Adventure: one way to measure a life

Near the beginning of this year, one of my best adventure buddies, Boyd, found out that he had ALS, also known as "Lou Gehrig's Disease". I had emailed him to find out if he wanted to go skiing with me and our mutual friend Lynn. When he emailed me back he gave me the sad news. We had spent a lot of time together in the outdoors--skiing, climbing Kings Peak (Utah's highest point), hiking at Boulder Mountain, fishing, and many other great outings.
I wanted to know what I could do to help. I figured that about the only thing would be to maybe take him on some short adventures up into the mountains we both love.

Trip 1

The first one, in June, ended up being a drive along the Mirror Lake Highway in the Uintas. I wanted Boyd to do what he wanted to do, so we got out at the Provo River Falls and wandered down the trail.

Boyd's career was as a photographer. He still has the love for a good shot.

Though his disease is progressing rather rapidly, and his muscles are beginning to weaken to the point that he has a challenging time walking, he still wants to be as fully engaged with life as he can be. He told me that as far as his personal case goes, he'd rather not be like the late Stephen Hawking and be confined to wheelchairs or other means of life support. He told me that when he can no longer do anything he loves to do, he'd just as soon go.
I certainly could relate to that. I have told several people that if I ever get Alzheimers, I'm going to go while I still have my thinking ability, and do the riskiest activities I can think of in the hopes of ending my life by a slip or a fall, instead of making someone have to take care of me. He had also mentioned to me that he regretted the summer of 2017, because he had worked so hard to put in his backyard, and his family members and friends had asked him several times to go camping with them, but he had put it off so he could finish the back yard. He wished he would have known was was going to happen. The thing is, we rarely do.
As we walked down to the falls, the only time he asked for help was going down the stone steps. We hung around the falls, taking a few pics, Boyd talking to one guy who had made it out to the middle of the river and sat on a rock just above the falls. After a while, we headed back to the 4Runner, and continued driving up the highway. Eventually Boyd said, "Let's turn off here and go for a hike."

A short hike into the woods--nothing like it!

I pulled off and we got out, following some old dirt road back in, until it ended, which wasn't very far, and we continued on through the forest. We spotted a couple of deer, and maybe a beaver ducking beneath the water in a lily-pad covered pond. At one point, Boyd lost his balance and fell. I had wandered away a few feet and came back to help him up. He was okay. "At least I picked a good place to fall--pretty soft here," he said. We probably walked through the woods for about a half mile, then headed back to the vehicle. "Let's see if your trail finding skills are still good," I said. Within moments he had found our way back.
We stopped at Dick's Drive-in in Kamas and got a late lunch, continuing our conversation between bites. "I would really love a cheeseburger," he said, "but I deal better with chicken strips in these hands."
We talked about going out the next time, how we would drive from Mill Hollow over to Currant Creek. "As long as I'm still able to go, let's plan on it," he said.

Trip 2

We made it out again on July 3rd, and accomplished the goal.
We mostly traveled dirt roads over the top of some spectacular country.

We talked about places we had been and he told me of places I should go--even showing me his favorite fishing spot at Currant Creek. I wanted to try it right then, but we hadn't brought any gear. It was time to go home though. Ann wanted to see me for dinner. When we were nearly home, Boyd pointed up at Mt. Timpanogos and said, "I have never been up on that 'plateau'. I'd like to go up there."
"I went up there last year," I said, "my first time ever. It's called Sagebrush Flat. It's a pretty cool place." We decided that maybe that would be our next trip.
The conversation, like the first time, had been matter-of-fact about his disease and the ultimate outcome. There was no beating around the bush for either of us. "Some people have a hard time knowing what to say to me now," he'd said on our first drive. I just tried to treat him the same way I always had, like my friend. That's the way I want to be treated if I'm ever in that kind of situation.

Trip 3

On July 31st, I picked Boyd up and we headed up to Sagebrush Flat. The road is a continuation of the road that leads up to the Timpooneke Trailhead---one of the ways to the top of Mt. Timpanogos. It's a dirt road that leads around to the west side of Timp. It was actually rockier and bumpier than I had remembered it being, and I thought about how Boyd had mentioned on our earlier trip this summer into the Uintas how he didn't want to go on a certain road because of how bumpy it was. I mentioned to Boyd that I hadn't remembered it being so rough and he said, "It's not that bad. You're just worrying about me." And he was right. It likely seemed bumpier to me because I was remembering what he'd said about that other road, and worried that I had taken him on a road that was too bumpy because of that.

Selfie near Sagebrush Flat

I had climbed up on the rocks to pick some currants.
Boyd asked me to stay up there and he took this pic.

Sagebrush Flat is a Beautiful area with views into both Utah and Salt Lake Counties.

We made it up to Sagebrush Flat and began exploring a little. We talked about how many hunters might be up in that area during archery season. We saw a large buck and a moose, and took some pics. I had forgotten my DSLR and Boyd was trying to get some good pics with his phone. Getting good pics with my phone is really out of the question.

The scenery was magnificent. The friendship, even better. We ended up by picking up some food at Costa Vida and taking it back to Boyd's house and eating it there.

The Sagebrush Flat area. Sweet!

We saw a moose and nice buck up here in Sagebrush Flat. I couldn't
find the pics though.

Trip 4

August 15th was our most recent trip. We made it back to Currant Creek. I remembered that earlier in the summer we had passed through the area during the huge fire up near Strawberry Reservoir, the Dollar Ridge fire, and we had seen flames and tons of smoke along with aircraft dropping water and/or fire retardant on it. I couldn't see any smoke now--at least from that fire. The air was a bit smoky from all the fires further west, but not as bad as it has been this summer.

Boyd told me that we wouldn't be able to make it down to his favorite fishing spot, because they had tried the week before when he came up with some family members, and he had fallen down pretty good. So we made it to an area that was easier to access and set up our stuff.

We caught a couple of eating-sized fish. Boyd had told me that he and his wife Robin love to eat fish. That was fine with me. My wife Ann hates even the smell of them cooking.

It was a team effort. I tied on all the hooks and other gear, baited up the hooks, and cast out the line, and then Boyd reeled 'em in. The weather was nice all day, with long periods of cloud cover and some cooling breezes. We could have sat up there all day long and pretty much did.

Boyd got to reel in the bigger ones, although I managed to bring in
the minnow on the left. Ha ha!

During the time there we had some pretty open and frank conversation. Boyd told me that he had stopped using the BiPAP machine that doctors had wanted him to use to help out his breathing at night. "It's just so uncomfortable," he said--or something like that. He's pretty honest about his approach to life, telling me that if he goes, he goes, and he doesn't want to prolong the inevitable. On the way home we stopped to grab some food, and he accidentally dropped his fries on the floor. He picked them up and still ate them. I had shaken off the floor mat before I went and picked him up that day, so there wasn't any loose dirt on it at least. I asked him "did you get any grit?" 

"No," he said.

I told him that I had shaken off the mat.

He said, "Well, it's not like I care about that stuff anyway. I mean I'm not going to be around much longer, so what's a little dirt." He held up his root beer. "And I never used to drink much of this for health reasons, but now, what does it matter? I can do what I want." I had to admit his logic was compelling.

The haul! Boyd enjoyed reeling in the larger fish. It weighed somewhere
in the 2-3 pound range.

The Next Time

I'm not really sure when we'll be able to get out again. Ann, who is disabled, expressed some concerns about how much time I'd been spending away from her, and not just with Boyd. I had gone on a hike with my brother and taken some of my grandkids out exploring all within the last few weeks.

But that being said, I'm hoping that Boyd and I can continue to get out until he can no longer do it. And personally, I'm hoping that I'm being the right kind of friend--one who cares enough to spend time with an old buddy who's ill. I'd like to encourage all my readers to do the same, and if you're friends with Boyd, go and see him or even take him somewhere fun.

Boyd has been able to keep an upbeat attitude during this ordeal, which is exemplary. I think it would be pretty hard to not get down, but he considers himself to be pretty lucky. And me? I'm lucky to have friends like Boyd to adventure with. It's one way to measure a life.

Sometimes death just plain sucks

A great human being died this past Monday. My friend, Mark, who had been battling leukemia for several years finally lost the fight. He was a strong and mighty man, full of vigor, and the disease had to do its best to claim him. He fought on when most would've thrown in the towel. He was a man with a heart of gold and who spread kindness wherever he went. He had a twinkle in his eye whenever I saw him.
I got to know Mark years ago through church service. There I found out that Mark wasn't just a good man, but a great one. I loved him like a brother. The world will miss this guy, and so will I.

God teaches me something every day

Not everything God teaches me is fun. Yesterday morning I was doing my mail delivery while listening to Christian talk radio for part of the time. One of the messages was on hell and what it is. What stuck with me was that the man speaking said that hell is being permanently removed from the presence of God--knowing that He's there, but being prevented from coming near to Him.
As I contemplated this, I was reminded of some friends of mine who have lost loved ones in the past week. Lives of good people who were far too young. These people are missed tremendously by their family members and friends who are left behind. That kind of anguish, of losing someone like that, is truly heart-rending. Nearly all of us have experienced it, and it truly can be a form of hell. Eventually, the initial anguish goes away, but never the hurt of the loss.
And that's what God taught me yesterday. I can now imagine what it's like to be out of God's presence forever, because I know what it's like to be out of my loved one's presence--even for the short span of a mortal existence.
Loss doesn't always come in the form of death either. It can also be the kind of emotional loss from a divorce or tough decisions that have to be made. I don't know how to comfort those who are  experiencing this kind of loss. All I know is that God is teaching me every day. Maybe one day, He will teach me how to comfort others in a better way. Or even how to get that comfort myself. He has already taught me what it would be like to be without Him for eternity.

I like those rocks

A few days ago, Ann and I were driving past a cemetery. "I like how they did those rocks," Ann said.
"What rocks?" I said. "Do you mean the head stones?"
She didn't mean the headstones. "No," she said. "They had a small part of the parking strip that they didn't know what to do with so they landscaped it with rocks."
As I thought about it, I actually thought about the headstones and what if she'd actually been commenting on them. Most cemeteries are well-designed, and the stones--rocks if you will--are laid fairly uniformly throughout the manicured lawn and trees. They are peaceful places for the living to remember the dead for the most part. But I also thought, would anyone want to be remembered as part of a collection of nicely designed rocks? The good news is that most people aren't.
Most people are remembered for cherished memories. For the love we had for them. For the good they did and the kindness they showed in their lives. They are remembered for their senses of humor or their love of life.
Sad it would be if they were only remembered as part of a collection of neatly arranged rocks, but there are people out there like that. Perhaps their sense of isolation keeps them from making friends. Maybe they have a mental illness that makes it hard for others to befriend them. Maybe they just never had children and lived to an old age with no one to remember them.
These are the kinds of people that most need our love and attention. It's those that are hardest to love that most need that love. Remember the words of our Lord:
³¹ When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory:
³² And before him shall be gathered all nations: and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats:
³³ And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.
³⁴ Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
³⁵ For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
³⁶ Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
³⁷ Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
³⁸ When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
³⁹ Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
⁴⁰ And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

Let's not focus on the rocks, but on the people for whom those rocks are just a representation. Let's be kind to the lonely and down-trodden in the world. Not only will it make their lives better, but it will enrich ours as well.

A fine man passes

One of the finest men I ever knew passed away a few days ago, and I just found out about it. Renn Robinson was one of my Scout leaders as a young man. He always greeted me with a hearty handshake and a "How are you doing, young man?" He could tell stories like no other and was always a kind and friendly man. The world will be less without Renn on it.

The Christmas You Get You Deserve?

In the famous song I Believed in Father Christmas, originally recorded by Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, the closing line in the lyrics is, "Hallelujah noel, be it Heaven or Hell, the Christmas you get, you deserve." The sentiment is well-thought out, and applicable in most situations. The contention of the author who penned those lyrics seems to be that our attitude controls what our perception of Christmas will be like. Ninety-nine percent of the time, that is true. But some times, events happen that are out of our control--bad things. For example two people I know--one because she was my neighbor and is still my Facebook friend, and the other because we share an internet forum together and who is also my Facebook friend--both lost loved ones just days before Christmas. The first woman's husband unexpectedly died. He was a young man leaving his wife and two children behind. The second woman had carried her baby to near full-term, feeling its movements up until the last, only to have the baby die in the womb just a few days before the due date. Here is a link to that story: Some losses are unsurvivable. In both cases, tragedy struck in the merry time of the celebration of our Savior's birth.

Now, I don't know how they are coping. I don't believe either one of them, though, deserve to have hell for Christmas. They are people who have just experienced great loss. My heart and prayers go out to them as I call on the Lord to bless and help them through all that has happened in their lives.

That being said, most of us do get the Christmas we have earned. I hope yours was filled with happiness, as mine was, knowing that the Lord is there for me in my times of need. I celebrate not the innocent child, born in a manger, but the risen Lord who knows my frailties, faults, and feelings. Who comforts me and lifts me. Who took all the sins of the world, including mine, upon him in the greatest act ever performed--the Atonement. I love Him. Though  I don't always show it through my actions, I love Him. I hope he will forgive me for my sins and help me to be a better person.