Brianna Randall

Backpacking with kids is worth the whining

5 reasons to spend a weekend in the wilderness with your children

Photos (C) Rob Roberts

“You sure have a high misery tolerance,” my friend Linsey remarks cheerfully, as she passes us on the trail. I gaze after her wistfully, coveting her easy pace as Talon screams and writhes in the pack on my back.

It’s a Friday evening in mid-July, and we’re hiking straight up the Swan Mountains to camp near some backcountry lakes for the weekend. Even though it’s mid-July, the temperature is plummeting toward freezing, and the threatening grey clouds and howling wind aren’t helping my frame of mind. Quite possibly nothing would help my frame of mind, though, since bringing a baby on a backpacking trip does indeed entail a certain level of misery.

On Trail - Rocky Mountain Front — Rob and Talon check out the view in Blackleaf Canyon on the Rocky Mountain Front.

Every time Rob and I start down a trail–with Talon on my back, and 50 pounds of camping gear on his–I vow within five minutes to never do it again. Somehow, we do it the next weekend anyway. Are we gluttons for punishment? Obviously.

We stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that our lives might not be as adventurous as before. But the real reason we keep hitting the trails, misery and all, is because by the end of the weekend in the woods, we’re both glad we got out in the wilderness.

Talon loves putting up the tent, since the poles are shiny.

Backpacking with a baby is hard. First there’s the whining, and kicking, and hair-pulling. Then there’s the poopy diapers–do you haul the dirty ones out? Use cloth diapers and bury the poo? (It’s a lose-lose situation either way.) Once you get to camp, it’s only slightly easier. You have to manage the wee babe for sunburn and bugs, and constantly corral him from crawling off boulders or tottering into the cook stove.

The hardest part, though, is actually the non-stop, nagging voice in my head: “This used to be fun. What if backpacking is never fun again? What if life is never fun again?” Single-track trail often breeds existential crisis–or at least walking alone for long periods adds fuel to the fire. I find, though, that if I walk for long enough, my footsteps eventually: 1) rock Talon to sleep, and 2) bring my thoughts (now influenced by the peaceful quiet of a sleeping baby) full circle to: “Life is awesome, and backpacking is the bomb.”

Picking huckleberries during a break on the trail in the Swan Mountains.

This cycle of misery and joy repeats more often, and with bigger peaks and valleys, than a typical day at home. Playing in the tent with a giggling baby is exhilarating; taking the 87th rock out of Talon’s mouth is exhausting. Catching a trout in the lake is a triumph; trying to cook it while Talon tips toward the flames is terrifying.

We’ve taken three backpacking trips with Talon this summer to three different mountain ranges in Montana. All in all, the impetus for our continued expeditions boils down to the fact that we love immersing ourselves in the wilderness, and enjoy introducing Talon to the magic of lakes, peaks, and trails, too.

A tight two-man tent with all three of us is hours of fun for Talon and redefines "snuggling" at night. — A tight two-man tent with all three of us is hours of fun for Talon and redefines “snuggling” at night.

Here’s why I think it’s worth packing a baby into the woods:

1. You’ll have stories to tell. Regale your friends and family with exaggerated tales of your exploits and mis-adventures in the woods: “And then Talon took a header down the talus field toward the lake! But we caught him before that hawk swooped down to try and grab him.” They’ll think you’re insane, of course, but that’s half the fun.

2. Car camping becomes a walk in the park. Pitching a tent without having to carry it and your kid uphill several miles feels liberating. Plus, you can bring beer, games, and a big roomy tent instead of the two-man-that’s-really-a-one-man setup (which puts new meaning into the word “snuggle”).

3. It makes your home seem like a dream come true. Returning to the house lends a new appreciation for luxuries like running water, cribs, chairs, and countertops above your baby’s reach. The rooms that might have felt claustrophobic all week before your trip suddenly seem like lovely, comfy, safe zones for you and babe.

4. You get alone time surrounded by beauty. Once the baby falls asleep on your back (or switches to your partner’s back), the quiet reverberates ten-fold in the absence of his babble. The leaves look sharper, the air feels crisper, the peaks seem closer. You can breathe more deeply and think more clearly than ever before.

5. It builds endurance. Backpacking with a baby is a physical and mental strength-training exercise. Your muscle tone will improve, as will your reservoir of patience. As your tolerance for misery increases, so does your capacity for joy.

So, there you have it. Let me know how it goes if you brave the trail with a wee one on your back

Snow

10 Best Snow Games To Play With Kids

Get kids outside, whether you’ve got 2 feet or 2 inches of snow

This story appeared in REI’s Co-Op Journal.

It’s five o’clock on a Wednesday in the middle of winter. The sun is about to set and the streets are unappealingly slushy with days-old snow. In your cozy living room, the kids are bouncing off the walls, ready to release some energy after a long day indoors—and, if you’re being honest, the adults are, too!

Sound familiar? It’s challenging to get outside as often as we like in the winter. Traditional snow-based recreation activities, like ice-skating, snowboarding or cross-country skiing, aren’t always accessible or cost-effective. And sending the kids out to build yet another snow person loses its cachet after the novelty of the first few snowfalls wears off. Next time everyone feels stir-crazy, bundle up, step outside and break out one of the games from the list below.

From ‘Capture the Flag’ or ‘Tic-Tac-Snow’ to ‘Dodgeball’ and ‘Pin the Nose on the Snowman’, these top 10 snow games are sure to keep you giggling and get you moving.

Read about the games here >

Camping, Paddling, Water

What to Do When Family Adventures Don’t Go as Planned

This excerpt is from a post published by OARS, a rafting & adventure travel company. Check ’em out!

Photo above courtesy of OARS.com

By Brianna Randall

Ever been peed on by your toddler while running a Class IV rapid? Or perhaps you’ve had to clean your son’s vomit off the gear just before the start of a long-awaited family vacation to a national park, and then woke up to everyone puking near the tent later that night. Or maybe you once drove four hours to meet family friends for a three-day paddling trip then realized that you forgot everyone’s sleeping bags … and the kids’ PFDs.

I, unfortunately, get to check “yes” to all of the above. My husband and I explore outside with our young children almost every weekend, but our family adventures don’t go as planned 99% of the time.

Sometimes that means we endure inconvenient or uncomfortable situations (par for the course most days as a parent, whether you’re adventuring outside or not). But other times meeting our kids’ needs means that we stumble upon a spectacular hot spring when we have to switch rafting itineraries, or that we get to swim with dolphins because we stopped kayaking (again) for snacks to avoid a meltdown.

Getting into nature with young children can be challenging, to say the least. Many parents may feel overwhelmed by the logistics or perceived risks of venturing outside with their children.

But the benefits are worth the hassle. Research shows that being in nature relieves stress, increases creativity, and encourages kindness and generosity.

Whether rafting, walking, birdwatching or camping, outdoor adventures support emotional and physical well-being for the whole family. Exploring outside draws kids away from screens, and helps them connect with people and the world around them. Plus, working as a team during family outings helps kids problem-solve and learn new skills.

Convinced of the pros for braving outdoor activities with your family? Read these tips on how to tackle challenges during family adventures with kids!

Sailing in the Bahamas with kids is a blast!

Sailing, Water

Welcome To Paradise (Half Of The Time)

Sailing with (or without) kids isn’t always picture-perfect. But the rain and bugs and broken bits are worth it for the good days.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and we’ve just anchored our sailboat in six feet of clear green water a stone’s throw from a couple of deserted islands. But rather than kicking back with a cocktail to watch the sunset, Rob is sweating as he dissects the outboard motor to figure out why it’s overheating. I’m wrestling a pen away from the screaming toddler, who’s tattooed herself in blue ink from forehead to naval and is melting down in her fourth tantrum of the afternoon. Talon is jumping up and down while making fart noises and asking for more hot dogs, ready to run a marathon. Meanwhile, the wind has died so the mosquitoes descend.

Welcome to paradise.

Thank goodness we knew what we were getting into. Since Rob and I spent a year crewing on boats in the Pacific Ocean and are seasoned adventure travelers, we know that the ratio of good to not-so-good days is roughly one to one. Just like regular life, really. Except warmer and wetter.

When we stepped aboard Mikat (a 36-foot 2006 Jaguar catamaran sailboat that we bought in partnership with two other families this past October), everyone was awash in glee. Six weeks in the Bahamas on a boat! Our dreams come true! Sun and sand and colorful coral reefs. Time to be present and together as a family. Freedom from offices and errands and urban distractions. A space where shoes and clothing are optional.

We were fully aware that all of that magic comes with (many) grains of salt. Here are a few snapshots from our first two weeks aboard to give you a feel for the rhythm:

Snorkeling

Talon swims beside me over a shallow reef decorated in purple and gold fans. He stops to point excitedly at a pair of parrotfish, their rainbow colors swirling as they circle through a cave in the reef. Then we turn and see a spotted eagle ray gliding past, six feet across at her wingtips with intricate white rings and dots across the velvet black body, the slow flap of her peaceful swim settling into my bones.

Just one month before we left for the Bahamas, Talon was terrified to put his face in the water. But now he’s jumping off the boat alone ten times a day, duck-diving with his fins, and the first one to ask to go snorkeling. And Lyra. She leaps off the transom into our arms, and climbs up and down the swim ladder herself. When we snorkel, she kicks along in her life jacket beside us, giggling at the waves.

Leaks

It’s been raining most of the past 24 hours. We rotate less-sodden towels around the salon to catch a half-dozen leaks, constantly moving papers and books and clothes to keep them semi-dry. At night we can’t open the windows for air, so the sheets feel like draping wet paper towels over our clammy skin. Mildew is growing in nooks and crannies, coating clothes in a fuzz of pale blue. Everyone is restless and impatient. The floors—and our moods—are coated in a slimy film of saltwater and mist. My fingers have been pruned all day.

The Bow

At sunrise and sunset the kids play on the bow, jumping on the “trampoline” of netting between the two hulls. They climb up the roof and into the mainsail, pretending to sleep. Talon launches himself back and forth on a swing that Rob made out of an old fishing net we found washed up on shore. Lyra balances atop the bow set, suspended over water accented with white sand so so bright it’s nearly silver. While most ocean views are infinite shades of blue, the Exuma Islands are heavy on the greens: turquoise, jade, lime.

Sailing

We woke to a side swell rocking the boat in a nauseating teeter-totter. Before the sun’s even up, Rob and I are ready to pull anchor and get outta dodge. But the port engine won’t start, sputtering only black exhaust. Rob miraculously fixes it. But then the starboard engine won’t restart.

We head out with one engine, underestimating the wind and waves. The main halyard twists like a snake, then the traveler jams, then a shackle breaks, and we have too much sail up and I can’t muscle in the furling line. Waves crash repeatedly into the bridge, each one sounding like a canon shot through our hull. Sea spray coats the deck as we try to troubleshoot the blooming problems. Lyra is crying while strapped to my back and Talon is moaning he’s seasick, all while the sails are flogging louder than a jet plane at takeoff. We’re only making 3 knots into the stiff wind, so it takes three hours until we collapse in a heap at a calm anchorage.

But of course, there’s no resting. Instead, we must feed the kids endless snacks, settle disputes over the few favorite toys, keep them from falling into the ocean or sunburning to a crisp. Our only hour of calm is the one between their bedtime and ours.

Hokey-Pokey

I stretch into yoga poses on the beach in front of Mikat, thrilled that we’re the only people for miles in any direction. Talon is building complicated sand castles near the water, making them “stronger than the ocean.” Lyra is beside him, babbling as she fills and empties plastic bottles she’s collected, turning trash into treasure. Rob is stalking the beach with a fly rod in hand, wetsuit still on from his spearfishing expedition around the point. I wander over to the kids, and we dance the hokey-pokey in the buff.

Rob Roberts and his son, struggling to transition to parenthood

Family and Friends, Parenting, Pregnancy

When Postpartum Depression Stole My Husband

I thought only new moms could get mood disorders. But dads like Rob can get it, too.

In 2014, just a few weeks after we returned from our sailing trip across the Pacific, Rob began suffering from insomnia, paralyzing indecision and panic attacks. I was six months pregnancy, and didn’t understand what was happening. Rob had always been the even-keeled one, the one singing aloud in the grocery store and keeping his cool in crises. Neither of us had any previous experience with mental illness.

I attributed Rob’s symptoms to the fact that we were adjusting back life in the United States after spending a year abroad, both of us stressed as we searched for jobs and prepared to become parents.

I had hoped that everything would get better after the baby came, that seeing his son’s face would reset the broken parts of Rob’s mind. Instead, everything shattered into finer pieces — he became sullen and suicidal, convinced that he was doomed.

Although Rob was eventually diagnosed with general anxiety disorder and severe depression, the psychiatrist never linked the illnesses to the changes associated with becoming a father…even though research has shown that up to one-quarter of American dads are afflicted with postpartum mental illness.

This month I shared our story in The Washington Post. Although I don’t go into the backstory of Rob’s illness (our year footloose and fancy-free, hitchhiking on sailboats in the tropics!), our experience sailing the Pacific is forever juxtaposed against the following year, spent in a sea of mental anguish. My memoir details both years, and I hope to find a publisher for it soon.

Meanwhile, I hope you’ll read the short version of our story here, and share it with other families who might be suffering from parental mental illness in silence.

In lighter-hearted news, I’ve started a new blog called Adventure Families. If you’d like to continue reading my stories about exploring outside with kids, sign up here to receive posts in your inbox. This blog will be dormant for a while as I focus on the new one 🙂

Read The Washington Post article >>

Alpaca raft as a dinghy for our sailboat on Flathead Lake.

Sailing, Water

Boating With Kamikaze Toddlers

When sailing with young kids, get off the boat often. (Seriously.)

This spring we bought a sailboat. It’s a half-century old, 22 feet long, and arrived in our driveway with “some assembly required.” Since sailing is my favorite hobby, I was ecstatic, envisioning lazy sunny days spent cruising over green lakes beneath blue mountains, followed by calm starry nights with the four of us nestled cozily in sleeping bags as we bobbed atop the water. After all, the boat’s name was Tranquilidad, which means ‘peace’ or ‘calm’ in Spanish.

Then — after some complicated assembly and many hours of repairs — we took her out for the first time. It was neither peaceful nor calm. In fact, after 24 hours aboard with two kids under five, I was half-tempted to leave our little sailboat at the boat ramp, too exhausted to deal with de-masting, unpacking, and re-trailering the damn thing. Spoiler alert: boating with babies is hard.

Let’s start with the one-year-old. Now fully mobile, Lyra was pretty miffed to be corralled in a tiny space. And restrained in a bulky life jacket. She made her dismay known with constant piercing screams and loud, grating cries.

Unfortunately, she figured out how to climb up on the narrow cockpit bench where she enjoyed jumping, surfing, running, reaching over the side, and otherwise attempting to kill herself. Reason, as you know, does not work on toddlers.

So we we tried to distract her from kamikaze behavior by offering toys down in the cabin. But she was more interested in dad’s shiny fishing lures, narrowly avoiding impaling herself on the hook. I tried food next, but she squeezed applesauce all over the bed and stomped the goldfish into orange dust on the floor.

Finally, I strapped her to my back with a sun hat atop her head, hoping she would nap so we could sail for a measly half-hour. She threw the hat overboard.

Now on to the five-year-old. Talon is a seasoned sailor, and no longer tries to hurl himself overboard. He also understands rational instructions and wears his life jacket happily. Whew. However, his enthusiasm for the sailboat was nearly as intense as the one-year-old’s frustration with it.

He wanted to fish, then snorkel, then swing from the boom, then paddle the inflatable dinghy … all within the first four minutes aboard. Helping him bounce safely between activities required one adult while the other parent dealt with sails, rudders, ropes and his screaming sister.

Finally, we anchored, nosing into a nook bordered by willows where the river flowed into the lake. The sunset was splendid, the peaks of the Swan Mountains spectacular, the still water a mirror of both. Rob and I took deep breaths (and maybe a shot of whiskey). Talon pointed out beavers and loons and herons as we ate dinner. Lyra smeared most of the noodles on her shirt, but babbled happily at the birds.

Once both kids were asleep, Rob and I settled on the cockpit benches in our own sleeping bags, watching nighthawks eat moths as the moon rose. I drifted off to sleep.

Until it started to rain on my face.

We scrambled to move bags and dishes, setting up a makeshift bed on the sofa/dining table. Somehow, we wedged both our bodies into the small space and actually fell asleep again.

Until Lyra woke crying.

We jigsawed ourselves so I could nurse her. Then, again, fell back asleep.

Until Rob had to pee. Until Talon thunked his head against the hull. Until the loon calls woke me in a panic, sounding like a wounded baby.

And so it went, until morning mercifully came and we started the fun-filled day of “sailing” all over again.

On the bright side, we learned a lot from our first sailboat outing this summer, which made subsequent trips with young kids (a little) easier:

Get off the boat often. We now make sure to paddle to shore to swim, pick huckleberries, climb trees, and otherwise get everyone’s wiggles out. Tight spaces tend to get claustrophobic for everyone, especially toddlers.
Spend more than one night. It’s a lot of work just to get the boat off the trailer and ready to sail, so more time on the water makes the effort worth it. Plus, the kids can get accustomed to the rhythm of the boat and find their own groove by day three.
Factor in alone time. Even 20 minutes of child-free time helps each parent reset. We leave one adult to read quietly on the boat while the other paddles the kids to the beach, or send one parent off to hike or swim while the other reads stories at anchor.

Boating will continue to get easier, I know, just like most things we do with tots in tow. Meanwhile, I might rename our sailboat to something that more aptly describes the vibe aboard: Desorden, maybe, or Ruidoso.

Paddling, Water

How To Canoe With Kids

As we pushed off the shore for our first family canoe trip of the summer, I held my breath. Our one-year-old daughter had protested loudly when I strapped on her life jacket, making me think we might be in for a miserable afternoon. While our son, Talon, had dozens of canoe trips under his size 4T belt, Lyra hadn’t yet been afloat as a busy toddler.

Luckily, Lyra’s screams turned into delighted coos as our boat skimmed across the green water. She bounced between my legs, pointing at the birds and trees. From his perch in the center, Talon picked up his small paddle, proud to help propel us across the lake.

My husband and I are water people. We’ve sailed across the Pacific Ocean, snorkeled around the Caribbean, paddled through the Everglades, and rafted down plenty of wild rivers. Once we had kids, we began integrating them into our adventures from the get-go.

Canoes have been the perfect way for us to introduce our children to the water.

Two years ago we bought a used 15-foot Coleman to explore lakes and rivers near our home in Montana. We’ve since added a small outboard motor and a sail, too. Sometimes we go out for an hour, and sometimes we pile in the camping gear and head out for a week.

Here’s why we recommend canoes for your family, too:

Affordable. This sport is low-risk and low-investment to try out: you can buy a good used canoe for ~$300, or rent one for ~$50/day to try it out first.

Versatile. Canoes come in a wide range of sizes and styles, ranging from sleek wooden boats to wide plastic boats and even inflatable versions. (Hint: these are the cheapest options and easiest to transport, but they don’t last as hard-shell canoes and require more time to inflate/deflate.) Some are designed specifically for speed or to handle whitewater, but all canoes will work on any calm water bodies you want to float.

Simple. It doesn’t take long to learn how to paddle a canoe, even for young kids. You can watch videos online to see the basic steering strokes, or play around in a small pond to figure it out on your own. Plus, these boats can be stored outside, and are maintenance-free!

Easy transport. Most canoe’s weigh 50-80 pounds, which is totally manageable for two adults. They can be placed upside-down on top of your car, no trailer needed. (Hint: foam pool noodles work well to protect your vehicle’s paint if you don’t have a roof rack.)

Sturdy. Aluminum and plastic boats are particularly good for kids, as their tough, washable, and more stable—look for boats with flatter bottoms, which feel less “tippy”. As you might expect, it’s possible to tip over in a canoe, especially with squirmy kids around. Test the stability near the shore, wiggling hips and moving around in the boat to see how much side-to-side leeway you have before it feels uncomfortably. (Hint: We bought these stabilizer pontoon floats for our canoe, which make it super safe and allow us to walk around the boat or stand up to cast for fish.)

Ready to try it out this summer? Here are some tips:

It gets easier. Any new activity is tough at first until everyone learns the ropes. This is doubly true if your kids are young. Remember that even if canoeing isn’t quite as fun as you’d hoped the first couple of times out, you’re building skills that will last you and your kids a lifetime—and give you wonderful bonding opportunities for years to come.
Get excited! Your happiness (or crankiness) is contagious. If you’re thrilled to be on the water, your kids will be, too. Let them help plan the trip and help pack the canoe so the whole family is invested in the outing.
Offer clear rules and rewards. Before you launch, set a few clear safety rules: don’t stand up without asking, no leaning or jumping over the side, keep life jackets on, no whining (ha!). Try offering a reward at the end of the day if they follow the rules, such as a sweet treat or a movie.
Designate a special spot for everyone. Decide which adult will be in the stern (back seat) steering—they have less leeway to help manage the kids. The adult in the bow (front seat) can help paddle forward when needed, but can also take breaks easily. If you have a toddler, stand them between the adult’s legs in the bow where they can see and move around a little. Babies can be worn in a soft carrier. Older kids can sit on the center crossbars or a middle seat (if the canoe has one) to help paddle, or hunker down to play in the bottom of the boat.
Take your time. Like most outings with children in tow, the trip will probably take longer than you think. While you and your partner might want to race across the lake, the kids will enjoy it more if you take plenty of breaks. In fact, much of the joy in canoeing is playing on shore! Stop often at interesting spots to swim, have lunch, and explore islands or beaches you couldn’t get to without a boat. And don’t expect (or force!) the kids to add much horsepower—paddling is simply a fun diversion for them.

Recommended Packing List:

Any of the items below should be placed in a waterproof bag since the bottom of the boat gets wet from everyone’s shoes and dripping paddles. If you don’t have a dry bag, wrap your backpack or tote in a sturdy trash bag. Buckets also make for great storage in a canoe.

Life jackets: Everyone needs to wear a life jacket. Even if the grown-ups are stellar swimmers, you’re the role models for your kids. Have kids practice wearing theirs before you get in the boat, so they get used to them. (Hint: If you can’t find a comfortable jacket for your kiddo, try U.S. Coast Guard approved water wings that are less bulky.)

Clothing:

Sandals with straps or waterproof rain boots.
Sun hats and sun-protective clothing.
Rain gear, which can double as windbreakers.
Extra outfit for little kids who will likely get wet and muddy playing.

Food and Drinks: Like all outings with kiddos, make sure you pack lots of easy-to-grab snacks to keep them occupied, fueled, and happy. We like to bring “special” drinks for the kids to make sure they stay hydrated in the sun: lemonade powder in their water bottles is a favorite

Gear:

Toilet paper if you’re not near public restrooms.
Umbrella or pop-up tent for shade in the boat or on shore—perfect for passing rainstorms, too!
Seat pads or stadium-style folding seats.
Rope to attach to the bow to help pull the boat on shore.
Maps of the area you’re paddling.
Tarp or blanket for picnics or for “beds” for kids in the bottom of canoe.
Extra paddle(s) for the kids: emergency paddles that are adjustable and light-weight work well.

Fun Stuff:

Binoculars (monoculars work best for you young kids—we love ours!)
Field guides
Fishing rod
Frisbee
Bubbles
Chalk (to draw on rocks or the inside of the boat—it washes right off!)
Bucket (have the kids fill it with rocks/sticks/leaves on shore, then throw them overboard one at a time while you paddle)

Hiking, Paddling, Parenting

To Become The Best Adventure Parent…Get A Babysitter!

Although I love being an Adventure Mom, sometimes I mourn the loss of Adventure Me—the woman who could walk out the door and head straight into the mountains without juggling snacks, diapers, extra layers, and distracted children.

When one of the kids starts whining on the trail, I’ll reminisce about how I used to move through nature in silence, at my own pace. Or how I would hike with my girlfriends while having uninterrupted conversations. Or how I’d paddle down rapids next to my husband, both of us laughing in glee.

And that’s when I call in a babysitter.

When we were pregnant with our second child, Rob asked if we could find a sitter who could come one evening each week. I readily agreed…and then procrastinated. I hesitated to spend money on a sitter if I wasn’t working or didn’t have set plans in advance, since it felt like an extravagant use of money.

Rob gently prodded again when Lyra was 3 months old. And six months old. And when I complained about not having enough time to go play alone.

Finally, a few months ago we found a woman who comes over from 5-8pm every Wednesday. I wish I’d done it four years ago.

Like many parents, time alone has become the most scarce resource—a resource I’m now very happy to purchase for $15 per hour.

During our “free evening,” Rob and I sometimes adventure together. We’ve gone for hikes, worked on our sailboat, and pack-rafted down the nearby creek. But more often than not, we split up and pursue separate hobbies: I careen down a mountain on my bike while Rob flies off a different mountain with his paraglider. Sometimes I just sit quietly next to the creek and stare at the cottonwoods.

These free evenings rekindle Adventure Me. They infuse me with a fresh supply of excitement, spaciousness, and peace, which I can then give back to my kids. Our family adventures together post-babysitter are inevitably more fun, simply because I feel more fun after my solo adventures. Plus, when I get fired up after a stellar bike ride or paddling run, it makes me want to take my kids out, too, so they can experience how awesome it is.

There you have it: my best advice to parents who want to be more patient and passionate while exploring with kiddos? Get a babysitter. 😉

Camping

Birthday Eve | Silver Streaks and Strawberries

It’s the day before my 39th birthday, and I have 18 minutes before the babysitter leaves. I forgot the laptop in my haste to get to may meeting on time (and also to comb my hair), so I borrow old menus and a pen from the coffee shop waiter.

The sun is warm and the sidewalk bustles with sundress-clad women, bare legs still pale after a cold spring. I ask for strawberries on my salad, settle under a red umbrella, then scribble down year-end thoughts on the back of “Today’s Soup Specials”:

This last decade started with just me + a handful of houseplants, and ended with me + a husband + 2 kids + 3 old cars + 2 even older boats + a mortgage + a garage full of adventure gear I love + closets full of crap I don’t need. That’s a lot of addition.
This is the decade when I became an adult: a woman who learns to balance all sorts of awkward-shaped bundles with not enough arms while sometimes wobbling, sometimes sauntering, sometimes sprinting between people and places, most of whom I love but some of whom I don’t (like the grocery store…I hate the grocery store).

I sip my coffee, heavy on the honey, and reflect on what I’m grateful for:

A son who knows the name of every wildflower we pass on hikes, and who makes me stop at each poppy and peony to smell the “beautifuls”. His sticky kisses and big brown eyes.
A daughter who plops down in icy mud to splash in the creek, giggling at the goo between her fingers. Those dimpled fingers reaching up to grasp mine.
A husband who fixes the holes in the 45-year-old sailboat I persuade him to buy, who pulls the ticks off our scalps without flinching, and who cooks us dinner (and usually breakfast, too).
A brave sister who always says yes to adventures, who holds my babies as close as I do, and who buys me expensive whisky for my birthday.
Parents who taught me to try my hardest and love me still when I try the least, and who still go camping so they can sleep next to rushing rivers.
Girlfriends who gather on porches and in cabins and on trails and around meals to heal and hold each other through each season.
My body, my mind, my smiles lines and grey streak (hell, let’s call it “silver”), which all serve to keep me upright and centered amidst the pull of gravity.

And now I only have 2 minutes left before my alone time is up—never enough time (or sleep) during these longest shortest days with toddlers—so I box my sandwich, down the espresso, and pedal fast on my pink bike with these handwritten words folded inside its rickety rear milk-crate.

As I bike home, I list what we need for the impromptu camp-out tonight with the kids and my sister—a birthday-eve bash on the banks of the Blackfoot River among the pines and willows, camas and cutthroat, where I will dunk naked in the cold mountain water to baptize anew, a new woman still at 39, figuring it all out as the water flows past.

Camping

Why (And How!) To Camp With A Wall Tent

The Crux Move In Utah’s San Rafael Swell

I’d been expecting to be scared at some point during our family’s spring trek to Utah’s San Rafael Swell. But I’d thought the fear would bubble up while I was rappelling into thin air over rock walls. Or, even more likely, while watching four-year-old Talon take his own turn defying gravity.

But it turns out that our crux move arrived before we even got out the climbing gear.

“We’re never gonna make it,” Rob said for the third time in as many minutes. I gripped the handle above my door as we jounced through a creek bottom.

We were driving over snowy mud. Sliding over it, more accurately. The road into the San Rafael Swell, a national recreation area managed by BLM, was slick as shit.

“Let’s turn around now,” I urged. “We still have enough daylight to find a different campsite.”

I was worried that even if we magically made the remaining 20 miles of this windy 30-mile road, the spot we planned to camp for a week would also be covered in snow.

We’d chosen the remote campsite by looking at Google Earth, since neither of us had ever visited the Swell. It looked perfect from satellite images: the public land at the end of the road abutted Muddy Creek Wilderness Area and several mountain biking and hiking trails.

The plan was to set up our nifty canvas wall tent, complete with its miniature wood-fired stove, settle in and explore different canyons each day. Talon and I had been practicing climbing and rappelling at home by using a series of bolts Rob had drilled into the ceiling (a fun winter activity when it was too cold to go outside). I was eager to use our skills on real rock—but not at the price of totaling our truck en route.

We fishtailed again, swerving toward the edge.

The baby cried louder, voicing her displeasure at being restrained in a car seat for two days straight. I tried offering her a pacifier. She threw it at me.

“Mom, can I please get out? It’s boring back here!” Talon whined.

We pulled over at the next crossroads, ready to turn back. My sister and her boyfriend pulled up behind us, still in good spirits (maybe because they didn’t have crying kids in tow?).

“We should keep going! I bet that was the worst of it,” she reasoned, pointing at the map.

With her encouragement and the kids happier after the pit stop, we decided to continue on. Thank goodness we did: it was smooth sailing after we descended from the high-desert plateau.

We let Talon and Lyra sit up front with us for the last few miles. They put their heads out my window, giggling at the breeze on their face.

The road ended at Muddy Creek, framed by soaring canyon walls painted in rainbows of red. We all smiled in glee as we took in the 360-degree view of wilderness, which we had all to ourselves.

“We get to stay here for six whole nights!” Talon said, jumping in excitement. “Dad, can you get my bike off first?”

He pedaled circles around us as we started setting up the wall tent. I cracked a beer, lifting my face to the spring sun as I saluted Rob.

“Cheers to persevering.”

Why We Love Camping With A Wall Tent

Two years ago, we bought a 10×14′ canvas wall tent from Big Sky Canvas, a local manufacturer in Montana. We usually use it for camping in the spring and fall.

In the summer, we set it up in our backyard, where the wall tent serves as a guest abode for visitors, a handy kids’ fort, and a lovely little yoga studio. Here’s why it’s a great family adventure tool:

More space! You can walk around, cook, and get dressed without hunching over. It’s easy to hang up coats and other gear, and to keep the kids’ toys and clothes organized and out of the way.

Comfy beds! We bought two collapsible cots from Cabela’s that make excellent couches, too. With a sleeping pad on top, I sleep better than on my bed at home. The kids sleep on the ground on thick foam pads, snug as bugs in their sleeping bags.

Warm and cozy! The tiny, portable wood stove (we bought this Camp Chef at Cabela’s for $250) is SO awesome in the morning when it’s chilly, heating the tent up fast while we sip coffee. And evenings are extra cozy, as we read and play cards by the light of the lanterns.

Safe from the elements! It’s a luxury to chill in the shady tent after a long day in the sun, lounging in camp chairs to read or snack. Or to escape a rainstorm in comfort. The canvas withstands wind, rain, and snow much better than small nylon tents. The screens on the doors and windows keep out any bugs and most of the dust, too.

Best Times To Use One

During the spring, fall or winter: camping can be chilly during these shoulder seasons, when weather may be inclement and the nights are longer.

On camping trips where you plan to stay in one place for more than 3 nights: this makes it worth the added set-up and take-down time.

With a baby or toddler: the big tent provides a safe “play pen” to contain little tots, as well as a much more convenient place to change diapers and put them down for naps.

If any team members have an injury or disability: it’s easier to enter and exit the big door on the wall tent rather than crawling through a small flap, and the sleeping cots are easier to get off and on, too, compared to sleeping on the ground.

Tips & Advice

The more hands, the better. With just Rob and me, it takes about 90 minutes to fully set up our tent (including all the the interior “decor”, like kitchen, beds, tables, and wood stove. But it goes twice as fast if you have more people on hand! Kids can help by holding the frame in place, fitting poles together to build the sides and rafters, or simply sorting different-sized poles into piles.

Bring hooks, shelves, and organizing options. Even a few extra crates or boxes help keep the clutter to a minimum while living in a tiny house. Hooks are awesome for keeping hats, sunglasses, and jackets off the floor (and out of the dirt!).

Make a floor. Bring a big tarp or two, as well as any spare mats or a cheap rug to cover the dirt and gravel. We bought an 8×10-foot outdoor carpet at Lowe’s for $20 that works well.

Pack extra tables. We have a card table, a roll-up river table, and a lightweight folding camping table—and we always wish we had a couple more elevated spaces to store all the knick-knacks that accumulate during our camping trips.

Stock lots of metal stakes. We’ve been caught in big winds (especially in the Utah desert) several times, and it’s important to have plenty of stakes to tie down the wall tent’s sides. If it’s windy while you’re putting up and taking down the tent, consider staking two corners temporarily as you drape it over the poles, so the big canvas doesn’t sail away!