A few days ago I was invited to canyoneer Zion NP's Mystery Canyon. It's a 5- or 6-mile affair with a lot of slot canyon, 9 rappels adding up to 440', a few pools and waterfalls, which finishes with a 120' rappel into the Virgin River in the Narrows not far beyond where the pavement ends.
So we did that today. It was beautiful, fun, and all you'd expect it to be. The friends I went with are National Park Service rangers and funny/cool companions for outdoor outings like this: Rachael, Jon, Chad and Jason (plus Tim and Joel the next day for Beheunin Canyon - with another 1,100' of rappelling).
I could tell you about how hard we sometimes worked to stay out of the water at the base of the rappels, how nice the harmonica sounded as we hiked along the flat, sandy area of the canyon, how stunningly, beautifully green the moss was as we began
the final rap to the river and how tempting it seemed to just disconnect from the rope and go zipping down (not really - the river was only a foot or two deep and filled with big rocks), and so on, but I won't, except that I already did, but I won't elaborate, because what's the point?
I noticed today that some experiences - perhaps most - are just to be had. Not shared. Because if you start thinking about how you would describe such moments, you're no longer 100% there, just present and experiencing it for yourself.
Dividing your attention by thinking about anything or anyone else detracts from the sense of being completely alive - right here, right now, enjoying only the sensation of how it feels to put your hand against this rock, to lean a shoulder against that one, step fluidly down a series of boulders and jump to a sandy, dry riverbed.
So I'll let the photos tell the story and say nothing more.
A few days ago I was invited to canyoneer Zion NP's Mystery Canyon. It's a 5- or 6-mile affair with a lot of slot canyon, 9 rappels adding up to 440', a few pools and waterfalls, which finishes with a 120' rappel into the Virgin River in the Narrows not far beyond where the pavement ends.
So we did that today. It was beautiful, fun, and all you'd expect it to be. The friends I went with are National Park Service rangers and funny/cool companions for outdoor outings like this: Rachael, Jon, Chad and Jason (plus Tim and Joel the next day for Beheunin Canyon - with another 1,100' of rappelling).
I could tell you about how hard we sometimes worked to stay out of the water at the base of the rappels, how nice the harmonica sounded as we hiked along the flat, sandy area of the canyon, how stunningly, beautifully green the moss was as we began
the final rap to the river and how tempting it seemed to just disconnect from the rope and go zipping down (not really - the river was only a foot or two deep and filled with big rocks), and so on, but I won't, except that I already did, but I won't elaborate, because what's the point?
I noticed today that some experiences - perhaps most - are just to be had. Not shared. Because if you start thinking about how you would describe such moments, you're no longer 100% there, just present and experiencing it for yourself.
Dividing your attention by thinking about anything or anyone else detracts from the sense of being completely alive - right here, right now, enjoying only the sensation of how it feels to put your hand against this rock, to lean a shoulder against that one, step fluidly down a series of boulders and jump to a sandy, dry riverbed.
So I'll let the photos tell the story and say nothing more.
I agree with your point. Sometimes I feel that way when I have a camera in hand. I want to take a picture so I’ll always remember, but then later when I look at it I remember how I was too distracted with taking the picture that I never really got to feel the whole experience of living that moment. What’s a person to do?! 😉
I have tried to explain that feeling so many time Shaun, you beet me to it.
My inner-teacher used to want to capture and share everything on paper, photo, and audio. Now I’m realizing that part of being a teacher is to simply invite people to live and breathe and be their own experiences. It’s like the difference between reading a commentary of your favorite classic book to a friend, and suggesting they read the classic straight and derive their own experience.