C.M. HalsteadC.M. Halstead

By C.M. Halstead

The Grand Canyon’s North Rim, a trip back in time.

Those adventurous enough to drive the additional 200 miles from the south rim of The Grand Canyon, located in Northern Arizona, to the North Rim of the same Grand Canyon, are gifted with a trip back in time.

Located just ten miles as-the-crow-flies from the south rim’s Grand Canyon National Park new Mather Point visitor center, the Northern side of the Grand Canyon takes us to what we would’ve experienced on the south rim if we were able to 100 years ago. Yes, we will still travel there in our modern cars and SUV’s cooled by air conditioning, although once you arrive at the 8,000-foot elevation of Jacob Lake, you will no longer need the AC and may want to consider opening the window and partaking in some cool fresh air. We will drive through giant ponderosa, aspen groves, a vast burn reminiscent of an unmanaged forest fire, finally reaching the meadows and the buffalo herd frequently found there in.

Only one Ranger hut guarding the entrance, worked by Rangers that still walk up to the car window, instead of impersonally working a booth, happily take their time with you, knowing there will never be more than a few cars waiting.

There is enough parking for the vehicles that arrive, a few cabins located on the edge of the rim, plus a few more and a camping area located back in the pines. The majestic Main Lodge, grandiose in its design and view of the canyon whose edge it perches upon provides shelter and food to those seeking it. Outside of the lodge is where it is at! The reason for the season! The  View into the Grand Canyon and across to the South Rim of the canyon. Most days, we can see the volcanic peaks of Humpries located just north of Flagstaff, AZ.

Most are content with the rural energy the developed area of the North Rim village provides; others need to level-up the adventure. These people jump into a 4×4 and travel out to the outer reaches of the park, there, at spots like Point Sublime and Timp point we generally have the view all to ourselves. The best sunset I’ve ever experienced was at Point Sublime! Shh, don’t tell, just go and experience it.

The trails that go down below the rim of the Grand Canyon are another level of adventure. The trails descending from the North Rim are less maintained and less traveled, even the main artery, the  North Kaibab Trail sees significantly less travel than its southern counterpart.

Although the North Rim sees a fraction of the visitors that the South Rim does, it is still a good idea to plan ahead. Both campsites and cabins are limited.

To plan your North Rim adventure, start here: https://www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/north-rim.htm

If you desire to disperse camp in the Kaibab National Forest outside of the park, here is a link with some valuable information: http://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/kaibab/recreation/camping-cabins/recarea/?recid=11697&actid=34

Oh, I almost forgot, there is next to no cell phone reception on the north rim or in the northern Kaibab N.F. Just go with it, embrace the journey back in time and do what they did, look at the views, and smell the clean air. And if you are a parent, watch the awe in your children, it will appear, maybe not until day three, when they are used to looking up instead of into a device. It is worth it!

Enjoy the adventure!

By C.M. Halstead

Honor them through fun

There was a time I would get mad about people having fun on Memorial weekend. I resented the fact that they were out having fun! I mean it is the holiday to remember those that have died so that others may live. Why are they out having fun instead of standing in cemeteries crying? Don’t they know?

I think they don’t know, yet they do at the same time.

Let me explain my perspective. The worst thing I can do is stop living because others have died. Especially if others have died with the belief that they did it to protect my way of life. How dishonorable would it be if I “passed away” along with them?

Choosing to die along with those that have, does not serve either of us.

When I was a little boy of single digits in age, I saw the worse thing imaginable.

Travel: At the time I was not aware of how significant two road trips were to my life. The two road trips I am referring to are a move from Plattsburg NY to Anchorage Ak. A great distance. And a return trip four and half years later, Anchorage, AK to Palmyra, NY.

My entire family was contained in a giant dark blue station wagon. The kind that now looks like a land yacht or alien space vehicle. The only part of that entire journey I remember was waking up one day in the middle of a snow field; my mom had lost control of the giant station wagon due to the snowy road conditions and we ended up about 30 yards into a field full of several feet of snow. The vehicles being what they were back then (solid tank like entities), the only damage was to the exhaust system of the station wagon.

I remember my sister and I waiting in a running motorhome while the adults got the station wagon back on the road. In those days, especially in the great white north (snow, not the color of people you snots) many people would stop and help each other out! For some reason, my older brother was in another vehicle for warmth. I hope he was more successful that we were because I remember how frozen my feet felt!

The thing my sister most remembers about that incident is how I got car sick later from the exhaust fumes coming into the vehicle and puked on a sleeping bag. I bet you to this day, if the identical sleeping bags we traveled with were laid out in front of us, she would know which one I had thrown up on. Uncanny ability to identify she has.

Four and a half years later, we made the return journey from Alaska back across Canada to the lower 48, this time in a different station wagon, driven by a different dad.

You see while stationed in Alaska our family experienced what many families experience, tragedy. Lucky me, I got to watch it.

I know you may be thinking that something happened to my biological father, but that is not true. While my older brother and I were out riding near identical bicycles one day, my brother was hit by a contractor looking for a house number. The image of the bicycle and my brother rolling around the rear truck tire is an image I will never forget. It is also one of the oldest memories I have. The trauma having blocked just about ever memory before that.

The death of my seven and a half-year-old brother, my elder by a year and a half, affected me deeply. My parents too, in fact, it is what ended their marriage. I can only image what the loss of a son will do to someone, and I hope I never have to find out.

The death of my older brother, my protector, playmate, and co-conspirator is something  I did experience. I will also never forget how just minutes before I had negotiated with him to switch bikes with me. You see, our bikes, although near identical, were not. His had a cool BMX type seat, and mine was a cheesier banana seat. That was the only difference between the two.

I coveted his so much that I talked him out of it that day, and was smiling with joy and victory when I watched him ride in front of me, per usual, but riding my bike.

The next few memories are contained in a few images. I already told you the first traumatic image. The second is a still picture in my mind of me bursting into the bathroom after running home, and seeing mom and my sister playing with hair curlers, one of her running down the street in a bathrobe and curlers, and finally an image of the driver of the truck sitting on the curb bent over so far his hands were on his back…and that is it.

For a long time,  I died.

Some time ago, some 30 years after the incident, I finally came back to life.

Now, at 44, I am living the life I always wanted. I am doing my brother’s memory justice by living the life that feels congruent to me. The life of a creative, the entrepreneur, the life of someone who has freed themselves from the deaths of the past and is honoring the memories of those that have died by living my life to its fullest. Survivor’s guilt is a mother fucker.

Survivor’s guilt is a mother fucker; I’ve worked through it a few times now. Besides my brother’s death, I’ve moved on from the deaths of friends, fellow Marines, and strangers whose deaths I had the misfortune of witnessing. I have accepted the worst thing I can do is die along with all those people by living in guilt and shame. Not living is a disservice and is dishonoring to those that have passed. Think about it. If you have died and are checking in on an old friend, family member, military buddy, etc. Would you like to see them miserable, lost in a drug habit or deep in depression, or would you rather see them eating a second round of BBQ, playing catch with their son, and smiling?

Don’t wait to live. Live. Now.

I am surprised that this blog ended up being about my brother, not the military personnel I knew that died, or about veteran friends of mine that also deal with survivors guilt. (Or something along those lines.)

Regardless, here’s to an awesome Memorial Weekend full of BBQ’s, fun, and living.

It is worth repeating:

Don’t wait to live. Live. Now.

By C.M. Halstead

Why question abundance?

A while back, on a wintery weekend afternoon, a  desire for a jeep ride managed to bring me out of my nest and into Dirty Girl (aka the #jeep) for a country drive, in the blowing and still falling snow.

There is nothing like the contrast of red rocks and white snow, to entice me out of my warm nest and into the great outdoors. To be honest, I enjoy stormy weather days outside more than 80 and sunny days. There is nothing more boring weather-wise, than 80 and sunny. Whilst the ever changing views and elements of a blustery winter day, bring out the desire to hike or ride around in my Jeep, while smoking a cigar.

On this day the jeep (aka #dirtygirl) and the cigar win the competition.

As I did back then, I swung through a fast food restaurant to prepare sustenance for the drive. Pulling through the drive-thru, I notice they have a two for two dollar special on their name to fame, the big-mac. “Cool.” I think to myself, “I can get one at half price!”

“Pulling up to the depressing black drive-thru order box, I am greeted cheerfully, “Good afternoon, what can I make for you today?”

“I see you have a two for two dollar special on the big-mac.”

“Yes we do, would you like us to make you two big-macs today?”

“No, actually I only want one. Can I still get a deal?”

“No, if you order one, I will have to charge you full price, and that will be more than buying two for two.” the cheerful voice coming from the big plastic box says.

“For REALS? If I buy one, I have to pay full price! Can I pay for two and just take one?”

“No sir.” the not as cheery voice coming from the black box says, “You have to take both.”

 

Long pause by me, while I express the voices in my head, but keep them in my head.

 

“I guess, I’ll take two then.” I say out loud.

“Great. Thank you sir. Would you like anything else?”

“Yes,  a small diet coke and medium french fries please.”

Voice from the box, “Would you like a large drink, they are all the same price.”

“…sure why not.” conversation saving answer.

 

Pulling around, I think to myself, “There has got to be a reason; are they really that corporate, that they don’t allow their people to think? Or, perhaps it is an inventory thing. They need to sell product before it goes bad, and its cheaper to sell it at a loss, than to dispose of it or… “Here you go sir, enjoy. Thank you.” The voice now having a face, a twenty-something with dedication without knowledge as to why.

“Thank you; you too.” Pulling away, before turning out onto the road, again I ponder what I am going to do with the extra big-mac. I mean, I could probably eat two, but even I didn’t need to ingest that many calories while merely driving around sifting in the views.

Before I know it, the fries, one big-mac and most of the giant diet coke even, are gone. Easing my way through the forest and countryside, I admire the snow glazed wind, and the crisp February air, the crunch under my tires intermixing with the sounds of slush in the wettest spots. The sandstone takes on an illustrious orange hue when the shine shines bright, melting the snow recently attached to it. I come to another crunchy area as a motion is caught in my periphery to the right.

A coyote with legs minus one the usual amount, comes a trotting from my right, heading towards the road ahead of me. He scopes about the drifting snow, hoping for something, casting his trained eye across the horizon. Looking for food more than shelter, perhaps.

I think to myself, “How could I not..?”

Slipping Dirty Girl into neutral, I apply the brake and open her door. Grabbing the still warm, all beef patties, special sauce, extra cheese, lettuce, pickles, on a sesame seed bun while hopping out of the jeep, walking firmly, my head slightly down as to come across non-threatening, I walk out in front of dirty girl.

As I bend down, I open the box. Placing it on the glazed snow, I glance up at the coyote. The coyote has stopped moving and is staring at me, head still at scanning level.

I backpedal my way back and sideways into Dirty Girl, closing the door gently I sit and watch the three legged coyote watch me.

Nothing else exists, the snow blows through without notice, the earth turns, but who notices, clouds are moving and life is continuing for all else, in that moment he looks at me. Then moves forward with purpose, his nose a detecting whatever scents it can pick up in the perpendicular wind.  The coyote reaches the wax coated, pliable, two millimeter thick box. The container flaps its top lid, attracting the coyote to the free meal inside.

His eyes move from the contents to watch me inside my metal shell; snatching the prize, he gulps twice and it is gone.

 

Perhaps I could have saved him some fries.

By C.M. Halstead

What I am supposed to do vs What I am made to do. Which will you follow?

Would you say you were created with a purpose or are you just a random creation?

Were you created to work in a box factory, negotiate bigger margins, fight wars…or were you made for something else? Do you do these things because it is all you know, or through conscious choice?

Lots of questions, I know.

How many people are created to just work…is it possible some are here to do other things, and how do we know? When did you know, know you were different, destined for more than you were being at the time, or ARE being now? For me, it came as a surprise, a final acceptance. An acceptance that I am supposed to write, to tell stories, to be a creative. It became impossible to hide from it. Heck, I even had an employee, with a degree in Psychology, who looked and pointed right at me one day when discussing creatives with a co-worker. She knew I am a creative, even though I was living the life of a “boss”, a “manager”.

I have lead people all my life, long before I was ready for it, and for as long as I remember. As a child, ideas of things to do would come up, and they would wait to see if I wanted to join before deciding. In the military, I was often put in charge of a task or team. In all five careers, I had before becoming an author and entrepreneur, I walked in the door as an entry level, and worked my way up to management. They all knew I am a leader, long before I accepted it.

As an adventurer and explorer, I was able to go on many types of adventures I had not attempted before. My backcountry partners knew I had the athletic ability to complete the route, canyon or backpack trip, whatever that particular type of fun! How is it they knew I could do it, even as I was myself, wondering if I would have the strength and endurance to do a rim to river to rim in nine hours, or canyoneering for ten hours in Behunin canyon while dealing with the flu?

How is it others see our strengths as easily as we can see our weaknesses?

Perhaps it’s because they didn’t see, that I knew deep down inside, I wasn’t living the life I was meant to live; I was living the life I was taught to live, I wasn’t congruent with my purpose. I had a deep passion I was hiding from, I’ve known this since high school, I had a deep want to be a writer, to write and tell stories. Yet, the story I had been told was, “You can’t make a living that way.”, “Artists don’t make any money.”, “You must provide ($$$).” the list goes on.

 

What is the list in your head that prevents you from pursuing what you KNOW you must pursue?

But, none of that worked for me! I was very successful in what I was taught (and what I taught myself) was the version of success, yet none of it worked for me. I remember being in JFK airport on my 13th birthday, we were headed to England for my step-dads next assignment, this time overseas. I remember seeing these businessmen in suits, carrying their briefcases and talking while walking through the terminal. I planted the seed in my brain, “That is success!”. About 15 years later, I was that businessman, I had succeeded by that new teenager’s perspective. I had set a goal in my mind and had attained it.

In hindsight, that’s how easy it is. Vision a goal and work towards it!

A few years later, I got “redrock fever”. It is a fever, albeit a good one; anybody who has seen the red rocks of Sedona has an inkling of what I am talking about. I finished the semester (I was taking courses, working towards a degree in Environmental Conservation), packed up anything that would fit in a Geo Tracker and headed west, never looking back. On a visit a few months prior, I had taken a jeep tour. It was a fun romp over and around Sedona’s red rocks, the guide was entertaining and knowledgeable. I said to myself, I want to do that! I was with one of the local jeep companies for eight years. I succeeded in the direction I chose, once again. I made a decision to be a guide and made it happen. I had succeeded by that 30 somethings perspective.

Who empowers you to live the life you want, the one you are made for?

Now, I sit and write this as a 40 something. I am using The Tripper Series to establish my brand and am creating a following of readers to devour my works. I am told they are good and well written; it is a craft to be developed over time in my mind.  Regardless, I am going to keep moving forward. Write and write for as long as it takes to succeed by my definition. The only difference between my current path and the previous ones: I am congruent with my passions, natural personality type and perhaps to be grandiose, am doing what I am made for. I had the answers and am listening to them. Today I lead in a different way, walking my talk, taking the leap, answering the call, I leave all I knew and move forward to what I know!

 

Do you have all the answers to your questions?

I bet you do, and there is only one way to find out! Take action on them, at least then you will know one way or the other. Regret is no way to live.

The Grand Canyon’s North Rim, a trip back in time.
Honor them through fun
Why question abundance?
What I am supposed to do vs What I am made to do. Which will you follow?