This time tomorrow, Nevada Falls

I begin climbing tomorrow morning, hopefully for an ascent of Half Dome. Sunrise in Groveland is 6:06am, sunset 8:08pm (how easy to remember is THAT?) so there are maybe fifteen or sixteen hours of usable light. Call it fifteen; I don't want to force my hiking partner to start before dawn! I'm being antsy enough about this as it is, and he's been very patient with things like a wigged-out preparatory phone call that woke him up.

According to my topo map, the trail is eight point two miles long, so I'll need to average just a little over a mile an hour. In the past, that's been very doable, even on trails with significant elevation gain, even with stops to eat and take photos and stuff.

I looked at what I want to bring, and it's probably not going to fit in my monster fanny pack. I'll bring a day pack too, I guess. Wish I had a really lightweight one. After all the food's gone, I could stuff the day pack into a pocket of the fanny pack, if the day pack were flimsy enough. Collapsible water containers would be useful too, I suppose, for the same reason. Oh well.

Now if only my knee will hold out. And my blood sugar. I suspect the knee won't start showing symptoms until I start going downhill, meaning I could do way too much and not know it until I'm coming down the cables. That's a suboptimal time to find out, with eight miles of severe downhill ahead of me. Fortunately, I don't think it would mean real damage. I'd just be in some pain during the descent, probably descend slowly well into the night, and would need some rest and recovery for a week or two. The blood sugar on the other hand could make me turn back. Better keep eating. Eat eat eat. Eat.

Wish I could carry just a bit more water. A half gallon to a gallon is recommended; I have easy space for three liters, but would rather have four.

I'm supposed to be carbo-loading today. Hee. Never done that before.

Gee, think I'm taking this all just a bit too seriously? :-)

The Friday Five

I got it from wcg, or was it from redgrrl?

1. What is your lineage? Where are your ancestors from?

Dad's Side: Polish, Irish, Italian, German, in equal proportions.
Mom's Side: pretty much the Mayflower.

2. Of those countries, which would you most like to visit?

Ireland, hands down. I've visited Italy, Germany, and England, all more than once. I've never seen Ireland and have long been fascinated with the surviving themes of Celtic culture. I would enjoy seeing Poland too, but it doesn't hold the fascination for me that Ireland does.

3. Which would you least like to visit? Why?

Oh, I suppose probably Italy again, but there's no strong reason. I'd happily go to any of those places.

4. Do you do anything during the year to celebrate or recognize your heritage?

Not really. My grandparents used to be in the DAR/SAR, but as a child I got the idea that it was just a bunch of racist old biddies (this could easily be incorrect, of course) so I just didn't really ever look into joining myself. I proudly claim my one eighth Irish on St. Patrick's Day and I happily celebrate July 4th. That's about it. I'd like to learn Gaelic though (Scots Gaelic and Welsh too, all of it).

5. Who were the first ancestors to move to your present country (parents, grandparents, etc)?

I think that'd be a set of great-grandparents apiece from four different places on my dad's side, and gawd only knows who on my mom's (I know Nathaniel Greene was one of my relatives). My dad would know the answers to all of this stuff. He's really into the whole family tree thing.

My Dad

My dad was in a minor car accident yesterday - no injuries to anyone involved, but the rear of his car is a mess. So he spent this morning dealing with claim forms, body shop estimates, reports, and other paperwork. I sent back a note empathizing with the hassle and saying I was glad he wasn't hurt. I wrote something like "Car parts are easier to replace than people parts, and nothing could ever replace a Dad."

This gave me the shove I needed to write him this letter:

This reminds me. Every so often I hear stories that curdle my blood, stories from survivors of various kinds of abuse in childhood. Chillingly often, it's a father - the man who should be protecting and caring for his child - who's the main offender. But it's not only the pain of the abuse that tugs at my heart; it's the pain I hear when these now-adults say "I don't talk to my dad any more." The pain of never having had the kind of paternal love I just plain take for
granted. The loneliness of knowing they never will have that kind of love from their dads.

I tell these people I wish I could share MY Dad with them.

I just thought you'd like to know.

I'm not the world's best writer, but I think this one gets the point across. I hope he is as touched when reading it as I was when I wrote it.