Pre-Hike Post 1 - Monday Feb 20

Dear Trail Friends,

I will leave in 8 days for Arizona where I will (health and weather gods permitting),  begin a walk through the southeast Arizona deserts, up and down the tall mountains referred to as "sky islands," all the way  to the south rim of the Grand Canyon (and, if I am in good enough shape, down to the bottom and partway up the other side to Cottonwood Campground, then back down and up again to the south rim. ) I hope to hike from March 1 through April 23. 

 Photo 1 is a shot of a map showing an overview of the trail:

 

Every time I have prepared for a trail I have had to struggle with my physical limits and with fears and anxiety. A new physical worry this year was sparked when I noticed greatly increased difficulty with uphill hiking and swelling/edema in my legs (just above my socks) that reminded me vividly of my father's congestive heart failure and made me realize I was the same age, 69, that he was the year he had his first heart surgery (also the year I completed my masters in counseling in the program he founded, marking the beginning of my career as a therapist and my adult friendship with my father.) Yesterday for the first time since I began training in December I am was able to hike up our little 2400 ft mountain with a full pack weight and at a reasonable pace, and lay down that worry. 

This particular walk in its aspect of pilgrimage or spiritual adventure is very much about my relationship with my father and my career as a therapist (from which I retired on Feb. 14 2013, the fifth anniversary of his death). In late 1984 (the year of our first vows ceremony) my father invited Chris and me to hike into and out of the Grand Canyon with him. While training for that hike I developed a toe problem that led to surgery. During recovery from surgery I made the decision to change careers (from technical writer to family therapist) and enroll in my father's program. So this hike, particularly the hike into and out of the Grand Canyon, revisits an unfinished challenge in my life from more than 30 years ago. It reminds me how apparent failure and thwarting can lead to unexpected openings (out of the failure of the Grand Canyon hike came my new career as a therapist and my deepening mature friendship with my father). I expect the hike will involve reflections on that career, its beginnings (and the way it was intertwined in its beginnings with my relationship with my father), its middle ( and all the wrestling with my limits as a therapist and my impossible hopes to deliver my clients from all seemingly unnecessary suffering), and its end in my retirement (and my post-career passion for spiritual adventures on wilderness trails). 

I love the way hiking couples the sublime and the practical. Photo 2 shows 5 of my 10 resupply boxes - hoping to give you a hint of the long slow labor involved in planning meals and resupply locations, dehydrating food, assembling other necessary supplies (sunscreen, hand cream, pain cream, tooth powder, first aid supplies, pads for my still somewhat unpredictable bouts of diarrhea, etc etc. ), packing them into boxes, collecting addresses and mailing schedule. 

 

Not much more to say now. My early start should protect me from the worst desert heat and water shortage, but I sure hope the high mountain passes (several are 9,500 feet - higher than anything I've done since the first year when I hiked the Sierra) will be passable, not full of snow. I love the way adventure involves walking into the unknown, and absolutely requires that I embrace not knowing. Each time I embark, I practice a level of trust that is rare and valuable in my life. Not only trust that things will work out for the best, but also trust that I can endure things that don't work out the way I hope, and that exploring this beautiful world is worth the risk. 

Thank you so so much for walking with me and making the solitude a rich vast openness rather than painful loneliness. 

See you on the trail!