The Patriotism of “Now”

Random Thoughts on Memorial Day

I grew up in a country that worshiped the past in a present that was corrupted, crooked, unfair, and hopeless. That was and still is called patriotism there. I developed an early, almost visceral dislike for those who worshiped that past while not doing one thing to better the present. One thing to ensure the past stays great through the present and to ensure they hand it even better to the future. I moved to a different country lured by promises of freedom and equality and fairness, and some days I think of my new home and tell myself: “Boy, not much has changed.”

Patriotism, to me, is not remembering those who died for the country once or twice a year, during long weekends between two burgers on the grill. Patriotism should be what we do every day, with all of our own actions to ensure the country moves forward. Patriotism is actively ensuring the future generations will have a better, more secure, brighter future than we did. Patriotism is truly believing to our core that people are equal, that they deserve freedom, unconditionally, and free of labels, and that it does not really matter where we’re from but it matters more what we do, every day. Our individual story and our intrinsic value of who we are, wherever we are and wherever we come from, matters infinitely more. How do we ensure we stay valuable for moving forward age-old ideals? Because, yes, we are the ones called upon that now.    

Sure, the past is great. Sure, those who died defending values such as independence, free knowledge, culture, freedom of speech, freedom of choosing, fighting bondage and unfairness should never be forgotten. But as great as all that was, that is and will forever stay in the past. What we do every day, with every action, with every thought, the way we carry ourselves into the world, the way we teach our children values that will move them forward and not get them stuck into a time earlier than even that of those who already died for these ideals – this is true patriotism and that should be celebrated when we realize, and only then, that everyone is doing it. Until then, we got work to do.

I fear a fake patriotism for all of us, especially today. Folks who today show up on social media to bow to those who made the ultimate sacrifice only to laugh at their next-door neighbor’s ask for freedom and safety for their own children, only to shrug at lending a hand of kindness and thoughtfulness to the less fortunate on account that “handouts are not what this country needs” – I fear these folks might be guilty of fake patriotism.

Sure, sacrifice is deserving of praise. But where is our sacrifice? Why do we think patriotism is a thing of the past? Why do we not think that whatever those people fought for stopped being important? And who do we think has the duty to ensure the future remains as they dreamed of it?

It’s easy (and cool) to worship the greatness of the past. It is mostly hard and uncomfortable to ensure what’s in front of us is not going awry. It’s hard and inconvenient to ensure that in our country (whatever you call it, because this is happening all over the globe) we still defend those ideals for the generations to come. The freedom, true freedom for everyone, not just those who fit snugly into our moral mold, and the defense of that, at all costs, seems to me more patriotic than flying the flag, or saying “we won’t forget.”

Maybe today is not the day. Maybe today should be a day of worship. But this is what today, just like July 4^th and Veterans Day - this is what days like these make me think about, every year. These days are a stark reminder to me that we should risk being a little more uncomfortable to try to do our share to right some wrongs. Our work is not done. It never will be. This is what I celebrate today: the hope that we will finally, as nation, understand that our work is not done and that we will ensure that our good ideals will continue to be fulfilled and guarded viciously for those who will, one day, look at us as the past. After all, this is the only way I know that those many people who died already will not think that did so in vain.

The Inspiration Trail

I just read somewhere this week that the new midlife crisis is taking up art, or artistic endeavors. That as the world is getting crazier around us, we are looking more and more for focus, being present, and creating art provides a good refuge for this pursuit.

Well, call it midlife crisis, or call it whatever, I crave inspiration lately. I crave good books, or just good words, good sounds, and pretty food, ordinary pictures that show the extraordinary naked and raw …

We took this little hike starting on a hidden bridge close to our house this weekend and the bridge was a surprisingly inspirational shrine …

The quiet of the hot summer day melted in the bold noise of the cicadas, and the muted trickle of the river below.

Take a look!

Check out this heart-shaped-leaved natural trellis. This is how the journey on the bridge opened.

The road ahead ... 

Natural "bridge" of tree branches over the river. 

The Haw River, in NC

Boy, this stretch of the bridge said so much, and so loudly ... 

More foods for thoughts ... 

Rushing waterfalls, as fast as my jumbled thoughts ... 

I am always shocked at how life finds a place to be: this grass was springing from the asphalt of the bridge. 

Summer and fall battling it out ... 

The creatures ... Click the last picture to view the whole album. 

From Life: A Cabin and a Mountain Town in the Fall

“I had daydreams and fantasies when I was growing up. I always wanted to live in a log cabin at the foot of a mountain. I would ride my horse to town and pick up provisions. Then return to the cabin, with a big open fire, a record player and peace.” (Linda McCartney)


There is something mystical and secret about sitting still by a mountain river, watching or hearing it hop from one polished rock to another. There is something of the old ages, a story or many told only to few of those who really listen, in an effort to become one with the big world. I crave this experience. I crave the sounds, the crisp air, the unbearable, headaching silence in the night, the dance of the squirrels on the branches, the chasing of the robins in the air. I crave the mountains, the stream, and a cozy cabin just about every day. But we allow ourselves the luxury to escape into this otherworld only about once a year. Not nearly enough, if you asked me, but the rarity makes these experiences that much more special. 
 
This year's cabin was on the Florida river, about 20 minutes from downtown Durango, Colorado. Before the trip, I told my husband I have never taken a trip to Colorado that I didn't love. And this trip was not going to break that pattern. 

This is a state cut out of a National Geographic issue, or an Ansel Adam's photography book, drowned in peace. If you have ever made a mental picture of Colorado after watching Western movies, reading Winnetou or watching The Wilderness Family series – then Colorado is all that times infinite. In my mind, the picture perfect Colorado starts with a yellow pasture where horses roam. They are framed by aspen trees, melted gold in the fall, over which the pine trees arise, and ultimately, the stony peaks of The Rockies. I could not have wished for anything more in the cabin getaway this year, than this. 

 

Timeless Colorado ... 

Our cabin was a duplex, but the neighbors we had for one night were ever so quiet and polite, we hardly noticed them. The sounds of the stream, the gentle wind through the crispy yellow aspen leaves is all I remember. There is something enduring, close and comfortable about log cabins. The raw-ness of the materials, the shortness of the walls, the hard stability of the dirt floors. It's like a cocoon, safe and sturdy, keeping you away from the big bad cold outside. Keeping you away from the beasts. There is restorement and rejuvenation after a solid night sleep surrounded by wood and woods. This is what keeps us going for another year. This, and the dream of another cabin to discover the year next.


I wish you all to find your cabin and your mountain. There is nothing that says “home” more loudly, and there is nothing where you're more “you-er than you”, than your secret, peaceful, getaway place. 

 

Colorado back country ... 

During our explorations around our cabin, we found several county roads that are hardly paved, that took us for miles and miles around horse farms and more log cabins. The hidden country of Colorado was alive and beautifully quiet on these hidden pathways. The silence and solitude reigned supreme, in a perfectly beautiful day of autumn. The air was soft and yellow, the bugs were lazy, trying to find their end-of-the-summer tired wings for one last flight, the deer and elk were everywhere, horses, too, but the people were off that day, tucked away in hiding. Even the windmills were stopped. 

 

Quiet windmill on a Colorado farm 

Mountains have always given me a sense of eternal timelessness. I go to the mountains I grew up in over the years and nothing ever seems changed, except for the new wrinkles on people's faces. The world, the land is still the same – beautiful and untouched, as always. You get this feeling anywhere else in the world, where there are mountains.


We stumbled upon Vallecito Lake, about 20 miles away from our cabin. It's tucked away, like a precious secret, circled by mountain ranges, and it's crystal clear and cold as a mountain lake should be. It reminded me of a diminutive Lake Tahoe. There is nothing I love more than getting lost on roads I don't know, and taking in the nature, and nothing besides. Driving around on Colorado back roads is like that. You're one with the trees, the deer and the brass leaves and you feel bad for intruding and disturbing the eternal peace. 

 

Vallecito Lake under the aspen trees   

 

Detail on one of the many carvings (in dead, standing trees) around Vallecito Lake

 

On the side of the road, crossing the stream, on one of our drives. Right before we got to Vallecito Lake

In between our nature retreating and watching, we dropped by in the town of Durango, if for nothing else, but for sustenance and a few drinks. We didn't ride our horse to town, for provisions, like Linda McCartney said, but we did ride the 11 mile highway every day, and almost every day we almost hit a deer or an elk. You are truly in nature, even when on a paved road, here. Massive concrete, steel and glass mega-buildings of Manhattan, eat your hearts out!


Durango is your typical Western mountain town. Old buildings, of wood and brick, with their wooden entryways, with no alleys between them, still flank the sidewalks. You walk under wooden overhangs, with Western cowboy-book resonance in their names like Lone Spur Cafe, Pine Needle Mountaineering or Duranglers, or El Rancho Tavern. To not disturb the quiet of the setting it's in, Durango is also a quiet, sleepy kind of town, too. Nothing much rushes here. Coffee shops have lines that never move and food takes a while to come to your table. 

 

Downtown Durango - this vision of a train teleported me right back to Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman's time 

It's a bohemian kind of town, where they can still keep in business two music stores within 10 feet from one another, still selling vinyl and cd's, and a locally owned, hopping book shop, with new books, not just antiques. The Mac store is called The Mac Ranch.


It's a “feel good” kinda town, too: puppies are not only welcome everywhere, but every store owner has treats to give them, too. There are two establishments (The Himalayan Kitchen and the gift store, Dreams of Tibet) that sell originally Tibetan, Nepalese and Himalayan food, clothes and décor to support the Tibetan people. It's like a World Market, but … not a chain.


And don't let me forget about the local grub and drinks! I had heard that Durango is famous for its breweries, and it did not disappoint in the selection of beers, everywhere. The Main Avenue Madness breakfast at The Carver Brewing Company tastes exactly like what The South West should taste like: it's a mess of all things you can find in your kitchen – which is the only way to go for real food, really: perfectly roasted potatoes, black beans, peppers, mushrooms, onions, verde sauce. Like everywhere else in The West, we looked for hours for trout. We finally found it at The Mahogany Grill in the historic Strater Hotel, and it was fishy perfection. 

 

The trout at the Strater Hotel 

The clocks spin by a totally different speed here. No rush and no high blood pressure. Just a smooth feeling of passing the days, from dawn till sunset. Just like the river which does not know what it rushes itself onto, people and much of the world don't either. They live, they die, and pastures are still filled with horses, deer and yellow, brassy leaves, every fall, unmistakably and unplanned.

You'll find that in all mountain towns people speak slower, walk even more so, and they smile more. Here, they have decoded the secret of life and there is no more rushing towards any other goal. A cabin on a river is the only reality. The Rockies. A lake. A hideaway long weekend. The love of puppies, cozy sweaters. A fireplace at the end of the day. A journal. The love of life. What more is there to seek?! 

 

The Florida River, behind our cabin, in the sunset. Click on the picture for more shots of Durango and around.

A Grand View Indeed!

People look at clouds to figure out their shapes and see their resemblances with other life forms. I look at rocks and do the same thing.

Especially since I moved to Utah and I started visiting all the National Parks, you learn that every rock has a shape, a name and a story.

This past weekend, we drove through Canyonlands, one of Utah's five National Parks. It was our first time there. We're veterans of Zion and Arches, and I personally go back and forth between which one is my favorite. And then you see Bryce and then you see Canyonlands, and every one of them trumps the other for various and different reasons.

I do not have the literary genius of someone like Charles Bowden (“Blue Desert”, among other things) to describe the beauty, the peace, the miracle of deserts. I do not know how to evoke and retell the story of every canyon I saw, every bend in the flow of the Colorado and of the Green River and every story they wrote on every wall of the rocks they carved through. But I will try to record this trip, in my modest writing way, if at all.

All I have to tell you is that I felt as small as a pebble, and as humble as a monk in front of such eerie and outer worldly symmetry, elegance and grace.

Canyonlands is a rocky red desert, in the South-Eastern part of Utah, shaped by the erosion done by the Colorado and the Green River, alongside wind and precipitation. All these forces patiently, like a stone carver with a chisel, carve out shapes in the rock, over time. You drive into the park on paved roads, which guide you to many overlooks, from where you can see an ever changing view of the canyons below.

Although you can 'get an idea' about what makes the park unique with every overlook, to truly take in the whole park you'll have to either four wheel, hike an incredible amount of miles, or boat across the two rivers, to access the more hidden places and see it in its entirety. Just like they say that you cannot see The Louvre in one trip – you cannot see Canyonlands in one trip, or even ten, either. At over 500 square miles, the surface of land feels truly endless.

We just explored one of several main roads, the one cutting through the “Island in the Sky” area of the park and stopped at the overlooks available on it, on this trip. And how fitting the name of this area is! The park looks like either Mars or the Moon, pretty much void of vegetation, bright red, rugged and unforgivingly hot, floating in the sky, up above, where the overlooks are. There is no way anything or anyone can live in the rock which looks like poison. And yet, as barren, lonely, remote and dark as it looks, it also tells a story and has a life running right through its veins.

With each area we stopped at, another scene from some frozen-in-time play would enchant the eyes and entice the imagination.

Buck Canyon looked like a giant V shaped crevice in the crust of the Earth, with taller buttes scattered on the flat surface. 

The huge "V" shaped Buck Canyon

Although not part of the Canyonlands State Park, but its own State Park, Dead Horse Point looked like a winding maze: the Colorado river keeps changing course up and down and up and down this plane, creating these huge swan necks 200 or so feet deep into the Earth. You keep wondering to yourself if the Colorado is tired (or drunk) from so much winding about … 

The Colorado River at Dead Horse Point State Park

Green River Point is a mix between Dead Horse Point (the Green River winding, this time) and Buck Canyon (the many V shape cuts into the Earth). 

Green River Overlook

The winner of all the splendid views is the Grand View Point Overlook: here, God is surely showing off, just for kicks! The scene looks and feels as if peeled from a medieval play, where all courtmen and women are standing around in the Grand Hall, waiting for the ball to begin. Some of the standing rocks clearly depict heads of people, complete with hairdos and hats. It looks as if some volcano erupted just as they were having a get-together and it clad them all in hot lava, cooled over time, which rendered them eternal. They're still waiting to be unfrozen, or un-earthed from the fondant hot spill that killed them. They look full of life, under there. 

 

Bringing into focus the insane perfection and beauty of the Grand View Point Overlook. 
 

The shapes in the rocks are definitely a breathtaking spectacle. But what is more overwhelming and impressive than that is the sheer size of the spread of the land. The vastness and massiveness of the never ending plane, the amount of the sheets of rocks standing tall, unmoved for millions of years, for as long as the eyes can see. And you – a small dot on this land, trying to take it all in, you poor devil, and your brain and your retina not able to process this all!

The buttes and the sheets of rock, massive, standing on the flatter than flat red sheet of land reminded me of Monument Valley. The totem pole looking rocks at the Grand Point Overview and The Needles brought back memories of Bryce. But despite all these resemblances, Canyonlands is a park all in its own right – unique and deserving of equal fame of its other sister parks. 

The Monitor and Merrimac Buttes 

 

The Needles

The paved roads that bring you to the overlooks are flanked by green trees (surprisingly) and pastures. But the overlooks are hot looking craters, of nothing but rock and emptiness. Gaping, gouged, desert massive eye sockets, dead from staring into the sun for millions of years. Along the two rivers, you can see some green trying to survive. The whole area feels dead, however. No creatures, not even birds, other than crows. And who can announce death better than crows?!

We got lost for a day in this earthen, if barely, wonder. This is one of those trips where you know for sure one has to be seriously mixed up if they're not believing in something better and more powerful and creative than we will ever be. So much art; so much care; so much gusto and so much talent – how can anyone in the right mind deny the existence of something bigger than we might comprehend?! It dwarfs you and renders you helpless! This all cannot be a mistake, or happened by chance!

What is the purpose of our lives, a mere second in the millennia whose testament is written in front of us? It swallows you and your identity whole. What else is there left for us to do, to contribute to this planet, if something this sublime already exists?! Nothing but humility and reverence.

No answers. Just speechless and breathing, and taking it all in. And that would be enough for this one, small life.

 

Vladimir Nabokov: “The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.”
 - click on the picture to see the full album from this amazing tour and more beautiful places in Moab

 

Summerfilled

“Be silent and revolve with no will.” (Rumi)

… driving along the Spanish Fork river, looking for a spot … winding down among the tall red rocks and juniper trees that jump towards the skies at every corner in a desperate feat to be seen … thinking road is too narrow for two cars, and we have a camper … driving by small pastures, not big enough for our outfit … keep on driving … finally the perfect spot appears, on the left, a wide meadow, at the foot of the mountain, with the river at its root, snaking around it ... the prairie grass swaying in the lazy breeze … sunlight draping over everything like a silky, breezy curtain – it looks like a painting, completely unmoved … 

 

… we were to fill the afternoon and another day with lazy … get a cold drink, loaded with lime … get another cold drink, full of bubbles … and yet another one, just water, to cool off … eat lunch – cold, ripe tomatoes, in a salad … eat a snack … and another one later … walk around camp, shoot the mountains … open a magazine with a yawn … and another one … read the weird, 800 pages book, what else is there to do in a lounge chair when the sun is baking your skull through the awning above?! what else are summers for other than losing them in endless pages?! … look at the time... only half past one … the sun at its peakest … the heat, liquid in the buggy, dry air …

… a tickle is barely felt … right there... above the ankle... a bite and a twitch … must be ants … again … it will leave a mark ...

… for a brief second, looking up from the book … the air is littered with dragon flies, butterflies and no-nos … chasing each other, with so much energy, losing (perhaps not losing, but giving up) track of where they're coming from and where to they're going … the trees above, on the steep slopes are hinting of fall … shhh … don't say the 'f' word too loud, not even too loud in your thoughts... it's August still … we shall persist …

… another snack tastes like garlic … and yet another one like chocolate … just eating our minutes away … looked at the watch again … only 10 minutes have passed – feels like eternity …

… unnamed and unseen birds are squealing … maybe they're happy … maybe a snake ate their babies … or maybe it's just summerlust … shrieks and wings flutters above the water … ahhh, the water – the stream trickling like a broken faucet, over the rocks … crystal clear, inviting like a perfect host, the sky and forest to get lost into its reflection … beside the timeless water and the birds, there is an eternal buzz in the air, maybe the deaf sound of the time passing, but could very well be a cicada or a snake … it's splendor in the tall grasses ... we're swallowed ... 

… the silky peace of the summer afternoon is ripped to shreds by gun shots … and then again … I startle … we're in the West, all right: rocky cliffs, prairie grass and gun shots … if Buffalo Bill would wake up from his eternal slumber, he would feel right at home … shovel nearby, to round up the décor … 

... there is no smell ... the air so dry, it could break with a crunch - you can feel it in your dry nostrils ... but no smell ... no pines around ... only sage and juniper, crispy from heat ... prairie grass is odorless ... just dust ... not more ...  

… eventually, the sun gets lazy, too, and slips itself, slowly, at first and then gaining more speed behind the mountain … dusk feels like someone left the fridge door open and a surreal coolness blasts at our warm, sun-tired faces, and the shade takes over the earth with a newly found loud shriek of 'a-aaahhh'... we get hungry ... yes, again … we make fire and cook like cowboys – beans, sausages, corn …finally, we smell like wood and bacon ... 

… the next day, a morning hike to loosen our joints … take in the morning heat fighting with the dew … a baby rattler crosses our path, just in case there was any doubt that we're in The Rockies, anymore …

… we leave empty … empty of stress and empty of whatever humanity tried to put in us the weeks before … it all stays at the campsite ... we just dumped, we poured all our city stuff out there, with the rattlers, the dragon flies, and washed it off in the river … it will go down with the water, purifying us, into the world, and beyond that, into the oceans … it all recirculates … we head home empty of 'stuff' and ready to feel anew and crisp again … whatever life will have in store for us now, we're ready …

 

Our camping spot - beneath the mountain, along the river ... 

 

A hint of fall ...

 

The wild life 

 

Can you hear anything at all, besides the water drops and the sun melting the leaves?! 

 

Lazy fire in the evening 

How Not to Die or Give Up While Climbing a Mountain

The Timpanogos Cave Trail Adventure

Till a week ago, the most difficult trail I can remember ever attempting was The Shoals Falls Loop Trail in South Mountains State Park in NC, or the Hot Pots trail, in Diamond Fork Canyon, in Utah.

But both trails quickly fade in comparison to the Timpanogos Cave Trail, in American Fork Canyon, which kicked my butt!

My husband attempted to climb it 10 years ago. In worse shape than he is now, although younger, and on a 100F+ day in the middle of summer, with no water on hand, he and his friend made it half way up the mountain and turned around. They never made it to the cave.

I will let you read on the specifics of the trail on your own, but I want to tell you about my own experience.

First, I have been intrigued about this cave since I moved here, simply, first, because I love caves. It’s one of those “face your fears” deals for me: I am terrified of bats, and I am not crazy about complete darkness, either. But I love what God and Nature conspire to do inside the belly of the world! And unlike the bottom of the ocean, where I would need special skills to go visit, there are no special skills or instructions required to see a cave.

Then, everyone I know in this area has not only been to the cave, but have climbed The Timpanogos (mountain), a 14 mile trail, which takes you up 11K feet high above the valley floor! Loving heights as much as I do, and looking upon open vistas, I was craving for years to lay my eyes on this beautiful landscape as seen from up there.

I promise my husband every summer that “this year, we’ll do the cave” and yet, for 4 years, we have not done it. So, this year was the year of the cave!

We each got a liter and a half of water to take with us, 6 clementines and a breakfast bar, good shoes and a good night sleep before the trip. And on the Sunday of Labor Day, we reserved our tickets to start the hike at 12.15 PM! My husband was dubious still, all the way to the trail head. And beyond.

In what follows, it’s the story of this hike, in pictures, and words:

It was actually chilly start, in the shade! The weather announced 78 for a high that day, which is perfect hiking weather, but it felt more like 68 to me, hence the sweater:

Right after this picture was taken, my husband dropped his bottle of water into the abyss below us! Oh, no! We were left with just my bottle – just one and a half liter for both of us, and a mile and a half of steep, steep canyon to climb! Will we make it?!

On the climb up, we kept seeing people with lots less water than us, and eating salty snacks, coming back, so we figured if we conserve our snacks and energy we’d be fine with the water we had left!

The trail is paved all the way up – which always made me believe that it’s no big deal. However, “steep” does not even begin to describe it! It is breakneck steep! It’s almost “straight up”, as if you were to rock climb Angels Landing in Zion! Seriously!

At every bend in the road (and there are many, as the trail snakes back and forth through rocky terrain), you feel like your knees, your liver, your chest are going to give up on you and this is your end. Right here, on the Timp Cave trail! 

This is one of the many pictures my husband took of the steep-ness and winding-ness of the trail: we are at one of the bends in the road when we took this shot:

From almost every angle we looked down in the valley from, we saw this abrupt, endless, and humbling beauty below: it was just quite literally breath-taking. I know this is a cliche, but I really don't have any other words for it: the vistas below kept us going and wanting  for more: more angles, more canyon clearance, more flora, more ... and more and more ...:

 

We were thrilled to learn that there are markers to tell you how far along you are in your journey: of course, tourist geeks that we are, we took pictures at every marker: here's me at the 1/4 way spot, right before entering a mini-tunnel:

The terrain is all rock, as you'd expect, in Utah. On every stopping point, you see these huge walls shouting up towards the sky, protecting you from falling off the cliffs. And then nothing but more rock beyond:

 

Although we had a set time for the cave tour, at the top (1:45 PM), we were in no hurry: we stopped not only to rest but also to take in the landscape, near and far. There are lots of up close beauties on the trail, like these flowers springing right off the boulders, or this trunk being one with the desert:

   

Such simple and plain and quiet beauty!  

Because the mountain is so steep and full of loose rocks and boulders, there are many areas throughout the trail marked as " no stop zones" - notice the yellow line in the middle of the trail: you are not supposed to stop in those areas, because of the increased danger for avalanches - this was killing me, because whether feeling dead or not, you could not rest. You had to keep on going:

 

This is me at the 3/4 way mark. Can you tell I am almost ready to die?! 

 

These are more amazing vistas we walked above of: the road you see winding about in the valley is the Alpine Loop, or the bottom of the American Fork Canyon. And the town in the distance is American Fork: 

 

  

To keep it ever so interesting, almost right towards the end of the trail, we found this sign: really, after being over a mile away from civilization, close to the top of this mountain, with the canyon only a mirage picture below us, you warn me about rattle snakes?? And really, do they know to stay off my trail, so I can be safe?!

 

This is me almost close to the end: I just could not believe I was towering over these gapes. I always say that photography never makes justice to mountain pictures because it doesn't matter what lens you use, you always lose in depth and width. Only the naked eye can understand the impact:

 

 My husband was so proud of himself (and I of both of us!) when we reached this sign. He needed a shot for his friend that attempted the hike 10 years ago and never saw this landmark:

 

Right after that shot, we started to see some sign of human presence, and we figured this will be the end of our "beautiful" ordeal: a rooftop, which meant, probably: the entrance to the cave!

 

And this is us, finally, at the entrance of the cave. You have no idea the elation and the excitement we felt when we finally saw the sign and started seeing the park rangers welcoming us:

 

After a 45 minute to an hour tour of the three caves (the Hansen, Middle and Timapnogos Caves), we came out at an even higher spot than where we walked in. I felt like I was really on top of the world, as it seemed like there was no mountain higher than where we were standing at this point:  

 

Not only the beauty, but the chilly breeze and the complete serenity and quietness of the moment were overwhelming. No car noise, no stream, nothing by the wind swishing in your hair was to be heard. If the heart of the cave lets you experience complete and total darkness, the top of the mountain offers you complete and total quietude on this planet.

It's here that we had our "lunch": the breakfast bar and the clementines - the sweetest oranges I have ever tasted - the lavish reward of a hike accomplished:

  

When we finally reached the bottom of the trail, that we had left almost 4 hours before, we took a shot of the park sign, for posterity: 

 

I am exhausted but happy and so much richer than 4 hours before!  

What makes this journey more amazing is the fact that although we love hiking, we are not healthy people! We attempt only "easy" hikes. We are not fit people. We are not even physically active people in my mind (although my husband would beg to differ about me, there). But we took it slow and steady, we reveled in the beauty ahead of us and we conquered the mountain. 

Only half of the water bottle was gone, at the end, and all of the food. We were so starved after it all, and completely threw all good sense to the wind and gorged on chicken wings, steak, mashed potatoes, salads and cheese fries for dinner! The waitress didn't understand how two people could order half of the menu. But if we were to die, we were going to die happy. And full. 

Would I do it again?! Only when my body will forget this pain it's been in for a week! 

I definitely recommend that anyone should attempt it at least once. 

Here's the most famous formation inside the Timpanogos cave: the Great Heart of the Timpanogos. Click on the picture to see the entire album, and all of the cave shots of all the eerie formations:

 Both Aa. and I agreed: when we have guests in Utah, in the next several months, we will encourage them to climb the trail. We, however, might be waiting for them with a picnic, at the bottom of the mountain. That, and a cold bottle of beer. Maybe two years from now, our bodies will forget and we might join. But not before then! Till then, you're all on your own.