Ryan Jordan's Backcountry

Wilderness Trekking Gear List and Photos

I've posted an album of my photos from Wilderness Trekking III this evening.

Also, click the thumbnail at right to view a JPG of my gear list from the course.

Enjoy ~ rj

Fire Addiction and Brain Wave Entrainment

The process of brain wave entrainment is that type of mental therapy by which external cues (rhythms in visual or audio stimuli) synchronize internal functions (brain waves) to promote ... something.

That "something", scientists say, is related primarily to either mental focus and/or the regulation of certain chemicals responsible for feelings of satisfaction or relaxation. My guess is that brain wave synchronization, at its optimum, has the ability to regulate the processes by which dopamine, endorphins, and seratonin impact body responses.

That "something", the marketeers of brain wave "technologies" say, is related to how you perform: emotionally, mentally, financially, relationally, and sexually. Holey moley. I'm not even going down that path, for it's surely a windy trail leading to nowhere.

OK, so now on to Gear.

I believe that fire is a brainwave synchronization technology.

I have a friend who's a smokejumper. He says that his mental focus is so acute while he's in the midst of a wilderness fire that he's able to solve problems with absolute clarity while firefighting. He told me, "my brain is running a million miles an hour, and all of my life conflicts seem to flash before me, even though they have nothing to do with - and do not interfere with - the mental energy required to fight the fire I'm in." Once, he said, he came home from a fire and spent the next three days immersed in learning a new language. "I was travel-fluent by the end of the third day, and I'd never before taken a language class. My mother almost had a heart attack when I started speaking in Italian to her on the phone."

Similarly, I've found fire to be a wilderness elixir that all but removes anxiety from expeditioning.

I'm not the guy who first understood this relationship, mind you. People have know about it for like, probably as long as fire's been around.

And so, if you share a tent with me that contains a blazing titanium shepherd's stove inside (TitaniumGoat.com) and are wondering why my eyes are glazed over and I'm oblivious to the storms and bears raging around the tent, you'll know why.

My brain waves are synchronized, man!

Thanks for What?

What are people thankful for?

It seems that Thanksgiving is the holiday that launches people into insanity, because it marks that time of year when stress levels peak doing those things that they have been cultured to do by the so-called fabric of American society.

The stress of shopping, elaborate meal planning (and consequent overeating), packing, traveling, and unpacking, financing gifts that nobody needs and will be landfilled in a shorter period of time than what you believed when you bought them, putting up decorations and then taking them down (in three cycles between October 31 and December 26), not to mention buying more, storing more, fixing more, and breaking more.

Welcome to the "holidays", and thanks for nuthin'.

And then, during the bedlam, there are these magical little moments of grace and simplicity that make you appreciate you're alive and have been given another day.

Like walking out of my house yesterday morning to the quiet stillness that followed a very cold snow storm that blanketed the Gallatin Valley in sparkling white.

And then, out of nowhere, hundreds of waxwings flew into our fruit trees where they enthusiastically found food for another day.

The scene absolutely mesmerized Chase and I. I can't remember the last time I simply looked around my own suburban neighborhood and said, "Whoa. That's cool." This was one of those moments.

It is the single moment that I was most thankful for yesterday - not because of being in tune with the natural cycles of a Bozeman winter, but because I was invited to be a part of it - a welcome reprieve from the human insanity that will dominate the coming weeks.

So, today, have a Waxwing-style Thanksgiving: appreciate the fruit of the day, grab hold - tight - of the opportunities that God brings you, and recognize that you may not be contributing a whole lot to the spinning of the Earth by assuming the normal role of an American for the next six weeks.

Now, go and hug somebody and toss that stress off the highest cliff you can find.

Photo Use for "A Waxwing Thanksgiving": Unrestricted for the small or large digital image (click thumbnail for large). Print it, post it, email it, share it, screensaver it ... I don't care, just use it to spread the cheer of holiday simplicity. Poster prints @ 8x12 and 16x24 also available.

Self-Sufficiency?

Andrew Skurka's completion of the Great Western Loop, at its surface, provided a snapshot into the window of what was a monumental effort in self-sufficiency.

Of course, there were others involved, working behind the scenes, that made this happen, too. Sponsors, web developers, parents, media personnel - all of these folks shared in the work.

Likewise, the Wilderness Trekking III course we recently hosted in the Beartooths taught me something valuable about expeditioning: that no single effort could ever exceed the multiplied synergies of people working together.

This truism, which I believe to be an undeniable fact, sort of flies in the face of modern American thinking which is places inordinate levels of value on "self-sufficiency", "self-reliance", "self-esteem", and "self-preservation".

While I love, and get accused often, of "going solo" (whether in wilderness or life), I understand and appreciate that dependence upon others, reliance upon others, and the ability to change the centricity of focus of esteem from self to others is absolutely essential - and preferred - for life satisfaction, be it in marriage, business, or expeditioning.

When teaching our den of Webelos this weekend about the art and practice of building fires using only magnesium firestarters, a pocketknife, and wood, I experienced a defining moment as a mentor when one Scout said to another, as the fire went ablaze:

"Whew, at least now our whole den can eat lunch!"

Who do you depend on for your lunch? And as important, are you making lunch for someone else?

Have you ever made a sandwich with someone else? One person spreads the peanut butter while the other person spreads the jam. And when the two slices are melded together, you have a product of team effort.

You say, "But the sandwich tastes the same, whether it's made by one or two or three!" or "More effort went into making that sandwich than what was necessary!" or "I could have done it myself faster"...

Woe to you, soloist.

Wilderness Trekking School Featured in Billings Gazette

Backpacking Light's Wilderness Trekking III Course was featured in the Billings Gazette last week in a story by Brett French, "Wilderness trek turns the Beartooths into a classroom".

Brett noted that "in keeping with [an] ultralight ethos, everyone was carrying less than 25 pounds of gear." That figure would actually include food, water, avalanche gear, group gear, snowshoes, and all clothing worn and items carried. Our pack weights to start actually averaged in the 12-14ish pound range.

If I had to sing praise for the most merit-worthy benefits of this course, it was the cross pollination of experience, the joy of camaraderie in the face of wilderness stress, and the satisfaction of having achieved something meaningful as part of a group.

Reflections: Madison Plateau

Today I had what I hope will be my final follow-up with my ankle surgeon.

He tells me I'm graduated: i.e., I can return to normal activity with no restrictions. My ankle has healed.

That comes with a caveat, of course: pain.

Minor twinges of pain still niggle down there when I push it. But at least, now I can push it. I have a feeling that today - nearly six months after my surgery - is when rehab really starts.

So I celebrated my graduation by reflecting on what brought me to the injury in the first place and relished some of the memories that led up to my trek in the Arctic.

One of those memories, triggered by the only photo I took that day, was a spectacular training trek with my dog, Maia.

Maia, a black lab, is one of those dogs that (a) will go where you go and not complain about it, and (b) usually out-works you, in spite of your fitness.

On this day, April 18, 2006, just six weeks before I'd start my Arctic trek, Maia and I left the Warm Springs trailhead, at the mouth of the Madison River's Beartrap Canyon in the late afternoon for a long run.

After climbing to the plateau overlooking the river, and running nearly 7 miles, we stopped for a photo. I placed the camera on an old fencepost and took this shot.

Shortly thereafter, we reached the end of the plateau and dropped into Beartrap canyon at dusk, downstream of the Ennis Lake Dam, in the vicinity of the Kitchen Sink rapid. Getting down to the river in fading light was an exercise in careful foot and handwork through the cliff bands.

My plan was to return to the parking lot along the river, but it came with a glitch: cliffs blocked the way.

So I asked Maia to swim across the Madison with me, knowing that we'd have to do it twice - the second time near the car and in complete darkness.

She was full of energy and pluck, and she eagerly joined me on the first swim through boulders, drops, and whitewater. It was a distance of about 200 feet from one side of the river to the other.

We reached the other side - still at the bottom of the canyon but feeling like we were on top of the world - with the great enthusiasm of an adrenaline rush. She shook off the water, wagged her tail, and seemed to say, "Wow! That was intense! But cool! Can we do it again?"

So we started running again, this time by the light of the Photon Micro Light that I wore on my cap (see photo).

We were on trail now, but it was rocky and the going was slow.

Finally, we reached the riverbank opposite the car. I was exhausted, Maia was limping. It had been a long, hard run, and I wanted it to be over.

I didn't hesitate, and jumped into the river. By the time it was waist deep, I started swimming.

Maia didn't follow, and I couldn't see her.

By the time I was halfway across the river, I reached a gravel bar where I could stand, and called for her.

No response.

So I swam back to her shore.

And there she lie, ears down, exhausted, and hurting.

"C'mon girl," I told her. "I need you for one more swim."

She slowly got up, limped to shore, and whimpered.

By now I was shivering and eager to reach the car, so I waded in and called Maia to follow.

She sat down and barked at me.

"I know," I said. "This sucks. But our only option is to run to a bridge downstream, and back up the other side. We can either swim this 300 feet, or run another six miles."

At that point, it seemed completely normal that I was negotiating with a dog.

I waded back to her, grabbed her by her scruff, and pulled her in with me.

And we swam.

We reached the gravel bar uneventfully. I was tired, and so was she, so I stopped and held her, like I was burping a baby, for a bit of rest.

Only 100 more feet.

So I dropped her in, and continued swimming. She followed, but eventually the current took her downstream. She was running out of gas.

I swam down to her, her dog-paddles becoming slower and weaker. I reached an arm under her front legs to hold her, and we sidestroked to shore.

She reached the shore, wobbly legged, and shook.

I reached the shore, wobbly legged, shivering, crawling on my hands and knees, and I laughed.

"I'm so sorry, girl, that was quite a ride, wasn't it?"

She came over, licked my face, and wagged her tail, as if to say, "Wow. That was intense. Can we go home now?"

Recovering from injury and surgery that affects the very core of what you love is intense. And exhausting.

But finally, I feel like I'm on the other side of the river.

And if I had a tail, you can bet that I'd wag it.

Photo, above right: Maia relaxing with Stephanie after a snowshoeing trek in Montana's Bangtail Mountains.

Wilderness Trekking School

We're just back from Wilderness Trekking III, the advanced course in Backpacking Light's newly-launched Wilderness Trekking School.

Recipe: take 8 solo experts, add a bunch of snow, plop them in an unfamiliar locale, take away their maps, and force them into groupthink. Mix well. Let the wilderness spit them out where it needs to.

We traveled light, saw some amazing scenery, and applied ultralight techniques to mountain winter travel.

More, much more, about this program: coming soon to BPL. And stay tuned for more photos.