“Sleeping on the Summits”: 2 Wilder Men

Two guys: Jon Kedrowski and Christ Tomer discovered an unprecedented desire to climb to the summits of 58 fourteeners throughout Colorado.  Take that one step further: the goal was to”bivy” at the top: otherwise known as pitching a tent overnight.  “Bivy” is the abbreviated term for the word “bivouac”; a French term that gained exposure from French mountain climbers.  And this French word “bivouac”, according to the authors of Sleeping on the Summits: Colorado Fourteener High Bivys, refers to “a long night of suffering”.

http://ruinyourknees.com/reviews/sleeping-summits-colorado-bivys-book-review/

 

http://www.jonkeverest.org/

These mountaineers would start their climbs in the afternoon, and catch the sun setting in the west, then watch the same sun come up in the east.  The goal of Jon Kedrowski was to climb all 58 of the mountains that are fourteen thousand feet or higher.  Tomer was not able to make all of these ascents, but he came along whenever it worked out.  

 

Check out this 1:39 video featuring these two wilder men.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iy5H2TvHCo0

 This is an amazing book, with incredible images of the mountains in Colorado.

Here is a link to find out more about the book: 

http://www.amazon.com/Sleeping-Summits-Jon-Kedrowski/dp/1565796527

http://inclined.americanalpineclub.org/2012/01/climbing-high-setting-goals-and-getting-involved-with-the-aac/

Warriors Rest

“He’s been building that boat for seven years that I know of … Every time it nearly gets finished he changes it and starts over again.  I think he’s nuts.  Seven years on a boat.”

Doc was sitting on the ground pulling off his rubber boots.  “You don’t understand,” he said gently .  “Henri loves boats but he’s afraid of the ocean.”

“What’s he want a boat for then?” Hazel demanded.

“He likes boats,” said Doc.  “But suppose he finishes his boat:  once it’s finished people will say, ‘Why don’t you ever put in the water?’  Then if he puts it in the water, he’ll have to go out in it, and he hates the water.  So you see, he never finishes the boat – – – so he doesn’t have to launch it.”

– John Steinbeck, Cannery Row

John Steinbeck / http://www.edstephan.org

 

I am a warrior, as you are.  I am not the intense, fierce, pumped-up, toned, wild-man warrior that I want to be.  But, I am a warrior.  Some days, the dragons win.   On those days, I am a warrior that went toe-to-toe with a dragon, and got his butt kicked.  I am still a warrior, on those days, and I walk away a bit wiser, and a bit stronger.  Fighting dragons can be quite strenuous.  And that is why … warriors rest.  

Sometimes the Dragon Wins / http://images.frompo.com/i/cartoon-sometimes-the-dragon-wins

 

Wilder Man Dad: Thankfulness?

RECENTLY …

I listened to Harry Chapin’s song, “Cat’s In The Cradle”.  Man-O-Man!  What a song!  I remember my dad and I in the car; me – – – just out of high school, and “Cat’s In The Cradle” came on the radio.  Dad’s face pensive as we listened to the words.  After the song, his eyes straight ahead, peering through the windshield as if it was a dark fog, he commented about the father not making time for his son while time passed by, opportunities lost.  My guess is that my dad was thinking about his father: the small amount of time he had with his father.

“My child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away
And he was talkin’ ‘fore I knew it, and as he grew
He’d say ‘I’m gonna be like you, Dad
You know I’m gonna be like you’ …”

I wanted to throw out this “thing” to my fellow wilder men, and the women curious about wilder men, who love wilder men … this “thing” about being a dad, having a son, living with the tension – – –  spending time with and giving our hearts to our sons, our daughters, in a robust way, knowing that this is the time where we pour into the lives of those wonderful kiddos who we are parenting, thanks to the gifting from the God who provides, the God who loves, the God who leads.  And courage calls.  I am a wilder man who  n e e d s   courage to be a good dad, who cannot afford to flounder, and say some nonsense like “Woe is me!  I need courage to be a good dad!  How can I get courage?”

“Well, he came from college just the other day
So much like a man I just had to say
‘Son, I’m proud of you, can you sit for a while?’
He shook his head and said with a smile
‘What I’d really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys
See you later, can I have them please?’ ….”

If I whine about ‘needing courage’, I am missing the boat, I am missing my son, I am missing my daughter.  It is not about “needing courage”.  It is about taking courage, embracing courage, using courage not unlike one handles a sword.  I know we can learn from others; we can learn from what others have to say.

“And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me / He’d grown up just like me / My boy was just like me

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon      Little boy blue and the man in the moon

‘When you comin’ home son?’ / ‘I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then, Dad / 
We’re gonna have a good time then’ … ” 

And we can make a promise that we are not going to blow it … knowing that there is a possibility we can miss our children, knowing that we can sacrifice the fatherhood love for things that are not worth the sacrifice

Instead, we can know that we made a good, noble, courageous, other-centered choice, to love our sons and our daughters.  And we can know that we were intentional about spending priceless time with them, during their journey.

 

 

 

Bear and the Bucket

My paraphrase, from the Sky News article, is that this bear in Pennsylvania was freed from the bucket on its head, by a group of brave volunteers.  You can see a small video at the website above … If not there, then google Bear Bucket Images.

To the rescue: A group of volunteers conducted an impromptu rescue mission in the woods of Pennsylvania to free the Bucket BearThe Patriot News identified the hero-types as Dean Hornberger and girlfriend Samantha Eigenbrod who planned, and carried out, the rescue with other fearless volunteers.  Samantha (Eigenbrod) handled the video piece while the others tackled the bear down, pulled the bucket off, and used a saw to cut through the bucket.  Mission completed, the bear made a run for it, undoubtedly in a much better “head-space”.  At this time, there has been no contact with, or comments from, the bear.  Some believe that the bear has gone into hiding.  I cannot fully grasp the frustration he had to bear (pun).  Since I have ran out of space, and time, I will have to delay my thoughts about the legends of “Bear-Man”.  Some say that Bear Man is actually “Bigfoot”.  However, Bigfoot has a smaller head, and also stays away from buckets.,  But, again: that is a different story.  

 

The Boys are Asking Questions

Hey, Guys … I have wanted to write this post for a while.  This is for men; this is for the sons who need good men to be in their life; this is for women who can encourage men as they feel led.  And just as importantly: this is for the young people in our generation, in our lives, who desperately need something, like support, like a “Hello”.   Years ago, I worked with at-risk kiddos: both boys and girls; mostly adolescents.  I remember in a group we were having at the group home, one boy was responding to my words that his participation in the group without screaming profanity was very important to everyone.  His words were:

“Who Cares?!!”

Here is what he meant:

 

 

No One Cares Depression Overcoming Depression Quotes

 

The question, “Who cares?!”, I learned is not meant as a question, but a statement.  After the boy asked that question, I answered him: “I care.”  He looked at me, rolled his eyes, and said  “It wasn’t a question.”  There are two other questions that were “asked” often:

“What difference does it make?”

“So WHAT?!  What are YOU … going to do?”

These two questions were like the first one: statements.

Okay, my point is this.  One of the dynamics that was going on, and maybe the kiddo did not even realize it, was this … in my own description:

A boy throws out a question that is really a sneer,  another version of

“F _ _ _ Y _ _”. 

The question / statement is also meant as a dare.  My paraphrase, instead of “Who Cares?”, what is meant is this:  I DARE YOU TO CARE!  Don’t tell me you care, because I’ve heard it all before by mean people, and didn’t care.  You say you care, but I am going to go run from this place, and … guess what?  You’ll never see me again!  Do you know how many stinking counselors I’ve had since I was ten, when Social Services took me away from my parents?  No, don’t tell me you care.  I know better.”

I’m going to add one statement to those three questions:

“I don’t care.”

The big picture, guys, is that this area of discussion is a big mess.  Our society has betrayed our kiddos.  If you were to invest into a kiddo, one of your hurdles would be to give that kiddo a reason to care.  Another hurdle: to show that you actually do care ( in response to the question).  And it will probably take a while.  Another hurdle: get a handle on how you are going to answer the other question, “What are you going to do?”  If you say you are going to do something, then do it.

Don’t promise what you cannot deliver. 

For their question about “difference” … that’s a tough one.  Our kiddos today need to see the difference, because talk … is … cheap.

And, my last encouragement, guys, is this.  As men (not kids / adolescents) we have our own “stuff”.  Maybe some of you are saying to yourselves right now,

“I … Don’t … Care.”

If you do not care, then forget about investing into the life of a kiddo.  Let me rephrase that:

PLEASE …

forget about investing into the life of a kiddo.

If its your son or you daughter, that is a different story but the importance of caring is no less important.  If you are doing the “I don’t care”, then you need to … somehow … get your butt from the stagnant pool of toxic emotions where you are sitting in, to some dry ground, where you will stand firm, and stand in the gap, and fight for your son and your daughter.  You are needed now.  Let’s do this.  This could be one of your finest hours.

 

 

You GOT TO MOVE, Man!

Rolling Creek Trail, late afternoon.  The trail curved a bit to my right, which was south-west.  I started to hear the water.  After about 10 to 15 yards, the trail headed downward, and I could see Rolling Creek flowing from the west, moving at a good rate of speed.  I stopped when I reached the creek, took a knee, dipped my left hand down into the icy cold water, and splashed my face a few times.  I know that some fellas have their system conditioned in such a way that they can actually drink the water from the fast-moving creeks.  I don’t understand that; and I do not foresee that happening with me anytime in the near future.  But dousing my face with water from the Rolling Creek has never been a problem.

I remember a professor who said this, my paraphrase:

“I would much rather my students drink from a rushing creek, than from a pool of stagnant water.”

What he was talking about, when I first heard those words, was his integrity as a teacher.  “Prepare for the teaching you will be doing for your students.  They deserve nothing less.  If you do not come prepared, they will know it, even if you don’t know … that you are ill prepared.”

The moving creek, versus the stagnant pool.

We have to keep moving.  No way around it.

Indiana Wilder Man, The Septic Of Doom !!!

A map and a mysterious letter arrived in the mail from Egypt, a professor asking me to consult with him on a dig.  He warned me that a band of zealots were attempting to stop him from continuing with the dig.  The professor described them as notorious and obnoxious; known as “Asmemeken Aguibeha”: English translation, “Bring it”. 

*Note: it is important to keep in mind my “WMS”.  “WMS” stands for “Walter Mitty Syndrome”, also known as “IOE”, “Issues of Exaggeration”.   

I could not find my fedora, my bull whip, my khakis, my leather jacket, and that strange-looking bag with a shoulder strap that I put archaeological finds in.  Without my profoundly important gear, I almost scrapped the adventure …

 But

. . . that was not an option.  Guys who heroically go in (usually at night, not really), an extraction team, TAP (Tube And Pump) with a state-of-the-art tank on the back of the truck, were to arrive on Thursday @ 3pm.  No fedora?  No bull whip? No khakis?  No leather jacket?  No strange-looking bag with a shoulder strap that I put archaeological finds in?  No map?  “Too bad,” I told myself.     I had shovel, pick-axe, water …

And, I had one clue: two (2) black ropes sticking out of the ground, approximately 18″.  Legend has it that King Tut had placed those ropes deep in the ground to guard the precious secrets of the underground. 

When I first heard about this sobering story, I said to myself:

“Seriously?  What a bunch of NONSENSE!  What … I was born yesterday?”

So, the dirt was stacked against me; or, maybe they were cards … I did not know.  But, I am Indiana Wild Man, and this is what I do, when I am not eating chocolate chip cookies and drinking black coffee … very, very, black coffee.  And, I also look like Indiana Jones.  Then again, maybe not.

https://i0.wp.com/bucketreviews.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/2008_indiana_jones_4_004.jpg

I had to dig down two feet of dirt to uncover the concrete caps of the septic tank.  I knew a man in Kabul, who would provide me with more information about this archaelogical dig, and get me the supplies I needed: ropes, sherpas, food, water balloons, chocolate-chip cookies, and … most importantly … black coffee; very, black coffee.  Unfortunately, he was a Kabul-in-a-china-closet, and he had just experienced an episode.  The secret police were watching my friend.  So, I never made it to Kabul.  I’m not sure why I even mentioned it.

Once the tomb of insufferable stink was uncovered, I knew … as Indiana Wilder Man… that the septic of doom must stay sealed until the guys from the service showed up, otherwise the earth might rip off of it’s axis and hurl into the sun.  Fire-breathing humming birds could possibly storm the Rocky Mountain Mountain Region.  And I would have to live with such an agonizing guilt.

This was truly a hair-raising adventure, which was good, because my hair is quite thin, up on top.  And, this dig … at the Septic of Doom … required super-human strength.  But, I am Indiana Wilder Man, and  a chartered member of a group called “Asmemeken Aguibeha”. 

“Bring It.”