For me, climbing is a form of exploration that inspires me to confront my own inner nature within nature. It’s a means of experiencing a state of consciousness where there are no distractions or expectations. –Lynn Hill
Enthusiasm is the yeast that makes your hopes shine to the stars. Enthusiasm is the sparkle in your eyes, the swing in your gait. The grip of your hand, the irresistible surge of will and energy to execute your ideas.–Henry Ford
It’s funny when life “turns a phrase” on you. Riding a big yellow school bus the other day up the shore, Natelle turned to me and said, “So what was with the baby cow?”
“Cow?” I replied.
“Yes,” she said, “How did you come to rescue a baby cow?”
I quickly replied, “We rescued a baby crow, not a cow,” and went on to tell the story of Bird. Bird, a nestling crow, was doing a good imitation of a plucked Cornish hen on Michelle and Kellie’s deck. As their “outdoor friends,” they asked us to intervene with the ‘baby bird’ that had died on their deck. With EMT skills at the ready, Marian and I jumped to the fore but quickly realized our search image was all wrong. I’d expected an itty-bitty teeny-weenie bird not the black mass of pterodactyl-ness we found lying limp.
Marian said, “I think it’s dead.” I went looking for a container.
“Wait,” she exclaimed. “It just took a breath.” I went looking for a towel instead. I scooped up the nearly naked young one and tucked up under my clothes next to my belly (I’d learned this in Australia as what you do if you find a young kangaroo). It was clearly hypothermic and needed warmth. We’d been heading to a canoe trip meeting and we brought Bird along. Bird, of course, wasn’t called Bird yet because we expected Bird to die any minute. I think the three men at the meeting thought we were a bit cracked but at the end of the meeting, Bird was still breathing.
We arrived home and went to the fountain of all knowledge, Google, and began our research with the search terms baby, crow, and rescue. Turns out there was lots of info and we were able to determine that Bird was indeed a nestling, indeed a crow and indeed needed human intervention (unlike a fledging crow which is likely fine sorting out how to be a crow with its crow family). We tucked Bird into a box with a charcoal hand warmer wrapped up in a towel and once again, didn’t really expect to have Bird still living in the morning.
I checked during the night, Bird was hanging in. In the morning, Bird was still there and following Google advice, it was time to see if Bird would feed on the softened dog kibble we’d prepared. With Marian holding Bird, I tried my best to play Momma Crow and tried to sort out how you gently pry open Bird’s beak and then deposit the tasty morsel in the back of Bird’s throat. Bird was still a pretty limp mushy being at this point. After three awkward tries, I finally succeeded and Bird squawked and I nearly jumped to the ceiling. The small limp lifeless bird in front of us turned into a gaping red maw and I thought it was going to swallow the two of us whole.
Bird seemed to gain strength with every bite and then dropped into a sleep only to open it’s Grand Canyon of a mouth 20 minute later for more food. We got more coordinated and could soon throw food down Bird’s throat like the best of them. We drove Bird out to the Salmonier Nature Park to turn Bird over to the Wildlife Rehab experts–they said they would try to rear Bird in such a way that reintroduction to the wild would be possible. We’d worried that Bird would imprint on us but the truth is, we’ve imprinted on Bird.
We now see crows everywhere. We watch crow videos and want to read crow books. I know mountains more now about crows that every before–thanks to a small bird named Bird who ended up on our friends’ deck on the day we happened to be dropping off some Mount Vinson toques on our way to a canoe meeting…how’s that for synchronicity?
Then a few days later, as we were headed up Signal Hill to celebrate the Third Anniversary of climbing Kilimanjaro with the WOkies, a young cat adopted us as its caregivers for the night. I’m thinking that the cow might just be next–anyone know of any farms for sale?
Marian and I are off to a week of whitewater canoe school in Ontario. I look forward to a physical week of going with the river’s flow. I’ve just wrapped up a term of intensive teaching and when we get back from there, I’ll be on a three week countdown to Mont Blanc.
Thanks to all who ordered their Mount Vinson toques-there are still plenty more to go around so let me know if you’d like to add one or six to your collection.
Three years ago today, I stood atop Kilimanjaro with an amazing group of women! Fond memories abound. Happy Anniversary to the WOKies (Women of Kilimanjaro)
I love maps. I love to look at them and dream of being there. Recently, a map of Antarctica I ordered arrived, and already, the corners of the folds are starting to tear because I open and close the map so frequently. The map enthrals me. It really does. Engaging with the map is a critical part of any travel experience for me because that engagement lays a foundation of knowledge, space awareness, and boundaries on which the adventure is built.
You can see the holes in the map at the fold corners from opening and closing the map so much.
I stare at the map. I enjoy the discombobulation of having Antarctica be front and centre with small parts of the other continents poking it at the edges rather than vice versa. I digest the pie shaped sovereignty-claim lines and dig Antarctic history facts from the deep recesses of my brain. “I must get reading,” I tell myself. My eyes dance along the blue contours lines and imagine walking, skiing, and climbing over them. The map takes me there.
I marvel at the scale. 1: 9,500,000. It’s huge. One of something on the map equals nine million five hundred thousand of somethings on the ice. It’s hard to imagine 9,500,000 of my pinkies positioned side by each. How can I truly grasp the immensity represented on the paper in front of me? A place so south that every direction is north (at least at the pole anyway).
How cold will it be? Will I get a headache from all the blood racing to my brain standing at the bottom of the world and seemingly upside-down? What will the night sky look like? Oh right, there won’t be any night sky as I will be there in the time of eternal day. The sun will circle the sky. And it will circle me… and the map. I know everything will change, the moment I step on the ice, forever, having taken Antarctica into my heart through that simple stride and through staring at the map until then.
I’ve had a fundraising toque for every major climb I’ve done in the past five years. Many of you have the entire collection (thanks for that!). Even though I am a bit crispy on selling things these days, I knew I had to have a toque for Mount Vinson. As I played with designs, the Antarctic map/shape played prominently until one day Xander emailed me a photograph of some penguins he’d painted for a school project.
I was hooked. At the time as well, I had hired some designers to do a t-shirt design for the climb as well. Once I saw Xander’s penguins, all other designs went out the window! Following in his sister, Rayne’s, artistic footsteps, one of Xander’s penguins now graces the Vinson 2011 toque which, I must tell you, is absolutely perfect! “Why?” you ask. “Because Xander loves toques and you rarely see him without one on his head,” I answer.
Xander, Rayne, and Oma enjoy a snuggle on the couch
Xander sporting another of his collection
Xander on my bongo board sporting his new Nepali toque
The embroidered toques have arrived and are ready to take up residence on your heads and in your hearts. I give thanks that at the end of May in Newfoundland that temperatures are still nearing the freezing point so there is hope that I can move some of the toque inventory before next fall (making room in my budget to be able to order the t-shirts!) The toques are $20 each including HST. If you live away from here, that will add some shipping costs. Drop me a line to order one or ten! They make great gifts and they’ll help me get to the place of the map, Antarctica!
It’s been a tough yet joyous week. The joy has come in celebrating the achievements of four friends; all of who have worked and trained tirelessly to reach their own personal Everests. One qualified for the world championships in the 70.3 triathlon, two have purchased a new business venture, and one summitted both the literal and the metaphoric Everest. What a week! It moves me so to bear witness to their tenacity, perseverance, determination, joy, and struggle in pushing through obstacles and their delight in their efforts coming to fruition.
All stood atop a “peak” this week and yet all will return to the valley buoyed by the view they saw from above. All still have many more mountains to climb: more races to train for, the steep learning curve of operating a new venture, and the remaining four mountains of the seven. I am reflecting on one of my favourite quotes by Rene Daumel about why people climb even though they must come down again:
We can’t stay on the summit forever
We have to come down again.
So why bother in the first place?
Just this:
What is above knows what is below,
but what is below does not know
what is above.
We climb, we see.
We descend,
We see no longer,
but we have seen.
The toughness, fertilized by a bath of perimenopausal hormones, blossomed into full-on despair when I happened across a rather harsh review of my book on the Internet. I am highly sensitive in the best of times, it is both blessing and curse, and I’ve worked to make peace with this aspect of my “wiring.” Tears spill from my eyes at any playing of the national anthem or the Ode to Newfoundland, any YouTube video that tugs at heart strings and at the slightest hint of criticism. All attempts to grow a thicker skin have failed and I’m learned over the years to appreciate, rather than disparage, the gift of that level of sensitivity.
I took the book review very personally. I know I did. It went from a review of the book and how it was written to a review of my actions and values and that, of course, was the tough part. I had to sort through the multiple levels of my reaction and decide what course of action that I might take. In the end, I engaged some with the author of the review pointing out what I thought were errors in some of her assumptions and trying to understand some of her perspectives as I always try to be open to different ways of thinking of things. I felt like my spirit had crashed a bike on a dirt road and was covered in gravel filled oozing road rash.
It in the midst of the hurt, I recalled my study of the Lojong Slogans and #13 “Be grateful to everyone” came to mind. This slogan comes in Part Three: Transformation of Bad Circumstances into the Path of Enlightenment and is a reminder to be grateful for all people and circumstances that give us opportunities to practice. To look at situations like this as invitations to find the cushion, to work with my mind and emotions, to meditate, and to move on beyond my reaction rather than wishing the circumstance never occurred.
As I reflect, I see that I’ve managed to weather such storms of critique in the past and have even turned them into some very humorous material that I use in presentations. Once the hurt passes and the mop up occurs, it becomes another crevasse passed and more tempering for my spirit; bringing strength in the longer view. So I am grateful…for the opportunity to work with mind, for the support and perspectives that friends provided, for the tears that spilled, and the clarity gained…even though in the midst, I wasn’t so sure…
It was a hard week for training but as is often the case, the diffiuclty has steeled my resolve for next week. We’re headed out on a little backpack/trail clearing trip to improve the trail for my class who will follow in a few weeks. We’re hoping the classic 2-4 weather gives us a bit of a break and doesn’t soak us too much but if it does, I’ll be working on being grateful for the chance to (#21) Always maintain the support of a joyful mind.
Looking at Alan’s SPOT tracker, it looks like after 12 hours of climbing, they are pulling into Camp Two for a well-deserved rest! I’ll be eager to hear he and his team are safely through the Khumbu Icefall. Congrats once again to all of my friends on their Everests!
Congratulations to Alan Arnette who topped out on Mount Everest around 05:00 Nepal time Saturday May 21. Alan, you’ve made your mother very proud and honoured her memory with your achievement today.
I tracked Alan via SPOT all afternoon but was heading over to a friend’s 50th birthday party. When we arrived I said, “We might not be able to stay long as my friend is going to summit Everest tonight and we want to watch.” Within seconds, a laptop appeared and the whole room began to buzz. For the next three hours, every newcomer to the party was briefed on the dual celebrations and came over to see the SPOT location. People would randomly call out from conversations asking if there was a new ping.
For about an hour, it appeared that the SPOT wasn’t moving. I thought maybe Alan was stopped at the Hilary Step. Suddenly, there was a ping and the marker jumped to the summit. The whole room went up in celebration when Alan’s summit was confirmed not only via the SPOT position but with his excited and emotional call from the summit that we all crowded around the laptop to listen to.
I’m smiling from ear to ear and sending Alan lots of energy for the big task of getting down safely that is still ahead of him. I’m finding my visa card and making a donation towards Alzheimer’s research…will you consider doing the same?
A friend and fellow climber, Alan Arnette is on his Everest summit bid as I type. I’m thrilled that he managed to beat a persistent chest infection to even be able to make the attempt. His motivation and passion for the climb comes from his mother and her horrific battle with Alzheimer’s Disease. He is climbing all of the seven summits to raise awareness of the disease as well as a million dollars for research.
This is Alan’s fourth attempt and I applaud his tenacity, humility, and generosity. He has been a mentor to many (including me) and is a longtime devoted Everest blogger. If anyone deserves a summit, it is Alan and I have my heart in my throat as he climbs today. I’m clicking refresh very often on his SPOT tracker and I wish/pray/hope with all my might, that all the causes and conditions come together tonight/tomorrow for his summit and safe return. He is climbing with IMG (my outfitter for Everest-007 and Mt. Elbrus 2006).
This video came to my attention today and it shows some of the climbing route Alan will be climbing on his way to the summit.
When you drop a pebble in a pond, it makes ripples that travel out to the shore and then they refract back until they lose energy and dissipate (or at least that is how I imagine it). When we lead a life of service, I think we are dropping pebbles in the pond of life, and on rare occasions, we get to see some of those small waves come back to us. This refraction gives pause for reflection, and gives inspiration to continue doing what we are doing.
I spoke at the District Rotary conference yesterday and entitled my presentation, “Ripples in the Pond.” As I prepared the presentation, I looked back at the past 12 years since I was a Rotary Group Study Exchange (GSE) participant and realized what a significant life event that was for me. I travelled with three other young professions, Wayne, Gloria and Lise, and a Rotarian, Tim for a month in Argentina in June of 1999. We visited many Rotary clubs and projects and we welcomed like family in home after home. During my GSE, I was exposed to the Rotary Motto of “Service above Self.” Our team has kept in touch since our experience and I count Tom as one of my mentors.
The GSE Experience is funded by the Rotary International Foundation, which is supported by Rotarians worldwide. I realized that many of the experiences I had and the skills I learned during that month (for example, delivering presentations in Spanish and developing infinite patience for travel) enabled me to both take on Everest and to make it “More than a Mountain.” So in my presentation, I wanted the Rotarians to see some of the ripples in the pond they had made by supporting the GSE program and in turn, wanted them to take some of the credit for the service I have done as a result. It takes both passion and hard work to continually dedicate oneself to the service of others and I wanted to offer inspiration and gratitude for their efforts. It was also a great honour to be present when Tom received special recognition for his lifetime of service in Rotary.
The previous week I was in Fredericton speaking to New Brunswick elementary school teachers. As I prepared for that event, I thought as well of the role my schoolteachers had played in my life and was once again filled with gratitude. I, again, had the sense that I would never have been able to attempt Everest without the cadre of engaged and dedicated teachers that guided me through the school system. Without them, I would not have developed the physical literacy, curiosity, determination, and academic achievement that led to my current path. I aimed in my presentations to those teachers to offer both gratitude and inspiration there as well because teaching is such challenging work and I wanted them to see some of their ripples in the pond.
After both of these presentations, I had the privilege of seeing some of the ripples in the pond that I have created. A few teachers shared stories of the Everests they were facing in their lives and how my words came at a pivotal moment for them and some Rotarians did the same. Perhaps I have been focused on trying to give out gratitude and inspiration these days because I’ve been needing a bit of a pick up myself. Of late, I have been feeling the weight of trying to keep all of the things that I need to do on track. Finding balance between work, home, training, fundraising, writing, and speaking is in a tough phase and so I have appreciated seeing/hearing of a few ripples myself…it helps me carry on carrying on.
I am back teaching for the intersession term at school and training for Mont Blanc, the highest peak in Western Europe (and France and Italy). It’s a two-fer and has been on my list for a while. It’s been an exciting week on the south side of Everest and I followed the Peak Freaks’ climbers to the summit. Congrats to all on safe summits and to those who made hard yet good decisions to stop climbing as well. I look forward to virtually climbing with Alan Arnette at some point this week when he (hopefully) gets his summit window.
TA Loeffler's Adventures that Move 