Last night was so nice. The wind had stopped and it was actually warm after the sun went down, relatively speaking.
I nestled down in bed, without the need of my knitted cap, and slept peacefully and comfortable. Then came today.
The wind has come and brought with it wind and cold. Tonight as I write it is 33° with the wind making it feel like 22. It has just started. It will not be much warmer for the next couple of days either.
Assuming that winter is done in April is a dangerous assumption, especially in these parts.
Tonight all the quilts go back on the bed and I won’t be emerging back out of them until sun up.
Sleeping-in is not that bad of a solution, come to think of it.
So maybe I was putting too much pressure on myself for today.
The trip was fine, and very fun. Not a lot of fish were caught as the river is being extremely tough right now. We had lunch, shared lots of laughs, and enjoyed a truely beautiful day on the river.
It felt good just to lazy down the river and soak up as much sun as possible
And no one really even mentioned how bad my cast was.
Maybe I should relax more often about such things.
Tomorrow is a big day for me. I am nervous and overjoyed at the same time.
It is our company’s Family Float. This is where the entire (participating) company is loading into drift boats and fishing together on the river.
My skills are not what they used to be and they were lacking when they were at the top of my game. The others are guides and accomplished flyfishers. This is where everyone sees and knows whether you’re a stud or a dud.
This could be one of the most fun days of my life, a moment I had always hoped for.
On the other hand, I could be the biggest buffoon of the company; laughed at and ridiculed for years.
At the time of this writing this evening, I have not seen a single other person today. I know they’re out there but they must be hunkered down in their own places of shelter.
The wind and snow continued today, but mostly the wind. The trailer shook and creaked. And then finally it stopped. The sun kind of came out and I went for a walk around the neighborhood.
This storm is fitting a losing war. The little bit of sun was working on the edges of the snow banks and the birds were busy picking small bits from the plants still above the snow line. In a week, this storm will just be a fading memory as the springtime reclaims its time from the Chair of the seasons committee.
There will be plenty of people around soon enough. Although it’s been cold and at times unsettling enough to wake up and stay awake, the solitude is nice. More items got done inside the trailer and the walk through the fresh snow void of footprints other than my own has been precious. There are not that many times like this in this life. I do savor them.
As much as I like to think I’m adventurous, I tend to lean on the side of the known.
I kept a steady job for 30 years. It was safe. Although I might have pushed boundaries within that world, I was almost always sure of my footing. I had a plan and I carried it through. 30 years and I was out.
It took about 2 months before I was getting nervous about finding a job I would enjoy. A friend recommended me for a warehouse job and I took it. Steady as a 40 hour/week could get. I could have safely stayed there forever.
Yesterday I learned the whole meaning of out on a limb. Sure I had been to the Green River before, but to set out unsure of the road conditions (it has been snowing every other day lately), if I could time out the storms correctly, whether the truck could pull the trailer over the long steep grades, whether the trailer was going to hold together, arriving in a town I really didn’t know, not knowing where to meet anyone, not knowing where I was to park my trailer, whether I had prepared correctly for the single digit temperatures coming up this week; it was all a guess.
I survived. I found a spot. I’m going to meet people today. And the trailer and truck are working just fine.
I’m out here. Still not sure if this was the best decision. But here we go.
Utah, and the western US, has been in a little bit of a drought the past few years… err, decades.
This year, the snow has been piling up. And in these parts drought or not drought depends on the winter snowfall and the subsequent spring run-off.
The mountains have received the most snowfall this year than ever before, beating a 40 year record from 1983. Well over 700″ in fact. It makes the tops and valleys have a rounded, soft look to them as the heavy snowfall fills in the nooks and crannies pretty well.
While driving by Mt. Timpanogos yesterday, we marveled at the “softness” of the mountain, discussed the incoming flooding potential, and yet the overall joy of having a great water year before us.
The mountain seemed proud of what it has accomplished this season. And there’s more snow still coming! More inches and feet to add to the record. More water to quench the thirsty valleys and reservoirs below. More beautiful splendor to peacock on these brief clear sunny afternoons between storms.
Still adding on. A little extra.
While we were basking in the glow of the winter’s accomplishment, I silently kept an eye on the shrouded peak. 11,750 feet above sea level, hiding in the clouds, stands the summit.
And there, I once stood. On a whim I took the 11 hours it took to hike there and back. I too took a little extra moment to remember. A memory I will never forget, an accomplishment to be personally proud of.
And then another, and another, and another. Before long, there’s a sentence. And then a paragraph, even if an improper one. And just like that, the writing has started all over again.
So much has happened since my last post, it would take like a year to fill it all in. So I won’t. However, this year won’t be so lucky, nor undocumented.
So welcome back to both you and me. I’ve missed you.
At the time of this writing, an uncle is finishing his run. Any day now the call will be received of his passing.
An unprecedented effort is currently being spent in the Pacific Northwest to preserve a particular Orca, J50, and the pod to which she belongs. Antibodies and dewormers are being injected. Live salmon are being released to secretly feed the young whale, and everyone involved is hopeful that the plight of this one whale turns people’s attention and care to preserving the ecosystem of our oceans.
Upstairs, new neighbors are moving in. A new start in hopefully a healthy apartment staircase community. One never knows at the start where the series of events leads. Will it be good, or will it be bad?
Where am I in my career? Definitely not the start. I’m too old to call anything a start.
The end? I sure hope not.
The time to relaunch? Yes. It’s time to pick up the race one more. I’m not Whale J50; but I’m hungry for salmon.
I don’t even know where to start but I’ve missed a few days.
I got so busy and lost in the things I had to do on the boat, fishing until the wee hours of the night, and the traveling, I never took the time to blog.
Monday meant back to work, meeting my brother and his visiting son, and total exhaustion.
Tuesday, today, started out with an attempt to the gym. It didn’t end up so well. Maybe it’s just a case of out of shape but I fear my reaction to the minor physical strain might be something else. I’m no doctor, but I know this morning wasn’t good.
I ended up not going into the office and spent the day resting. Each time I stood, I got dizzy. By the evening, I feel better but I worry. If it continues, I’ll have to go see a doctor. For now, I’m hoping for simply a bad day.
But the streak is broken and unrecoverable. I think maybe the blog every day is beyond what is truly possible. I enjoy trying, so I still will because I enjoy it.
On to tomorrow. May the health be better, the writing interesting, and days missed few.
Mike M Jensen 