A Summer Snow Adventure

This past weekend Donnie and I and a couple friends went backpacking in the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area in the Arapahoe and Roosevelt National Forests in Colorado. Our plan was to follow the Buchanan Pass Trail about 7 miles and then turn off onto another trail for about 1.5 miles. There we would find a lake where we would camp for the night before attempting to reach the summit of Sawtooth Mountain in the morning. To reach the summit of Sawtooth we would need to retrace the last 1.5 miles in order to get back on the original trail which would lead us about 3 more miles to the summit, adding a total of 6 miles onto the 8.5 we would already be retracing to get back to the car.

For backpacking, we couldn't have asked for better weather! Both days it was mostly sunny and in the upper 60s, low 70s with a mountain breeze that was cool from the nearby river and lakes. In the afternoon, the typical cloud cover rolled in, but it passed over without a drop of rain and never once covered the sun. At night the sky was perfectly clear and stars shined for miles. At one point I noticed in the distance the lights from Boulder could be seen through the mountains. It seemed crazy that we were in such a secluded area of wilderness, yet could see lights from a city. The night and morning were cool, but not at all unbearable.

Anyway, back to the snow part of our adventure. As the hike wore on and we rose in elevation, the sparce patches of snow became increasingly frequent and much deeper. At points we were hiking up and over mounds of snow to stay on the trail, often times falling through the snow to our shins and knees. When it came time to turn off the main trail to the 1.5 mile stretch that would take us to the lake, we took a break for one of our friends to change from sandals to boots. As we were sitting here another man came down the trail we were about to take and engaged us in some small talk, at one point saying the trail was, and I quote, "completely obliterated." By this he meant that snow was completely covering the trail to the point where it was impossible to see the trail or know where it lead. But did this deter us? Not a bit.

As soon as Cameron had his boots on we started up the trail. Let me tell you, the old man was right! After a few hundred yards it was impossible to see the trail. We were literally walking on snowpack that was probably at least 2 feet deep. Luckily, our other friend, Tony, had backpacked at the same lake we were going to the year before, so he knew in which direction we needed to head (sort of). So we followed him into the woods, got pretty lost (or so it seemed), and eventually found the river that he knew the trail followed. We walked in the clearing along the river until we finally came over a hill and saw the lake in front of us.

Next task: find somewhere to camp that wasn't covered in snow. We did accomplish that, but some other hikers that came up behind us weren't so lucky. The next morning we saw they had set their tent up on top of the snow because there was no flat ground left not covered in snow. There were 3 other pairs and a large group of people camping that weekend at the same lake, so it was fairly crowded, but not too bad. We tried fishing for dinner but had no such luck, so we eventually busted into our canned tuna and crackers and dehydrated meals from REI. Not as good as fresh fish, but it worked.

The next morning we followed the trail (once at the lake you could see where the trail was supposed to meet the lake, although it was still mostly covered in snowpack) back to the main trail to start towards the summit. We only made it about 75 steps (I was wearing my pedometer) before we decided the snow cover was going to be way to much to try to make it to the top, so we turned around and headed back to the car. Maybe another day we will make another attempt, when we have more time and much less snow.

Take a peek at our fun!

Yes, those are llamas on leashes.

Filtering water for the next leg of our trip.

Sort of a panoramic view of the lake.

The crew.

Pralines

Today was my roommate's birthday, so I told her I would make her a treat. Being from South Carolina, she requested pralines. Not only had I never made these, but I'd also never tried one, seen one, nor even knew what they were. Needless to say it was an adventure. Good ol' Paula Deen helped me out though. Everything actually went pretty smoothly until it got to the end when you transfer the mixture from the pan to the wax paper. The stuff hardened much quicker than expected. Then it got interesting. I added some water to soften if like the recipe suggested, but that didn't really work as well as you might expect (sure didn't help like I expected). Somehow though, I got most of the stuff out of the pan onto the wax paper to make the pralines. I still don't know exactly what they're supposed to look like, but I'm sure they're not supposed to look like mine. I also don't know what they're supposed to taste like, but mine tasted fine. They're a lot too sugary for my taste, but not bad if you're into that sort of thing. One thing I will say about the whole process is that if you don't have a candy thermometer you're going to have a tough time making pralines. The recipe said to heat the mixture while stirring until at the soft ball stage (a candy-making term), and then gave an approximate temperature, but never suggested the idea that a candy thermometer would be an essential piece of equipment. But let me tell you, it is. Luckily I bought a candy thermometer along with the rest of the ingredients because I thought it may be nice to add to my kitchen collection. There is no way this would have gone well without that! The stuff didn't look any different from the time it started boiling until about 10 minutes later when it was at the correct temperature. Anyway, enough of my rambling. Below is the recipe if you're daring enough to try it yourself. Have fun!!

Ingredients:
1 ½ cup pecan halves
2 tbsp butter + a little more
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 cup evaporated milk
3 tbsp dark corn syrup
1/8 tsp salt
1 ½ cup packed light brown sugar
1 ½ cup granulated sugar

Directions:
Butter the sides of a heavy 2-quart saucepan. Place the sugar, salt, dark corm syrup, milk, and butter in a saucepan. Over medium heat, stir mixture constantly with a wooden spoon until sugars have dissolved and mixture comes to a boil. Continue to cook to a soft ball stage, approximately 236 degrees on a candy thermometer. If you do a cold water test, the ball of candy will flatten when you take it out of the water (I ignored this sentence and just measured the temperature of the mixture). Remove from heat and allow to cool for 10 minutes.

Add the vanilla and nuts, and beat with a spoon by hand for approximately 2 minutes or until candy is slightly thick and begins to lose its gloss (I recommend no longer than a minute). Quickly (very quickly) drop heaping tablespoons onto waxed paper. If the candy becomes stiff, add a few drops of hot water.

(Recipe courtesy Paula Deen)
8-10 servings
Prep time: 20 min
Cook time: 25 min

Suggested special equipment: a candy thermometer.

It's That Time of Year

When I begin yearning for

cool, misty mornings;
fog covered mountains;
daily circle-ups;
early morning drives to the hardware store;
12-passenger vans and old beater-trucks;
a diet of entirely too much fried food and junk;
wearing jeans, a tie-dye shirt, and bandanna or hat;
sleeping on an air mattress in a school classroom;
late-night meetings;
early morning photos;
group devotions and prayer;
peanut butter and jellies;
getting to know complete strangers;
hours of laughter, jokes, frustration and tears;
fresh produce from roadside stands;
winding, curvy roads;
trips to the dump;
t-shirts;
cookouts;
hug time;
theme days;
dogs and cats galore;
bluegrass music;
constant construction talk;
party-beds and The Breaks;
happys and crappys;
county fairs and local celebrations;
new friendships and relationships;
beautiful scenery;
dilapidated homes;
content, joyful, and loving people;
nightly trips for ice cream;
singing with the staff;
simplicity;
The Porch.

It's that time of year, when thousands of people flock to the Appalachian Mountains hoping to make a difference.

You may have guessed, I'm talking about the Appalachia Service Project (ASP). Another summer program has gotten under way with the training of the Summer Staff Center Directors (CD) starting 5 days ago. Tomorrow the rest of the staff will join them, and the first volunteer group will arrive in a mere two-and-a-half weeks. For the past four summers I have been a part of that staff, and this morning when I looked at pictures of CD training online I felt a small pang of jealousy and a large amount of sadness that left me feeling mildly depressed as I drove off on my hour-long commute to my 8-5. I can't explain how much my body ached and my heart tugged as I longed to be on The Porch training for another summer of service to ASP. Even now as I write this, my throat is tightening and my eyes are watering as I try to fight back the sadness I feel. I've never been able to put into words what I experience when I look at a picture of a crumbling home set against the beauty of a lush, green Appalachian mountain. In fact, any picture of that region, or of the people I met and worked with there, conjures up a flood of emotions that ultimately leaves me feeling pure joy, but also ironically sadness. More often than not, I want to burst into tears and run back there as fast as I can. Maybe the best way to say it is that I fell in love with Appalachia and left a piece of my heart there when I left. I think that piece of my heart will always be there.

That place and time changed my life.