News

CARLESSNESS

August 16, 2016Stay Wild

I pushed my car off a cliff.

Story by Linnea Bullion // linneabullion.com // @linneabullion

Artwork by Sarah Eisenlohr // saraheisenlohr.com // @saraheisenlohr

It was accidental, of course. A string of bad choices combined with awful luck led to the totaling of my car 30 miles away from civilization, and three miles from any semblance of cell service.

My friend Tiffany and I were exploring the backroads of Carrizo Plain National Monument in California, four hours northwest of Los Angeles. I’d been to Carrizo twice before, and my 2010 Toyota Corolla had performed admirably. While trying to get up a hill, however, my car gave up––steep dirt roads and bald tires do not mix. I attempted to turn around to go back down and try the ascent again, but the car bottomed out in the soft earth. Each tap on the gas only dug the front tire deeper. Belly now fully immobilized, my car was a beached whale. As enterprising young women, Tiffany and I tried to gain traction by jacking up the car and stacking rocks beneath the tires. This failed. Knowing we were three miles from the main road with little chance of running into anyone on the walk there, we decided to try pushing the car, at least until the back tires made contact with the ground. We pushed, and the car inched forward. Again, and it inched forward. We were making progress! Who needed cell service and tow trucks when you had elbow grease and gumption? With the car in neutral and the driver’s door open, ready for me to jump in, we gave one final push. Three… two… one!

Gravity’s an ass.

Technically, our plan had worked. The car was unstuck. Fifteen seconds later, in the most cinematic scene of my life, I sprinted alongside the runaway vehicle, quickly realized there was NO way I was going to make it inside, and fell to my knees, skidding in the dirt. Time ceased to exist; everything was at once slow and fast and real-time. The car was careening, gaining speed––then SLAMMED into the ravine at the bottom of the steep hill. Gone. This is one of the moments I know I will remember for the rest of my life, yet can barely remember at all. It must have looked hilarious. Here we had been so confident, so proud of solving our crisis. Just seconds later, we were staring, dumbfounded, shaken, and in shock. We ran to the car, fought off the airbags, and clambered for the necessities: insurance papers, wallet, camera, water. We scrambled up the hill and waited for an explosion that never came. (What would have been more movie-like than that?)

On the four-mile walk (it’s only three if you don’t take a wrong turn) back to the main road, I took solace in the fact that I was in good company. When I lost composure, Tiffany quickly reassured me, and vice-versa. “When you tell people what happened, make sure you let them know how funny I was,” I announced to her. We were cracking jokes left and right. What else can you do? If I wasn’t laughing, I would have been crying; the tears rolled every time I stopped trying to make light of the situation.

I make no claim that this was anyone’s fault but mine. Do I regret it? Of course. But now I have a story that I’ll tell until the day I die. Even five minutes after it happened, I turned to Tiffany in hysterics, and laughed, “In five years, this will be hilarious.”

And the best part is that, on our way through the park earlier that day, I had said, “I love this car so much. I’m going to drive it until I run it into the ground.”

Treeline Doodle

August 15, 2016Stay Wild

Come doodle with Scout Books + Jolby & Friends at the Stay Wild EXPO! Sunday, August 28, 2016 from 1:00 PM to 4:00 PM

It’ll be an afternoon of collaborative scribbling, friend making, forest love, and lots of deep doodling. Scout Books is releasing their limited edition DRAW MORE, PLANT MORE! Scout Books designed by Jolby & Friends. Plus, we’re planting a tree for each notebook made with the National Forest Foundation.

The first 50 attendees will snag a free DRAW MORE, PLANT MORE! notebook and we'll also have plenty of DIY Scout Books for you to fill with doodles all afternoon. Grab a pal, hop on the MAX, and head up early! We can't wait to draw with you!

It's fun for free! RSVP here >>>

45 MPH

August 08, 2016Stay Wild

I set out with three of my friends in a 1970 VW bus named Wendy on a summer road trip that spanned the United States through some of the country’s coolest national parks. We were in it to see if German engineering was everything it’s chalked up to be—we also feel the need to test our friendship annually with a crazy summer trip and thought, “Why not sit in a bus together for hours on end?” Turns out that with a little TLC, four fed-up dudes and one fed-up bus can make it across the country in a few pieces.

BADLANDS

Made up of sharply eroding buttes and beautiful undisturbed prairies, Badlands National Park in Southwestern South Dakota is a diverse place. We immediately looked for a spot with a view. The drive up to this point had been made up of small Midwestern towns filled with shitty drivers and corn… a lot of corn. We found an area clear of the madness that overlooked what seemed to be the entire park, and skated. It wasn’t long until we became an attraction for an older couple driving across the country with a camper and a big blue truck. Keith and Mary Lou were quick to introduce themselves and inquire about the bus, as well as our skateboards—they were the first of many people who approached us who didn’t think we were crazy for driving a 45-year-old death machine with spotty timing across the country. Something seemed familiar and honest about Keith and Mary Lou, and my interaction with them was the most comforting thing I’d had since the chocolate chip cookies back in Pennsylvania just prior to heading out on this trip.

TETONS

South of Yellowstone, along Wyoming’s Wind River, is Jackson Lake, a large, high-altitude body of water located in the Grand Teton National Park. Peaks of some 12,000 feet rise from the lake. We were hungry, too hungry to notice a severe thunderstorm rolling in, so we silenced our groaning stomachs with chicken sandwiches and mint chocolate chip ice-cream at a restaurant. With a route mapped out and bellies finally full (both rare occurrences on the road), we found camp and decided a swim would complete the evening. Less than a mile from our hammock site was a small, mosquito-infested trail that led to the lake’s edge. On it, we were greeted by a female elk seeking shelter from the approaching storm, which we still hadn’t noticed. The timing could not have been more exact—the moment our toes touched the water, the rain came pouring in. In defiance of the wisdom our mothers had tried to instill in us since we were boys, we dove in, basking in our decision. I’ve seen a lot of the beautiful country we live in, and I’ve experienced moments I thought were miracles, but I’ve never had a moment as truly epic as this one: heavy raindrops falling from parting clouds, leaving holes in the lake’s surface while the golden sun says “good evening” before dipping behind massive peaks. These beautiful sights in unison created the closest thing to heaven any of us had experienced in our twenty-some years of life. Swimming out to a buoy several hundred feet from shore, I was certain Nessie was going to snatch me by my toes, but I still wanted to go farther out into the lake. The following morning, we decided to take a boat out for a few hours. To all of our surprise, the boating center trusted a rented pontoon to us four hooligans, so we dove, swam, horsed around, drank soda, and told ourselves, “We’ll definitely be back to do this again.”

YELLOWSTONE

About 500 miles west of Badlands is Yellowstone National Park, a region known primarily for its dense wildlife and its famous geyser, Old Faithful. After setting up camp we beelined it to a spot we had read about, a hot spring located at the intersection of the Boiling River and Gardiner River. The hydrothermal Boiling River flows into the icy Gardiner, creating a pool of water perfect to kick back in while checking out the Walmart folks that gather there during hot summer afternoons. A better time to enjoy the hot springs, however, is early in the morning, just as the sun is peeking over the mountain range. Waking up at 5 am proves completely worthwhile when a bald eagle flies several feet overhead to welcome you into a new day.

CRATERS OF THE MOON

Of all the places I’ve been to, I’ve never seen anything like this. We pulled into the campground well after sunset and stumbled out of the steamy Volkswagen, dried sweat from an impromptu skate session in Idaho Falls covering 100 percent of our sunburned skin. Craters of the Moon was dry, hot, and eerily quiet. Volcanic ash covered the ground; it was too dark for the moon to reflect enough ambient light for us to see the nearby family-sized tent castles. We felt as if we were alone on another planet. Armed with a small flashlight held by my four front teeth, we set up our tents and fell asleep to deafening silence and the smell of sagebrush and BO. A few hours later we awoke to a heavier heat and stuffy noses, but after a cup of coffee and a few cracks of the spine, we were in strangely high spirits. We realized how uniquely beautiful the area was, despite its unwelcoming climate. The loop circling the three lava fields that made up the majority of the park was only a few miles long, so we decided to see what it was about before continuing west toward California. As we chugged along in our 1970 shag wagon, we hopped out every so often to get a better glimpse of the landscape: sagebrush, lava fields, sagebrush, weird-plant-I’ve-never-seen, lava fields. It was boring yet exhilarating. It was dusty and miserable, but also comforting. There are a lot of adjectives I could use to describe it, but I think you should experience it for yourself. It’s been almost a year and I’m still blowing ash out of my nose.

REDWOODS

During the tail end of our trip, we found ourselves in California’s Redwood National Park. A skate through the tall Redwood trees outside of Trinidad was necessary. Hill bombs followed by a tow back up courtesy of Wendy lasted an hour. We found a place to camp along the coast. To the east of the road, an unimpressive, poison oak-infested campground, specifically marked with tent sites. To the west, an enormous, jagged cliff leading down to a secluded (and off-limits) pebble beach. It was a no-brainer. We quickly packed up only the necessities: tents, water, one can of soup each, root beer, and way too much film, and hit the small game trail at the top of the cliff. A 30-minute journey through the narrow passage, down the steep embankment, and through more poison oak and jagger bushes opened up to a spot the four of us have decided to keep secret. Being on the beach was definitely not allowed, and the small fire we built on the rocks was highly illegal, but I’ll never regret our decision to make camp there. It was one of the most peaceful spots I’ve ever experienced, and I’ll never forget the mental, emotional, and spiritual clarity I felt watching the waves roll in at 6 am the next morning.