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Posts Tagged ‘Hyas Lake’

Many believers only look for God’s activity in the midst of crises. As long as life runs along smoothly, the idea that God is or wants to be involved in life is the farthest thing from their thinking.  At least, this seems to be the way I live most of my life.  The unfortunate thing about this way of living one’s faith is missing the ways that God surprises us in everyday, simple things.

When my young family and I moved to Quilcene, Washington, I had the joy of exploring the many local lakes for fishing. The settings are very beautiful; the fishing good.  Unfortunately, much of the shoreline of the lakes is unapproachable.

Many times I took my son along with me. He would patiently hold a fishing pole waiting for a fish to bite.  However, as any young boy would, he soon grew bored and would explore other things around him.  One day, after a great time at a lakeside but no fish to show for our efforts, I breathed a simple wish more than a prayer, “Lord, it would sure be nice to have one of those two- or three-man rubber boats to haul to the lakes.

My life did not depend upon getting one and neither did my fishing. My son, Gareth, and I could continue going to the lakes without one.  It is just that it would make the experience a little more enjoyable and, perhaps, successful.

A few days later, I met with the pastor from the Presbyterian church in town. Everyone called him Pastor Ray.  He was well into his 70’s and he and his wife, originally from Southern California, were temporarily filling in at the small town church.  We had a habit of meeting regularly two or three times a month.

As I was getting ready to take my leave after this particular day’s conversation, Pastor Ray stopped me and asked, “Do you do any fishing?”

I replied, “Yes.  I like to spend my extra time at the lakes around here and often take my son with me.  Do you do any fishing?”

I used to,” he sighed with longing.  “I’m getting too old to go out anymore.”

That’s too bad,” I offered.  “The lake fishing around here is great.”

Well, me and my wife have a small rubber raft stowed in our RV we want to get rid of to make room for other things.  Would you like it?” he asked.

How much do you want for it?” I tendered, supposing that he would want to sell it to get something in return for it.

“Nothing!  If you want it, it is yours.  Otherwise, I’ll find someone else to give it to,” he said.

Sure!  I’d love to have it.  The other day I was wishing I had one,” I told him.

A short while later, Ray brought by the raft. It was a nice, large three man raft (though it said four, they must have meant midgets).  I thanked him profusely.  It had everything necessary: pump, oars, cushions, and quarter inch plied wood piece to fit the bottom.  It even had a mount for a motor.

I wasted no time in getting it into the nearest lake to try it out. It was a lot of fun and I could get into some choice parts of the lakes.  Fishing definitely improved.  Gareth liked floating in the raft.  Rowing it was not too bad.  But I often wondered what it would be like if I had a little electric boat motor to get around.

Hyas Lake Valley, Washington State, September 2010

Hyas Lake Valley, Washington State, September 2010 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

A few months later, I showed my prize “boat” to a good friend. He was impressed but commented, “You need to have one of those little electric bass motors for this.  That would be great!

Yeah,” I responded.  “Maybe someday.

Bass Pro Shops

Image via Wikipedia

The next day, my good friend returned to my house with a Bass Pro Shop catalog. He handed to me and said, “There some good electric motors in here I thought you’d enjoy looking at to fit your boat.”  With that, he got back in his truck and left.

Cool,” I thought and looked forward to looking through it later.

That evening, I picked up the magazine and flipped through the magazine. There was something for every outdoor sportsman.  The fishing section was huge.  Finally, I got to the electric motors.  The pages had been marked with a paper.  The paper, it turned out, was a check for one of the motors and a battery.  Stunned, I looked at the check and then looked at the motor and battery my good friend had circled in the catalog.  A note scribbled in his barely legible handwriting said, “Enjoy this gift.  My wife and I wanted to do this for you.”

I recalled how just a few weeks ago I had breathed a desire toward heaven for something as insignificant as a rubber raft to fish and enjoy the out of doors. Now, here I was with both a boat and a motor.  It dawned on me then and continues to roll through my mind even today that the Creator delights in giving us the desires of our heart at times to just surprise us.

I have not always gotten everything I have wished for or prayed for in my life. I have yet to figure out the secret of getting everything I want from God.  I suppose he has other plans.  However, there are plenty of people who seem to want to treat him like some kind of heavenly vending machine or divine emergency exit from trouble.

Whether gifts of blessings or escapes from trouble, God’s help seems to always come as surprises: unexpected, in the final moments, and only at times that seem to have some hidden divine agenda. The surprise itself may be the point of the lesson.  It makes the times that God blesses or intervenes unforgettable.  And we all know that one of the greatest of human failings is forgetting – our blessings, life’s lessons, times of help, and those who care.

This may be the importance the old song intended when we sang,Count your blessings, name them one by one…count your many blessings, see what the Lord has done.”  Our faith buckets are leaky and our memories undependable.  Regular times of giving thanks for all of life’s events and what God has done in them can help us.  The Thanksgiving Season is a great opportunity to do this, though I doubt that very few actually do.  One thing about it, God will continue to surprise.  Perhaps we surprise him when we actually remember.

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

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Juan Williams

Image by Fairfax County Public Library via Flickr

It has become politically incorrect to voice one’s fears and anxieties publicly. Any insecurities one might have around a group of people are a social weakness and must be left unvoiced.  At least this is my take on recent events in the news.  The most glaring example is the firing of Juan Williams from NPR over expressing momentary personal anxieties he experiences when he gets on a plane with others overtly dressed as Muslims.

Keeping our fears and insecurities silent is precisely part of our problem. Where is the public forum to express openly and talk honestly about the experiences that frighten us?  When is there an opportunity to have a civil discussion about what are or are not rational fears public fears?  Dismissing and glossing over them only causes greater paranoia, I believe.

As a parent, when my children express a fear – rational or not – I want to talk with them about it. A healthy discussion with them helps me to address the difference between reality and perception.  Some fears are healthy and some are not, but telling my child they are “phobic” or dismissing them as immature will not help them.  Yet, it seems to me this is precisely the way those in government and media are attempting to treat the American people.

Anyone who expresses an anxiety or fear is labeled “phobic” – islamaphobe, homophobe, xenophobe, etc. This is intended to silence us and make us bury those fears deep within our psyche.  There is no public place to express them.  So, we do not talk about them.  We do not acknowledge our insecurities over those differences.  Instead, like the good stoic Northern Europeans we are, we are expected to get over them, move on and embrace everyone in every place regardless of how we really feel.  Don’t talk about “it.”  Don’t deal with “it.”  Hide “it.”

I do not think this is a long-term workable solution for peace and unity among humankind. Sooner or later, these unspoken fears will come out.  Precisely because they were not dealt with in a suitable manner today, their dormancy will give way to hatred towards those we fear in some tomorrow; especially in times of greater turmoil.  Consider past human actions against one another: Rwanda, European-Jewish history, American treatment of Japanese Americans during WWII, Sunnis and Muslims, Muslims and Hindus in Pakistan-India, South African Apartheid, and the Jim Crow laws of 20th century America.  The list is as endless as human history.

Our silent fears will not lie unspoken for very long. Human history has taught us that when it comes to conflict of any kind, we will bunch into “tribes” that will attack one another.  These “tribes” might not necessarily have their identity around ethnic or social affinities.  Today they are just as likely to form around ideological affinities: conservatives, liberals, socialists, capitalists, religionist, non-religionists and on the list goes into “pro-this” and “pro-that” or “anti-this” and “anti-that.”

Waterfall Above Hyas Lake, Washington State, September 2010

Waterfall Above Hyas Lake, Washington State, September 2010 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

The greatest idea of founding American democracy was, I believe, the creation of a society where an open market place of ideas can be shared by everyone. This means that we must give voice to our differences and fears as well as our commonalities and passions.  Sure, we may even have to listen to people we disagree with on the most visceral level.  However, allowing their voices to be heard is much better for society overall than demanding it be silenced and relegated to the underground.

Giving air time in a public place for all ideas allows the larger public to determine the cogency and vitality of ideas and arguments. We need not censure the American public from them.  They will do so by themselves with thought and action.  If our ideas and ideals – political or religious – cannot stand on their own two feet in a public debate then perhaps it is time to reconsider our own position.

Vivian Schilling, the CEO of National Public Radio, and the other leaders of PRI (Public Radio International) should be ashamed of the way they handled the firing of Juan Williams. However, even more so, they need to reconsider how they treat sincere expressions of fear, anxieties and social concerns.  It is not enough to dismiss them as Vivian Schilling did with a suggestion that Juan Williams take his issues up with his psychiatrist.  There is a whole nation of people who know that twinge of fear, even if it is only momentary, when they get on a plane with people dressed as Muslims.  It is simply our current reality.

Would Juan Williams, who is himself of African-American descent, have received the similar discipline if he expressed the same fear about going into a poor African-American neighborhood with a history of drug and gang violence? Would he have been expected to not voice any fear if he had gone into a Ku Klux Klan meeting to do a reporting job?  The fact is that reporters, even NPR reporters, have a history of relaying personal impressions and expressions.  So, what makes this any different?  Oh, yeah.  It was on Fox News.  Well, that is another story.

Even in our current negative financial climate, the American people are chided for their fears. We are daily reminded that the problem is “the consumer confidence index.”  It indicates that we are fearful for the future and its uncertainty.  The expectation seems to be to overlook our fears and keep on buying and going into debt.  Until our own fears are conquered and we gain a positive consumer financial index, the economy is our fault.  Right.

Let us take the mute off of our fears and openly express them. We must not give in to our silent fears.  Instead, we are more apt to find solutions, overcome our fears and move confidently into our future side-by-side if we work together to address them.  Franklin D. Roosevelt expressed to the American people after the dark days of the beginning of The Great Depression that “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”  By going on to acknowledging America’s fears he dis-empowered those fears.  Maybe he was only partially correct.  Maybe what we have to fear is our silent fears.

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

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This past backpacking trip up around Granite Mountain revealed not only how old I am getting, but also how old my equipment is getting on in years.  My legs did not handle the steep climbs like they once did in bygone days.  The second day of my trip entailed about 10+ miles and 3,000 feet in elevation.  I could barely walk the next morning.  It took a while to work out the soreness and return to a normal gate.  One that did not look like I was wearing leg braces anyway.

I discovered that some of my gear was beginning to show its years. The frameless, lightweight backpack I intended on taking had several broken snaps, buckles and belts.  I ended up feeding it to the dumpster.  It was not even worth donating to Goodwill.  My Coleman Peak-1 stove is close to 30 years old and, while it runs like new, it is definitely getting heavier as I’m getting along in years.  Some of my carry-bags had tears and holes, my hiking boots that I got over a decade ago are well ventilated; perhaps too well ventilated when the hiking trip is a wet one like this last one.  Oh well, it is all a part of “roughing it”, right?

My hiking buddy, Dan Tourangeau, on the other hand has kept up on all the newest gear. He’s got all the newest light-weight gear, which is becoming more important with our age.  He also has a lead on me in years by more than a decade.  So, I feel I must allow him such creaturely comforts.  Someday, I’ll be there too.  Hopefully with light-weight gear too.

I must admit a bit of enviousness at my buddy’s gear. He does travel in style.  While we were heading into Hyas Lake above Rosalyn, Washington, we ran into a young family packing out.  Dad had a very heavy and laden pack while carrying an infant in a frontal carrier.  A little girl of about 4 or 5 walked along with her mother who sported her own pack.  They looked like they had had a good time and were heading out of the woods to return home.

Tuck Lake, Washington, September 2010

Tuck Lake, Washington, September 2010 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

At first, we stepped aside for the young family to pass by. But then Dan, who does not know a stranger, noticed the young mother’s backpack and exclaimed, “Hey, we’re twins!

Not understanding what he was referring to, she gave my buddy a worried side-ways glance.

Wanting to reassure her, Dan explained, “We have the same backpack!

A look of relief swept over the young woman’s face and she looked over at her husband.  Forgotten by Dan was the fact that his backpack was completely covered by a pack cover to keep the rain off.  I tried to point that out to him and moved to lift the side of it.

Dan, you’re pack is covered,” I explained.

Oh, that’s right,” he offered to the woman.  “I guess it would help if you could see my backpack.”

We all chuckled at his gaff.  The woman recognized the color of the backpack and said, “It looks like we do have the same backpack.”

At this, her husband then interjected, “That means you have a woman’s backpack.

Dan looked up at him.  “Huh?!

The husband explained, “Well, it looks like you have the Venus backpack.  Those are made for woman.  The Mars backpacks are the ones made for men.”

At this point I was thinking to myself that I have obviously not been shopping for gear for a very, very long time if they now have backpacks that go with the book, “Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus.”  I have obviously been out of the loop!

Dan attempted to dismiss the idea that he had a backpack made for women.  “How come the guy in the store fitting me for it never said anything!?

Then Dan countered with a bit of humor, “That’s OK.  My masculinity is still intact.  I am alright with a woman’s backpack,” he asserted.

The husband came back by stating, “Well, they are slightly shaped different because a woman’s back is not shaped the same as a man.  Maybe the woman’s form just fit you better.”

I smiled a huge grin and looked over at Dan.  Obviously the husband of this young family had a great sense of humor.  I was liking him.  Dan looked a little deflated but was not to be undone by the encounter.

That’s alright,” Dan continued.  “I’m in touch with my feminine side.  I can handle it.  It doesn’t bother me at all.”

Good grief,” I inserted.  “Unbelievable…”

We all were chuckling and started to say our goodbyes when the young daughter with the mother asked, “What are you guys talking about, Mommy?”

The young mom looked down at her daughter and said, “We’re talking about how that man has the same backpack as Mommy.”  That seemed to answer the girl’s question.  I couldn’t help but let out another snort and chuckle.

Outdoor backpack

Image via Wikipedia

That’s just great, Dan,” I told him.  “You have a woman’s backpack.”

Hey,” Dan defended himself.  “It’s working great for me.  So I can’t complain.

Well,” I said.  “That explains the urge I have had to help you in the rough spots of the trail and over the streams.  I thought it was just because of your age, but here it turns out to be because you have a woman’s backpack.”

I snickered.

Dan was silent.  Yes-sir-ee, having new gear and fancy backpacks sure helps on those long trips up the sides of mountains.  It offers a great deal of comic relief as you work yourself into near catastrophic muscle failure.

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

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I admit that I am not a big breakfast fan. Mainly, it is because I’m not a “morning person.”  I would much rather watch a sunset than a sunrise any day of the week.  I’ve gone to the trouble of excising all of those passages in my personal Bible that have anything to do with referring or suggesting “early in the morning will I seek Thee.”  I am certain that these passages must be later additions by some second century monkish insomniac.

That being said, when I am camping or backpacking, I do like breakfast. Having something warm to ingest on a cool morning is a prize worth the effort.  This is especially true if the day before you have worked hard to hike in to where you are camping with 30 or 40 pounds on your back.  Because a backpacker must carry all of his or her food, the breakfast choices are limited to lightweight meals – usually some type of oatmeal concoction for me.

I recently hiked above of Rosalyn, Washington, around Granite Mountain. Our first destination was a short and easy hike to Hyas Lake.  We found a campsite at the far end of the lake, making the trek in a little over three miles.  The trail is over gently sloping ground and was relatively easy except for the muddy places because of previous rains.  Plus, it was raining the day we started our backpack excursion.  Our goal was a four night, five day trip, up to Tuck Lake and then further up to Robin Lake.

After getting camp set up, my hiking buddy, Dan Tourangeau, and I attempted to get a fire going with wet wood.  I always carry fire starter sticks.  It took a couple of these paraffin fire starters, but we ultimately got a fire going.  Then the rain started to really pour down out of the sky.  It was only 7:30 pm, but I decided to turn in to my tent for the night.

When I woke the next morning, it was still a bit of a drizzly rain. I pulled out a packet of oatmeal and a packet of cocoa from my backpack.  All my camping gear is stored in a trunk, including extra food.  This makes it really easy to get ready for last-minute backpacking trips such as this one.  I simply pull down my backpack, open up my truck and choose my gear, and then collect the clothes I think I will need for that trip.  Simple.

I used my Coleman Peak-1 gas stove to make hot water. Poured the contents of my flavored oatmeal pack in to my backpacking cup and enjoyed.  Dan and I talked about the plans for the day.  His breakfast choice was one of those freeze-dried meals that one simply adds hot water to and lets sit for a few minutes.  After the specified time, one can enjoy steaming eggs and sausage for breakfast!  My breakfast was a little less exciting.  I looked enviously on Dan as he enjoyed his breakfast.

After finishing my one cup of oatmeal, I opened my cocoa pack, poured its contents in my cup and added hot water. The hot, sweet cocoa was perfect for such a morning as this.  I watched as Dan took out a pack of Starbucks‘ Viva instant coffee packs and made a cup of real, hot coffee.  I have to admit that a Starbucks’ coffee would have beaten my cup of cocoa any day of the week.

It was good to be out in the woods and backpacking again. I had not been on a packing trip in some years.  In fact, my meal packs, oatmeal, and cocoa packs were showing their age from sitting in the trunk for so long.  However, they seemed to have held up just fine.  Or so I thought…

Fall Colors and Berries, Pacific Crest Trail Beneath Mt. Daniels, September 2010

Fall Colors and Berries, Pacific Crest Trail Beneath Mt. Daniels, September 2010 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

About half-way through my cup of cocoa I noticed “floaties.” This is not unusual when one uses a cup to first make oatmeal and then make cocoa without watching it in between uses.  Except that these particular floaties looked odd.  I looked closer into the cup.  There appeared to be about two dozen meal worms squirming around in the warm liquid that now filled only half my cup.  “What the…??” was my first thought.

I poured out my cocoa and checked my cup. There were a few dead meal worms still clinging to the bottom and the sides.  I went to my backpack and checked the plastic zip-lock bag that held my oatmeal and cocoa pouches.  It was full of meal worms!  There was an army of meal worms making their way around in my bag.

I reached in and took out each of the oatmeal packages. There were holes in the sides.  Meal worms crawled over them.  I took out the cocoa packages.  They did not seem to be damaged.  I surmised that this was probably because the cocoa packages were also foiled lightly.  The meal worms that ended up in my cocoa probably got there from the oatmeal.  A few probably took a ride on the cocoa package and fell off when I shook its contents into the cup.

I suddenly didn’t feel hungry at all. My stomach gurgled.  I called Dan over to see my discovery.  Dan started to dance around, shake, and jerk back and forth like a mother-hen who had just laid an egg.  I think he was trying to prevent a gag reflex from overtaking him.

I poured the contents of the oatmeal packs at the base of a tree. I also poured out and cleaned out the meal worms that were in the zip lock bag.  Hundreds of these creatures were now congregating at the base of the tree.  I did not realize that so many little creatures could be all in such a small confined space.  How did they get in there?  Where did they come from?  Have they been hibernating these many years only to come out now to ruin my breakfast?

Mealworms nestled in a bedding of bran within ...

Image via Wikipedia

We continued our backpacking trip. My breakfasts were going to be much leaner for the next few days.  But thatFall Colors and Berries, Pacific Crest Trail Beneath Mt. Daniels, September 2010 was all right.  I was not going to feel like eating breakfast for a while.  One thing is for certain, those meal worms provided the extra protein I needed to make it to Tuck Lake that day.

As we packed up our gear to head up to the next lake, Dan and I returned to the tree that I had feed the meal worms to earlier that morning before hitting the trail.  To our amazement, hundreds of meal worms were attempting to wiggle or crawl their way up the side of the tree.  We both stood watching amazed.  Dan looked at me and shook all over again.  “Hey,” I said.  “My breakfast protein was fresher than yours!”  Dan shook and did a little dance as he headed down the trail.  “Well,” I thought to myself.  “I never did like breakfast anyway.”

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

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