See ya, no longer gonna be ya
On November 26th, 2019 I said goodbye to traditional work. I’m no longer trading my time for money or earning a W2 paycheck. It’s been a bumpy road. I thought I’d take a moment to share with you how I said “Thanks” and embraced this new life of abundance, adventure, and one where time is mine to make. It’s our family’s story of our 2019 Thanksgiving trip to a remote wilderness cabin in the woods, a trip where we snowshoed ourselves up, up, and away to peace, quiet, and solitude. While it was quite enjoyable, it wasn’t all roses, there was a little bit of ‘suck’ along the way. This is our story of how we embraced the suck and made memories of a lifetime!
Off we go, into the wild white yonder!
I was intentional with planning when I would leap from traditional employment into this wonky version of retirement I now found myself in. The goal was to have maximized all of the perks from my employer, given ample transition time to my successor, and then be free to fully enjoy the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Armed with those expectations, I decided that November 26th—just two days before Thanksgiving—would be my optimal date for embarkation on the good-ship lollipop known as early-retirement.
As that date drew near, I was a bit of a mess. There was a constant barrage of thoughts on whether I was making a giant mistake or if I hadn’t fully considered the consequences of what I was about to do. That said, and with a whole lotta encouragement from my amazing wife, I kept with the plan and pulled the proverbial trigger. BANG!
To jump-start this new life of adventure and uniqueness I figured that our Thanksgiving should be adventurous and unique. Boy, was it!
A little backstory: we live in Colorado, we’re natives and love all that she has to offer no matter the season. One of our favorite winter activities is skiing and snowboarding. I decided to make our 2019 Thanksgiving holiday a truly unique holiday over this new threshold of our lives by heading up to the mountains. We’d don some snowshoes and skis, then march ourselves—and Thanksgiving dinner along with two additional days of food—up to a remote hut/cabin that is part of a large network of primitive, backcountry cabins throughout the mountains of Colorado. We wouldn’t have cell service (or so we thought), we wouldn’t have electricity or distractions, we wouldn’t have the hurriedness and drama of trying to bounce around to four different sets of families over the course of 4 days. In my mind, this was a perfect way to convey gratitude and soak up life.
We set off. We left the comfy coziness of the warm car, stepped out into the crisp air, and began to march our way out and up toward our Thanksgiving destination—The 10th Mountain Division Hut. On the map, it showed a meager 4.4 miles of uphill travel to reach the cabin. During a typical summer backpack (no snow and lighter packs), we’d be able to cover that ground in about 2 hours. However, when you toss in some heavier packs, add a few pounds of snow-flotation to your feet, and sprinkle in a few inches of fresh powder to bust through, you will find yourself a touch slower than normal, like, sssslllllooooowwww, slow kind of slow.
As we gradually ascended, our wonderful daughters (ages 14 and 9) kept up their good spirits. We shared stories, songs, and even some peace and quiet with one another. The first several hours were quite magical. There is a stillness and serenity one encounters on a snowy-winter hike that cannot be found anywhere. There are places and times that have come close, but there’s something about laying fresh tracks in the virgin snow without so much as a whisper of another person’s voice that truly defines peace. I’m pretty sure we were all enjoying ourselves those first several hours. Of course, we had to make some adjustments to packs and snowshoes—this was the first time the girls had been snowshoeing, after all. Around the four-hour mark, however, things started to change. The stories and laughter came fewer and farther between. The laughter and excited comments—“Oooh, look at that!”—became non-existent. But, we marched on.
I usually have a GPS device or app with me for outdoor excursions. My family knows this. It’s a blessing and a curse. The curse, they know that I’ve got it; they know that I’m the gatekeeper to happiness, because…I can either dish out a, “We’re almost there!” OR the dreaded, “It’s not too far, just a few more miles.”
Hint: It never feels like just a few more miles.
It’s basically like me telling them that Santa Claus butchered the Easter Bunny, instant morale hit. The piercing stares they will give me immediately signal that I’ve once again been demoted to the bad dad—the dastardly father who’s dragging my family out on another full-fledged outdoor-suffer-fest.
The winter’s afternoon sun was quickly making its way to the horizon. I was starting to think we’d be finishing our stroll by headlamp and in much colder temperatures. I wasn’t worried about our safety but I knew this was going to take the mood down a few more notches—we were already deep into the red at this point. Thankfully, this didn’t happen. It was dusk by the time we rounded the final outcropping of trees before the homestretch meadow, but it wasn’t dark! Better yet, there was smoke billowing from the chimney of our woodsy retreat. Score! We could toast our little tootsies as soon as we got there and we wouldn’t have to spend time building a fire. Granted, we still had Thanksgiving dinner to cook, eat, and clean up, and we were all full-on exhausted.
Fast forward to later that evening. Once we warmed our icy bones a bit by the fire, found the rooms we’d be staying in, and introduced ourselves to our Thanksgiving companion (sorry, friend, but your name escapes memory), Deb and I went into happy-holiday cooking mode.
Our kitchen was primitive but sufficient. There was no running water nor electricity. For water, we continuously dumped buckets of snow into an enormous pot that rested atop the wood-burning fireplace. The process is quite simple: fill up a 5-gallon pail of snow, haul it inside and place it in the large pot, wait for it to slowly melt into a cup of water.
For cooking methods, we had two options: 1) propane burners which quite resembled cooking on a gas range in a typical kitchen and 2) the wood-burning stove—complete with 6 cast-iron burner-plates, oven, and wood box. Being the old-timey and nostalgic fella that I am, I was drawn to the old-school method of the wood-burning stove. I got to learn a new skill and pretend I was Davey Crockett for a spell. The kitchen was also furnished with many different pots and pans, utensils, and other tools of the cooking trade. While it wasn’t the same as cooking at home, in my opinion, it was better than a lot of the Airbnbs we’ve stayed in.
Debbie was the chef du jour of our backpacking Thanksgiving meal. Our Thanksgiving menu consisted of ground turkey with sage, wild rice, walnuts, and currants as our main course. The sides were instant mashed potatoes, boxed stuffing, and a botched jalapeno cheddar cornbread. For dessert, the crème de la crème, rehydrated apple pie filling with a crumble topping. The dessert was a big hit for our family and we had plenty to share with our cabin mate. We were stuffed and oh so tired by the time we were done eating. The girls were occupying themselves with games of Uno and watching the wonders of dancing flames in the fireplace. Thankfully, the cabin has a refrigerator, of sorts, in the form of an outdoor wooden closet. We packaged up our leftovers and stowed them away. Then we unfurled our sleeping bags to rest our weary little heads for the evening.
In total, our trip was planned to be three days and two nights. On the morning of day two, our new friend joined us for coffee and breakfast before he headed out to do some resort skiing that afternoon in Summit county. According to the registration website, we were to have a few more cabinmates that evening (six to eight, as I recall). The weather wasn’t quite as pleasant as the day before. It was colder, windier, and there were spurts of snow flurries throughout. I wondered if the group that would be coming up that afternoon might pull the plug and stay in their warm and comfortable homes on this Black Friday. It turns out, they did. We spent the day playing many games of Uno, reading quietly alone, paging through all of the cool and creative entries in the cabin’s guest book, and building a snow fort.
It was a slow day. It was a quiet day. It was peaceful. We snacked on Thanksgiving leftovers and steadily fed the fire and melted snow. It was primitive, simple, and amazing.
As day turned to night, the flurries turned to outright blizzard. Uh oh! We were going to leave on the morrow with the intention to return to civilization. Would this storm let up overnight, or would we have to endure some actual suffering in order to make our escape? We knew not, but silently those thoughts were spinning through each of our heads as we said goodnight and dozed off to the howls of an angry wind taking out her vengeance on our quaint, cabin hideaway.
The sun rose (kinda) on our final day and we were greeted to both a wonderfully beautiful and horrific site: snow, snow, and more snow. In places, the drifts would be measured in feet. Our tracks from before were definitely covered and the journey out would not be an easy one. While the snowfall had eased a bit, the wind was still thrumming with a feverish intensity. We had a decision to make: stay another night or take flight?
We carefully considered our options and we each cast our votes (by way of tossing a Yay or Nay into a hat). Lilah and Claire were the polling officials and read each vote aloud. I was pretty confident we’d arrive at a split vote, with Lilah and Deb choosing to stay and Chris and Claire opting to endure the blizzard. To my surprise, it was a unanimous let’s-boogy-on-out-of-here’s vote from all four. Time to suit up. We agreed that after an hour of making our way out, we’d take another poll on whether we kept going or not. If any one of us decided it was smarter and safer to turn back, we would. No ifs, ands, or buts, as they say.
We set off with every inch of our skin fully protected from the wind’s chilling bite. It was hard work. When I was breaking trail, the snow would cover one to two feet over my skis at times and reach up to my knees. This was going to be tough and tedious. The trail, as we expected, was nowhere to be found. Our map, memories, skills, and GPS would hopefully be enough to safely get us home.
Over the years of countless miles and hiking, my family has grown into quite a band of outdoor adventurers. No longer do we rely solely on the old man to get us to places and remember which drainage or ridge we ascended. Now, our family of four is equipped with multiple decision-makers and trailblazers. Many a time I wanted to take us down into a drainage and Debbie would correct me and get us back to the proper route. At times, I trusted in Lilah and Claire to spot the next blue-diamond blaze in the trees which marked our next milestone.
Slowly and exhaustingly, we made our down, down, down. Once we got back to the trees we found reprieve from the insatiable wind. As the forest became denser, we even caught traces of our tracks from two days before. Whew! Once, from a distance, we even heard snowmobiles—civilization was close! The peace of mind that comes from knowing you’re on the true route and working your way back to the exact destination is hard to describe. We were in good spirits now. We knew that we’d soon be back to civilization and the hustle and bustle of everyday life back in town.
While we enjoyed our snowy retreat, we were ready to sleep in warm beds, flush away our poo in a toilet that wasn’t a freezing outhouse, and get back to our new normal. This may not be our new Thanksgiving tradition, but we’ll be back. The wonderful thing about nostalgia is that she erases the emotionally low points and turns them into a comedy. She preserves the emotional highs and leaves you with those moments of bliss—“Dad, remember when we…?”
If you ever find yourself in need of an adventure of a lifetime and extreme peace and calm, I highly recommend finding a nature getaway like this. You can learn more at 10th Mountain Division’s site
Happy Trails!
A master in the art of living draws no sharp distinction between his work and his play; his labor and his leisure; his mind and his body; his education and his recreation. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence through whatever he is doing, and leaves others to determine whether he is working or playing. To himself, he always appears to be doing both.
Ralph Waldo Emerson