I started off with two strikes against me. Water is not my element and Spanish is not my language. Luckily Maija and Fiona were kind enough to take spots nearby…
Category: On Being a NOLS Instructor
The highs and lows, ins and outs, and ups and downs of life as a full time outdoor educator.
June 1997 — We spent the overcast and wet day practicing skills. Placing snow protection, clipping through fixed pro, traveling on a rope team, ice axe use and self arresting. …
“You can just leave it in my office.” It happens again and again. “Wait, do you even have an office?” or “where IS your office?” People ask, even if we are…
We hunker. The ambient air temperature is 45 degrees and last night’s dusting of snow cloaks Gannet and its cohorts. A cold wind whips down from the Dinwoody Glacier, pushing…
Is it possible to de-assess myself? Stress is weighing on me, heavier than the sixty pounds of gear and food I am shouldering up this long, steep gully. Kick, kick,…
23 August 2016 “I need to get you to sign some paperwork before I leave” he says. He is sitting on the counter in the cookhouse shooting the bull. People…
Damn her. Damn her for putting ideas in my head, ideas that had never crossed my mind. I was content to do what I do. She said suggestive things like:…
Editors Note: This is a blog post I wrote back in the Autumn of 2012 during my first sojourn south to New Zealand. Though slightly dated, the concept is one…
As usual, I wished for rain. It is always easier on the ego than feigning a case of the Sphinx Sphincter or Gannett Gut, things that are failings of the…
27 November 2013–Ambivalence mattered today. Jim and I have passed the planning torch over to the students. They are working in groups of two to plan the days. I have…
“Why do we have to go so early? Will it be a long day?” Hannah asks. “That is a good question” I think to myself. “Well there are a couple…
“I like the sound of rain on the fly” Jim says, half prone in his red, mummy bag. “It is especially good when you know you don’t have to go…
Torrential sheets of rain fall loudly on onto the tin roof of the McCoy Hut. I have set our small cook pot outside under the eaves to collect water for…
Twenty-four hours ago we waded, almost thoughtlessly, across the calf deep McCoy Stream, climbed the stony embankment and walked to the small hut on the north side of the creek.…