First Impressions of Mount Rainier National Park

In Seattle, we often ask each other, “Is the mountain out?” If the answer is yes, we know it will be a picture-perfect postcard day. If not, we know we are in store for more gloomy weather.  

Throughout much of the fall and winter, the answer is almost always a resounding, “no.” Then, sort of like clockwork, somewhere in the middle of April, the mountain emerges from her slumber. You will find yourself crossing the West Seattle Bridge, driving south on Interstate 5, or down Rainier Avenue, and you catch sight of Mount Rainier. Standing tall and strong like a lighthouse, it beckons you to come and see.  

On my first trip to Mount Rainier National Park, I wanted to avoid crowded spots like Paradise and Sunrise. There is nothing wrong with choosing to visit these locations. Everyone should at some point, but be warned. They are popular, and parking is a battle won by travelers who are more patient than me.  

Instead, I hoped to find a decent trail with spectacular and awe-inspiring views of the mountain far from the crowds. Writing this more than a decade after my first visit, I find it impossible to remember the name of the trail we hiked. I do remember driving down a forest service road for 20 to 30 minutes, with clouds of dust and rock filling the air behind my car. We drove so far that my friend and I started to think we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.  

When we arrived at an empty parking lot, the worried moments melted away. This was the solitude I needed. From the safety of the parking lot, we traced the zigzags of the trail down to a rushing river. From far above, it looked like a few miles of switchbacks before we could soak our feet in freezing water.  

With packs snapped into place, I locked the car and we walked away. For an hour or so, we hiked downhill. Quickly, we settled into the routine of heading in one direction, turning, switching, and then heading the other direction. For an hour, we repeated this pattern. Then, we finally poked through the trees and stepped out onto a small beach next to the river.  

For another hour, we snacked, played in the water, and relaxed. Sitting there in the moment, I looked upstream. With wide eyes, I soaked up the grand landscape before me and the might of Mount Rainier. Then and there, something changed in me. A seed was planted. I didn’t want to just hike these trails. I wanted to document my experiences. I wanted to share them with the world in hopes of inspiring people to get outside and share in the splendor of nature. Thinking of the possibilities, I smiled at the prospect of this new creative outlet.  

Following no trace rules, we cleaned up our makeshift camp, snapped our packs back into place, and began the arduous journey back up to my car. The return journey took twice as long and required more breaks. Then and there, I learned a valuable lesson about myself. I prefer to begin a journey by hiking up a trail much more than ending that way.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

Things Stolen from Us, Part I

Time feels like watching paint dry. Christmas always feels forever away, and my birthday isn’t much better. Then, in an instant, you look backward to discover how much has escaped you. It feels like a small puddle falling victim to the sun on a hot summer day. My youth is stolen from me, and I found myself thrust into adulthood with little regard to my desire to slow everything down.  

With a mountain of responsibility resting on my exhausted shoulders, I find myself staring intently into the bathroom mirror. At the edges of eyes, written across my forehead, and drawn drastically between my cheeks and mouth, wrinkles are beginning to form. They give away my age before I ever utter a word. Staring a little longer, there are days when my face feels like the clay of the desert floor being baked by the harshest of the sun’s rays. Cracks are spreading in every direction.  

Silent strands of gray hair are making themselves known like an uninvited guest at a party I had no intention of hosting. Without permission, they are sneaking into a forest of brown and pretending I do not notice. At the right angle, I find them hiding in plain sight. Still, I must count myself lucky in this regard. I still have hair.  

Rising each morning, my body hurts in new and fascinating places. My back no longer belongs to Atlas. Prone to fits of spasm, it serves as a constant reminder of the time slipping through my fingers. Heading north or south and stretching in all directions from my lower back, you will find a hundred destinations revealing my mortality.  

As I drew closer to my 40th birthday, I found myself only partly in a celebratory mood. Mostly, I kept tossing the same idea back and forth. I am closer to 80 than the day I was born.  

Friends are beginning to fall ill. A few unlucky ones have passed away. Each serve as a thundering reminder that my days are numbered. If I am lucky, I can double what I have managed thus far. In the grand scheme of things, this still does not seem like enough time. If I am honest, the end absolutely terrifies me.
Time is being stolen from me, and I am helpless to stop it.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan

First Impressions of Death Valley National Park

Death Valley National Park is infamous. From its raging heat to its barren landscape, its reputation shapes whatever you might think of this place. Some of those rumors and second-hand experiences might be true, but nothing can prepare you for your first visit.  

Driving from our home in North Hollywood, it was a four-and-a-half-hour drive to the park’s entrance. Hoping to escape the heat, we chose to visit in December. Even in late fall, the temperature still landed between 75 and 80 degrees.  

As you leave the coastal landscape of the Los Angeles basin and head northeast toward the park, which sits near the Nevada border, the view outside your window begins to change rapidly. Green lawns and palm trees slowly begin to fade. The landscape morphs into something more mountainous, arid, ominous, and sparsely populated. Driving toward the Furnace Creek Visitor Center, I was both excited and shocked by the change I witnessed through my windshield.  

Nothing can prepare you for the sheer size of Death Valley National Park. Coming in at 3,000 square miles (about twice the size of Rhode Island), the park is vast, open, and contains more to see and do than you can imagine.  

On this trip, we headed toward Golden Canyon, Gower Gulch, and the Badlands Loop. For some odd reason, I wanted to hike through a landscape that matched my preconceived notions of Death Valley. My choice did not disappoint.  

For hours, my partner and I hiked among the gold-colored hills. We explored narrow canyons and ridges opening to the vast expanse of the park. Beneath our feet, the Earth cracked and baked in the fall Sun. The ground felt like more than just a helpless victim of our star’s violence. It seemed like a painted canvas demanding to be explored. The hills and canyons offered privacy and seclusion. Among them, staying on course was often rewarded with views of impressive mountain ranges and open spaces of indescribable beauty.  

As we arrived back at my car, I found myself overjoyed and dismayed. I felt joy for the reward of such a special place. I felt dismayed, because I knew I had only scratched the surface of this place. As we began our journey back to Los Angeles, I made a promise. This would not be my final visit to this park. There is still so much to explore.  

 Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

A Dream Realized (February 2024)

February Update
Weight (212) -5 lbs. since 1/1/24
Workout Days (13)

The response to this series has been beyond my wildest expectations. In the first few months of 2021, I felt tremendous support. As I moved through that year, 2022, and 2023, you kept reading and providing motivation. Because of you, I decided to continue journaling my journey toward a more improved image of my body. I am choosing to share this journey because my triumphs and struggles are not my own. I don’t know a single person who hasn’t struggled with their weight and self-confidence. For those who are just beginning this journey to those miles ahead of me, I want everyone who stumbles across this series to know they are not alone.  

Weight Loss  
I began 2024 with a simple wish. I wanted a more balanced diet. I didn’t want to punish myself for a sweet tooth or indulging in those foods we all know shouldn’t be at the center of our diets. I wanted to eat more fresh fruits and vegetables. I wanted to eat less carbs and fried foods. Nearly two months into the new year, I am down five pounds. I still have a long way to go to achieve my goal weight, but I find myself a little less fearful of the bathroom scale.  

Diet  
I often lose my weight loss battle in the kitchen. The thing I am trying to get better at is mindful eating. Eating without regard has so often kept me from reaching my goals. With everything I eat, I want to spend a moment thinking of the why. Why am I eating this? Am I bored? Craving something? Is this bringing me joy? Will it bring me closer to my goals? If I can get to a place where those answers are trending in a more positive direction, I feel confident I will inch toward a better diet.  

Mental Health  
Oddly, despite the struggles and challenges, I think I am arriving at a place of acceptance. I will never be as skinny as I was in high school. I will never be anyone’s source of muscular envy. Instead, I just want to be happy with the person staring back at me in the mirror. If he and I can find joy, my mental health should follow suit.  

Workouts  
I have fallen back in love with running. After a long absence from the sport, I decided to begin training for a half marathon. The last time I ran such a race was in my mid-twenties, but I remember those days fondly. With a race day marked on the calendar, I have discovered a new source of motivation. For months, I have been running and plan to run a race this summer. With every new starting line, I feel myself getting faster and stronger. When I think of working out, that’s all I desire.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

Poems for My Family: My Sister

This attempt begins with a humble request.  
The request is lifted to the heavens with all the hope I can muster.  
It shall remain there until two people can commit themselves to an idea.  

We could continue with all the trials, tribulations, successes, and joys of this world.
We can continue living shared lives only in the shadows of holidays and family gatherings.  
We can continue sharing only polite celebrations via the internet.  

But this humble request requires more of us.  
It demands that we give the best of ourselves.  
It requires work that will feel arduous at first, but with time will morph into a new norm.  

We know we cannot fold the map in half.  
We know Washington will never border Kansas.  
We know we will never be neighbors.  

The humble request still lingers.  
It is so simple, yet so much depends on its success.  
I, for one, find myself willing to try.  

I miss the sister of my childhood.  
I long for the moments we should have shared together.  
I need the sister my adulthood demands.  

Still, the humble request lingers.  
It lingers still under a banner in heaven that acknowledges we both could have done better.  
Soon, acknowledgement will give way to an ask to do more.  

I am willing to do the work.  
In all my relationships, both big and small.  
I am willing to meet the demands of this request for you, for me, and for us.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan

First Impressions of Zion National Park

My love for a great road trip across America is well documented. As I sit here reminiscing about a trip to Zion National Park, it seems almost all my visits to America’s national parks have been the result of a road trip. This is perhaps a theme worthy of deeper exploration.  

My friend Tim had a plan. We would drive from Los Angeles to Zion National Park. Once there, we would spend a few days hiking and taking photos. After communing with nature, we would spend a night in Las Vegas before heading home.  

I am not the friend who often says the word “no”. In fact, I try to avoid it at all costs. If I can afford it and it doesn’t bring harm to me or anyone else, I am usually down for almost anything. This trip didn’t require a lot of convincing.  

Before the trip to Zion, I had been on countless photography and hiking trips with Tim. When I first moved to Seattle in 2011, I met Time and his partner, JR, through my work. It took some coaxing on their part, but when we finally made it work, we became fast friends.  

Instantly, Tim and I bonded over our love of photography, hiking, and a good old-fashioned road trip. With my good friend and roommate, Patrick, in tow, we would drive for hours snapping photos, crushing trails, and exploring Washington State.  

When Tim and JR moved from Seattle to Long Beach, CA, my partner, Brandon, and I weren’t far behind. With moving boxes still packed and in town for less than a month, Tim and I were on a road trip. Six months later, we found ourselves driving toward Zion National Park.  

After years of hiking and photographing the forests and vistas of Washington State, I was slightly ambivalent about finding beauty in the deserts of California and southern Utah. Shortly after my arrival, Joshua Tree National Park changed my mind. Zion cemented my belief that there is something strangely odd, peaceful, and beautiful about the desert.  

Zion is unlike any other place I have been. The park itself is compact and easily accessible. Cars don’t crowd the roads inside the park. Instead, shuttle buses drive guests to various points throughout the park. For anyone who has driven through Yellowstone or Yosemite, this is a welcome change.  

Shortly after our arrival, Tim and I placed our bags in our rooms. Within the hour, we had camera bags in hand. For hours, we hiked, snapped photos, and challenged ourselves to find unique angles. We were attempting to capture the park in ways missed by others.  

On this cool April day, the park was showing off. The reddish hue of the mountains was exploding with color. Green filled the valley with promise, and every vista stole our breath. In a couple of hours, we snapped hundreds of photos.  

The next day, I solo hiked up to an overlook. From the rim of the valley, I could almost see the entire park. Sitting there, rationing water, I felt both insignificant and small. When exploring nature, these are my two favorite feelings in the world. As you continue to read this series, this will be a common theme. As will my appreciation for the special places that comprise our national park system. It is an unoriginal thought, but I must echo it anyway. The park system is America’s best idea.

After another night in Zion, Tim and I drove to Las Vegas. The dissonance between these two locations was not lost on me.  

I didn’t know it at the time, but this trip and a road trip later in the fall up the coast of California would be my final trips with my friend. Tim died of a heart attack in early 2019. I was devastated to lose him. In many ways, I still am. At least, I have moments such as this trip. I will never forget the hours spent talking, laughing, listening to music, snapping photos, hiking, and exploring. Every day, I am thankful for the gifts of his friendship.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

The Sweet Ending, Part III (In Three Parts)

To read The Sweet Ending, Part I, click here.

To read The Sweet Ending, Part II, click here.

The following is a work of fiction. In Three Parts serves as an opportunity to flex my creative writing muscle.

The days that followed my brother’s burial can only be remembered for the uncommon fog of confusion and disbelief that hung over our heads. One by one, like matches pulled away from the book, family members and friends returned to their lives. Unannounced visitors rang the doorbell less often. The phone returned to its daily cadence of solicitation calls from Medicare and insurance companies. Cards, flowers, and gifts in memory of slowed to a point of nonexistence. The weeks before felt like a deluge of rain. This felt like a drought.  

Soon, I would be another match retreating elsewhere. On the other side of the map, my life rested on pause. My responsibilities and routines awaited my return. Somehow, the world expected me to continue living my life. Attempting to cope with this new normal would hang over me like a Seattle rain cloud. My brother would stay. Forward was my only real option.  

In my absence, my parents would finally experience a deafening silence they had never known. All their lives, their home has known the noise of children. In this void, they would be expected to craft new memories, laugh, cry, and live a life. Such a daunting task should never be forcibly placed on any person’s shoulders.  

And that’s what we did. Now, the days flash before us with a chaotic and jumbled rhythm. The calendar seems to roar with ferocity and an ending, bending toward a moment in time far removed from the day we said goodbye. With the passing of each day, grief remains a constant companion. The resonance of his voice is harder to remember. Though, not all is darkness. Good memories present themselves unexpectedly and like anchors in time. They are moments to be cherished.  

My parents finally decided to write a new chapter elsewhere. Far removed from the toils of attempting to fill a home that knows such sadness with joy, they retreated to a new beginning. In doing so, they found as much joy and love as you can imagine. As they made their escape, they symbolically closed the book on a hell we never expected, but a hell we survived.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

Potent Quotable (November 2024)

“If worthless men are sometimes at the head of affairs, it is, I believe, because worthless men are at the tail and the middle.” -John Adams

“Oh, that I may always be able to say to my grandsons, ‘You have learned much and behave well, my lads. Go on and improve in everything worthy.’” -John Adams

“What horrid creatures we men are, that we cannot be virtuous without murdering one another?” -John Adams

“I never delighted much in contemplating commas and colons, or in spelling or measuring syllables; but now… If I attempt to look at these little objects, I find my imagination, in spite of all my exertions, roaming in the Milky Way, among the nebulae, those mighty orbs, and stupendous orbits of suns, planets, satellites, and comets, which compose the incomprehensible universe; and if I do not sink into nothing in my own estimation, I feel an irresistible impulse to fall on my knees, in adoration of the power that moves, the wisdom that directs, and the benevolence that sanctifies this wonderful whole.” -John Adams

“No man who ever held the office of President would congratulate a friend on obtaining it.” -John Adams

Be good to each other,

Nathan

First Impressions of Grand Canyon National Park

Jordan, Matt Patt, and I knew all the stops along the way. Rick, at his request, did not. As a graduation gift, we offered him this only clue, “God, Man, Godlessness.” Beyond those three words, we offered no other hints.  

With bags stuffed into the trunk of my yellow Mitsubishi Lancer, we drove west. The first hint of our destination revealed itself.  

For hours, we drove on I-40 from Oklahoma City toward Arizona. If you have ever had the fortune of driving this interstate, you know that things can quickly become monotonous. Oklahoma and Texas are flat for as far as the eye can see. New Mexico shines with the setting sun. It isn’t until you cross into Arizona that you get a sense of the possibilities before you.  

With each new state line, Rick’s mind attempted to piece the puzzle together. Thinking on “God, Man, and Godlessness,” I hoped he was readying himself for the awe of our first stop. Being fully aware of our destination, my excitement was difficult to contain. This journey to the Grand Canyon would be my first visit to the park. Beyond knowing the destination, the vastness and inspiration that define the park for so many people would be brand new to me. Like most people, I only knew of the Grand Canyon from photographs and books. I knew this brief trip would not be enough. A couple of hours in the park would be just the beginning. Nevertheless, I was thankful for the opportunity.  

After hours and hours of driving, we finally entered the park. As we did, Rick got his first sense of what we meant by “God.” Parked in an overcrowded lot near the Southern entrance, we walked toward the rim. Nothing in this world can prepare you for the first time you stare into the canyon. No picture does it justice. It is indescribable. Even today, almost two decades later, words fail me. It took my breath away and left me stunned.  

In every direction I looked, I found myself frozen in awe. I am not a religious man, but this was one of those rare instances where I felt some higher power.  

For a couple of hours, we explored the rim with dreams of what it might mean to traverse the canyon floor. Matt and I snapped photos. Jordan and Rick explored on their own. It was this trip that unlocked a deep love for photography. This hobby has taken me across the country and around the globe. It has opened doors and provided the foundation for friendships I will forever cherish. I love attempting to capture the beauty I see in this world in a frame.  

With a constant tick of the clock in the back of our minds, we pulled away from the park. We began traveling toward our next destination. As we did, I made a quiet promise to return to this special place. While I have yet to fulfill that promise, the magnificence of the Grand Canyon still beckons me from America’s great southwest.  

For a few more hours, we drove toward the Hoover Dam. Here, we experienced the exceptional power of “Man.” From there, we drove toward Las Vegas. There, we experienced “Godlessness.” When all was said and done, I had cherished memories of a road trip I will never forget.  

 Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

At the Restaurant

Image provided by @attianart.

The calendar held a reason for celebration.  

Reality had something else in mind.  

Our first anniversary in Los Angeles would be a test.  

The limits of this city felt like the Berlin Wall closing in on us.  

Our relationship was on the brink of falling apart.  

We felt like fragile China.  

One wrong move and pieces would scatter across the kitchen floor.  

Jealousy was consuming me.  

It felt like mold working its way through a loaf of bread.  

Loss of identity was his cross to bear.  

He just needed a win.  

All that was new was too much.  

At the restaurant, we would test fate.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan