the next 200′.

So they called 911. Good call. It’s easier to walk people out than carry them.

We got paged out around 7:30 p.m. I was assigned team leader for the top team, and I picked three other members of the Singletrack Special Team – Bryan, Jake and David. This was partially because Jake is a ranger and read in the manual this week that certified motorcycle riders from another agency can use the NPS motorcycles in an emergency. Continue Reading »

I just came across this essay I wrote many years ago while digging up examples to use in the English class I’m teaching at UVU. It’s from a book I never finished called “I Have Wasted My Life.” It’s about choices and your identity. I liked it and decided to post it here:

Everyone knows the importance of choosing your favorite flavor of ice cream. You’ll be tested, and you don’t want to get it wrong and look like a fool.

At five, my favorite flavor was ice cream sandwiches. The chocolate outside made the experience rich and sweet, and the thin slice of vanilla inside kept my mouth wet and cool.

One would never satisfy, but one was all I got. Once gone, the chocolate and creamy ice cream left me thirsty, hungry for another, the hunger remaining until the taste had left my mouth.

Sometimes my favorite flavor was the cones dipped in the chocolate that hardened instantly around the generous swirls of soft serve vanilla and crunched between my baby teeth. At the ice cream stand near home or across the street from the San Francisco Zoo, these came with a colorful, tiny glass animal figurine. Continue Reading »

I went for a walk up the street late tonight as I often do for some fresh air and to mull things over. The trees are in bloom, filling the night air with their deliciously sweet scents. I could almost taste the fruit that won’t appear until July or August. A light breeze rustled their new leaves with a sound that I had forgotten over the winter. Mule deer strolled down the road a block ahead of me.

After staring out over the valley for a while, at the black hole cut in the center of all the lights by the lake, the red radio antenna lights flashing atop Lake Mountain, and the aircraft fading in and out of the low clouds, I turned around and headed toward home.

A few rain drops sprinkled on my forehead accompanied by a gust of cool breeze and the dusty smell that often precedes a downpour.

So I did the only sensible thing.

I walked more slowly.