Family Camp at Windy Gap

I thought I'd tell the story of this year's trip to Windy Gap Family Camp through photos. This first one was taken while waiting in line for the annual horsey ride. It was A-Ro's highlight from last year, and it has served as a good bribery tool ever since. This picture I think captures the moment well. Lia, hanging on but happy; Ned, baggy eyes, funked out hair; Anna Rose, tongue out in a nannie nannie boo boo I'm about to ride a horsey and no one's gonna stop me...

I love this shot. It was one of the 50 I took during Anna Rose's single loop around the corral. Several photos could have made the blog cut. She wore a smile the whole time. This one shows the simultaneous joy and full-on concentration though. That was what, for me, was most fun to watch.

Here's the perspective shot. A-Ro was on Gulliver: a cross between a Clydesdale and Woolly Mammoth. Anna's not the biggest of girls to begin with, but on the back of this mastodon, she was a shrimp!

This weekend wasn't all fun. I had a couple serious responsibilities...like leading music in an ice cream sundae outfit. Ha! Good times. Here's a photo of the band: Adam Sheppard (red M&M), Nate Allman (candy corn (off picture)), Jennifer Steele (green M&M and owner of the red, candy corn, sundae, and borrower of the banana), Jeff Hwang (in the banana), and me (owner of the green M&M). Got it?

This was my final photo of the weekend, taken seconds before slamming the tailgate shut and heading for home. I gave David one responsibility: to protect my cookie booty. Here he is, caught red handed. From his expression, I'm not sure, but by the look of it, neither the cookie nor the crime appeared to sit well.

See you next year, Gulliver!

Potty Time Excellent

You know your life has a hit a new low when the best thing going on is that you are potty training. Especially when you want to argue the point. Which is what I'd like to do. Because potty training has been awesome!

After 34 years...just kidding. I'm talking about Anna Rose. Last week was Potty Boot Camp. Booty Camp you could say. Our friends Tim and Lindsay took the plunge with us as well. See photo. That's Daisy. She rocks, I might add. And her parents have already stopped saving for her college tuition because she is a lock down NCAA Div 1 Scholarship Athlete.

Not so for A-Ro.

But she did master the potty. She's close. And as soon as I learn to upload video on this thing, I'll post her doing the potty dance. If you have not seen the video, please check it out.

http://www.dothepottydance.com/index.tbapp

my sister actually cut and pasted not so flattering photos of us and inserted them into this:

http://www.msn.americangreetings.com/ecards/view.pd?i=428037834&m=9826&rr=y&source=msne999

Pretty hilarious.

But back to Anna Rose. She went all week with only one accident! Unbelievable. She had two over the weekend at Windy Gap. Both were our (my) fault. Today she had the...well, let's just say, we had a messy morning. But, generally, the girl is rocking it. I never thought I'd enjoy so much the sound of liquid on plastic. Ha!

Spit Up Season

I write this as spit-up oozes down my neck. Don't get me wrong, I love the kid, but I'm definitely struggling through a major readjustment of priorities and expectations.

And so as of this morning, I've decided that by June if my two children are still breathing and if Lia and I have not gone certifiably insane, then I will consider this spring an achievement of monumental proportions. Anything else that manages to get done will be gravy.

All Night Long

Two weeks ago I slept with another woman all night long. The all night was the most amazing part. Because the woman was Anna Rose. We went camping down the basement. Lia, the rational one, decided to forego the sleeping bag for the bed. But A-Ro and I braved it.

To make things more interesting we had Mexican for dinner.

We decided to let Anna stay up a bit later than usual. Wake Forest happened to be playing that night. She likes watching basketball. We got to halftime. It wasn't looking pretty. The Deacs. They were not looking pretty. So A-Ro and I cashed in our chips. We read Harold and the Purple Crayon and an Oliver Jeffers book called Lost and Found then said our prayers and fell asleep. I did. A-Ro must have about the same time. Our heads were still touching the way they had been when we were reading books four hours earlier. I placed a blanket on her and managed to maneuver myself to comfortable. I woke up again around three in the morning. She was sleeping peacefully perpendicular to me. At five she woke up. I think it was crying David that did it actually. But she was wired. And I was not ready. So I took her upstairs, prepared her some milk, carried her back down to the tent and handed her Harold. I said, "Read yourself a book, I'm going to bed." Which is what I did. I drifted off to the turning of pages and Anna Rose's unique lilt whispering and the moon went with him. I woke up at 8:30 feeling refreshed. Anna Rose was sleeping perpendicular to me, her head on my rib. She woke up a few minutes later. I could hardly believe we had done it.

Operation next time: the backyard.

The Arnold

Yes, this is a woman. Her voice (a full octave lower than mine) may entice some to question the truth of my claim. But it is true. I think it is. Her name is Sheila - one of the bazillion jawdropping things/people I witnessed at my first ever Arnold Sports Festival last weekend.

"The Arnold" as people in Columbus, Ohio refer to it is an event like no other. This is from a press release: "Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jim Lorimer held the First Arnold Classic in 1989 as a one-day event. Today the Arnold Sports Festival is recognized as the largest multi-sport Festival in the nation and the greatest sports-fitness experience of a lifetime." Experience - yes that is the word. You just have to experience it.

Rich Simpson, Jeremy Logsdon, Todd Vishnauski, David Baker and I spent Saturday at the festival. We saw everything from the Squat Competition to the a World's Strongest Man event to Ping Pong (yes, even Ping Pong). The EXPO itself is worth the price of admission. The Sheila picture just doesn't do the woman justice. (By the way, take a look at the other people in the background. They're almost as jacked!) You have to experience her to believe it. And she was just one member of the eye-candy entourage plastered all over the 700 booth EXPO in the main floor. Oh, we also got to see Arnold.

I really don't have much more to add. You really should peruse the website. http://arnoldsportsfestival.com/

One thing is sure: I am going again though it may take awhile. As David Baker told me on the way to the convention center: "It took me five years to get over the last Arnold." Having attended, I now understand.

Odyssey of a Daddy

A pictorial journey into fatherhood (for the second time). The real question: After doing so little, why am I so exhausted?

Dr. Dre

David Richard Erickson was born at 8:39 this morning. He was breach so he arrived via c-section. I have a great picture of him at 1 second old, but I don't think it is blog appropriate. It was pretty wild watching the operation. I could handle it as long as I didn't think about all the blood and stuff being Lia's. The thought crossed my mind once and I had to sit down. But I rallied in time to see David come into the world. His first spontaneous act was to pee. He weighed in at 7 lbs and measured at 20 inches, which seem like pretty normal stats. Our friend Anita managed to switch her schedule so she could be the nurse on duty. Louis Lipscomb was the doctor. I don't know who picked the music but it was raggae. The ob was able to also remove the cyst that had developed in Lia's right ovary, thereby saving her a surgery. We were very grateful. That (a dermoid cyst) was less gross than I was anticipating. Some have hair and teeth and stuff. This looked like a golf ball with a latex glove around it. We are in our room now. Dre (his initials...I doubt it will be what I call him, but you never know) is nursing right now. Lia's hives have kicked up a notch. Hopefully once her hormones cool down, things will go back to normal. Otherwise, she is doing well. We're all in great spirits. I have some great pics on one camera but do not have anything to upload them. I just took some with the other so I will upload those.

Baby Store

It is an odd sensation being given the opportunity to "schedule" the arrival of one's child. The way Lia likens it: she says tomorrow we are going to the baby store to pick out our son.

That's right, tomorrow. I know earlier I wrote February 10. And though I am notorious for flubbing up birthdates, this one is not on me. Lia finagled a reschedule. You can do that when you are the one going under the knife. So we will be picking up Ned Jr. from the baby store tomorrow: February 9, 2009. 2/9/2009. Pretty cool. (It seems like I'm destined to confuse 9s and 10s. Lia's birthday is either the 9th or the 10th of August. Ned Jr.'s will likely have the same murkiness about it.)

Check in this time tomorrow for the details and stats.

Stay on target, stay on target, almost there...

That's the feel of things around the Erickson household. We're cruising down the underbelly of this insurmountable foe called Having a Baby, looking for the spot to deposit our depth charge. The fate of the galaxy is in our hands, and there are TIE/D fighters firing their lasers at us.

Ok. Not exactly. Not at all really. I have had two simultaneous incongruous thoughts the last few days: 1. Lia will be pregnant forever. She will be the first woman in history never to deliver! 2. In less than one week, life as we know it will never be the same. We will have a baby whether we are ready for him or not!

I feel Lia's impatience. It's like a tangible substance. It's is our current other child. Maybe that is why the boy has remained breach. Had he been in position, I believe Lia would have done everything within her power to fire her rockets. So the boy is holding onto her ribs for dear life: he is like the voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi, "Use the force Lia!" stay on target...stay on target...almost there... I don't want to give the wrong impression. Lia's not doing jazzercise or deep lunges or anything. She is just tired of this whole deal. That has been the difficulty of being on "alert" for going on six weeks now. It's too long to keep your sanity and stay in the chute.

If I'm honest, and I am, sometimes, partially, but when I am honest the truth is I wouldn't mind Ned Jr. baking a bit longer. I got stuff I'm trying to get finished. This whole birth thing, it's sort of a distraction, you know?

I guess he'll come when he's ready. Or at noon on Feb 10. That's when we have the C-Section scheduled.

Version Aversion

Today, we attempted a thing called "version." For several weeks now I have thought the procedure was called "aversion" (which is how I was feeling toward the whole thing), but I was wrong. I had also made the mistake of asking Lia if I had to be there. She didn't answer, which means "yes" or "only if you want to live" or "it's your fault I'm in this mess in the first place" - one of those.

And I know I wasn't the one going through the thing, but honestly the hardest part was the wait. We waited so much we were waiting to wait. It was awful. By ten in the morning I had restless body syndrome, and I was starving. To make matters worse, I had packed some granola bars. They were sitting there, staring up at me from my backpack. The problem was Lia hadn't eaten all day. I had eaten a big breakfast, drank three cups of coffee, and was munching gum. I had no right to eat in front of her. Ultimately, the only purpose the granola bars served (and I had been so proud of myself to think of packing them) was to remind Lia and I how hungry we were.

Then came the version. So they goop up Lia. The whole bottle...spread out like a tic-tac-toe board gone ballistic. Then they give Lia this shot. Or wait, they give her the shot and then goop her up, I can't remember. But the shot is to stop the baby from popping out. (It works. The baby is still stuck.) The only side effect is that it made Lia feel like she had just chugged a venti from Starbucks on an empty stomach. I never heard Lia talk so fast. Back to the "a"version. They had two doctors on her. One "lifting" the babe off Lia's pelvis while the other using her hands like a jai alai stick (mallet? I don't know). They got the kid sideways (transverse in doctor lingo), but as they guided him around the final bend he jumped back to square one. So they tried a second time but the kid's heart rate started going wonky (decel in doctor lingo). So they gave up.

I guess it is back to square one for us, too. We'll schedule a C-section for a week and a half from now. The poor kid must have inherited his daddy's hind quarters. The heaviest part always points down. All in all, we're fine. The babe is fine. Stuck but fine. Lia is fine. Sore but fine. We're both a bit disappointed. But we are also at peace that we did the right thing. It was worth a shot. What can you do? When you're kid's stuck, he's stuck.

The Boy is Stuck

He won't come out.

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(Lia's request: the woman in this photo posing as Lia is a stuntmom)

6 books 6 days

Not much news to report, other than Lia is finishing up her sixth book in as many days. And these are real books, thick ones.

Operating Instructions - 250ish
Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay - 650+
Down River - almost 350
Wicked - 400+
Twilight - 500+
New Moon - 500 something
The Book Thief - nearly 550

Wait that's seven! Talk about time on your tush. Needless to say, we're feeling a little antsy around here.
Poor A-Ro is sporting off-kilter hairdos (see picture). Daddy is kind of stinky. Lia is fighting restless leg syndrome. The dog has skipped a few meals. But so far, we're not too worse for wear. Keep the support rolling!

Help has arrived!

Lia's mom (Sue), sister (Cara), and niece (Evy) have arrived to help around the house. They have already prevented me from making their beds. This is going to be great, if only for the weekend.

We have made it a week labor-(the pregnancy kind)-free. Monday, Lia had some painful contractions which sent me into near cardiac arrest, but they eventually subsided (as well as my anxiety, eventually). As for Lia's rash, good news on that front as well. The last few days have been the best that they have been in seven weeks! Keep up the praying. It's working.

Yesterday, Anna Rose picked up Lia's cellphone and said she was calling baby brother to tell him to come out. I told her to tell him to wait a bit longer. She told him. I asked her to ask him when he was planning on coming out. She said he said Sunday. I asked her was it this Sunday or next Sunday? She said next Sunday. I wouldn't mind if it was next next Sunday. We'll just have to see.

Rash Attack

Many of you know that the last trimester of Lia's first pregnancy was dominated by the onset of this crazy rash. Doctors never found a cause or a cure. But we have learned that it must have something to do with pregnancy because it is back. Poor Lia. I feel like she is the reincarnation of Job.

(She won't let me take a picture) but if you google "urticaria" there are some pretty accurate portrayals of what Lia's looks like. This time they showed up around Thanksgiving but fortunately til now she has been able to battle them off with a drug concoction of Zyrtec and Zantac. For some reason however since Lia has returned from the hospital the rash has attacked with a vengeance. The normal weapons aren't working. So please, send up a prayer for her.

Otherwise, we're doing ok. Anna Rose is hanging in there. Our house is a little messier than usual; I'm a little more tired. But we're surviving. Thanks for the food, the company, the phone calls, and the prayers. At midnight tonight, Ned Jr. will be 34 weeks, which is a milestone I am told.

New Year Celebration - We're Home!

Lia went into the doctor early Tuesday morning for a last minute checkup to see if it would be ok to fly and spend the week with family in Disney World over New Years. All systems checked out. I went to work. Lia started on final preparations. Our plane was leaving at 8:55am Wednesday from Raleigh. I got a call around 11am. Lia told me she was on the floor in our bathroom, having just graced our toilet with breakfast and lunch.

I rushed home. Lia went to bed. She continued to be sick. About 6pm, she started having contractions. About 7pm they were about 4-5 minutes apart. She was so dehydrated she could barely talk, but she managed to tell me that we needed to go to the hospital. I called our friend Paul, who had just had his second child, and asked him if he wouldn't mind coming over to sleep at our house with A-Ro while Lia and I went to the doctor. He was here in 10 minutes. The thought of having quiet uninterrupted sleep was too good to pass up. Plus he is a wonderful friend.

And hour of waiting to be seen...and we were still sixth in line. It was a popular night, it seemed to have a child (tomorrow was New Year's Eve). I finally did something I normally don't do. I went to the check in lady, told her that my wife was about to pass out if something wasn't done immediately. She asked if I wanted ice chips. I said I want her on an IV in five minutes! Yikes! Who was that guy? Believe it or not. It worked. We were ushered in. Lia was so dehydrated it took them three tries to find a vein. She drained three full IV bags before she peeed!

The OB was a friend, which was nice. She was very thorough. And concerned. No Disney trip. From her check up that morning, Lia had dilated 1 cm. An hour later she was 2 cms. They put her on this crazy magnesium sulfate muscle spasm sedation drug. It wasn't working. Lia was having contractions 2-3 minutes apart. By 2am, she was 3cms. The baby was breach. We had to sign all of these forms. Everything was pointing toward emergency C-section. They upped the dosage to maximum potency as a last ditch effort. Finally, things started settling down.

She was on the magnesium the next 24 hours as they gave her some steroids among other things (mostly stuff for the baby). She had at least three tubes dripping a variety of fluids in her. Anna Rose handled it ok. I brought her in to see Lia Wednesday morning. I began sending out prayer updates.

We were overwhelmed with the response. Wow! Thanks. And I'm excited to tell you that your prayers have been answered. After three days, Lia is now home. She has been sentenced to bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy, but the doctor this morning seemed optimistic that Ned Jr. (it won't really be ned jr.) has a good chance of staying in Lia's belly a few more weeks!

Many of you have shared with us similar stories of premature labor, premature birth, etc. They have been very encouraging. I don't know what Jr.'s story will be. But it is very comforting to know that we are not alone in this. Thank you also for your offers of food, help with Anna Rose, etc. The answer is Yes! and often!

For the sake of ease and so I do not flood your inboxes, I'm going to switch email updates over to my blog. Hope that doesn't inconvenience anyone. I'll do my best to update this every few days, or as things change.

It might seem odd that I called this blog New Year Celebration. It was the strangest of New Year's Eves. Lia was hooked up to tubes in the hospital. I was at home with Winnie and A-Ro. Neither of us had slept more than a few hours in two days and was well into REM by the time the Apple fell. But I'll tell you, going through this has re-reminded Lia and I of how blessed we are. Sure, we are not in Disney World. But we live in a town, in a country, with so many people who clearly care about us. We have felt incredibly loved. Thank you. Happy New Year! Please know, we love you, too.

What's Your 20?

This year I gave myself the goal to read twenty books. It was a challenge. I would not call myself a reader. Not a reader reader. I'm like a 90 second a pager, depending on the page. A Christmas Carol took longer, the Prydain Chronicles took less.

Twenty books was a stretch but not entirely unattainable. It turned out to be just right (I finished last night). And let me tell you, if I could encourage you to try something in 2009, it would be to go for 20 yourself. If 20 is too many, try 12. Start somewhere. I promise the endeavor will be one of the most worthwhile things you do next year.

My list contained everything from a children's series to Pulitzer prize winners, a healthy dose of pop fiction, nonfiction, some in betweeners (The Sign and the Seal), a few old, and several new. It included the surprise number one book of the year The Shack. It also included a few duds. I love Tom Clancy but Teeth of the Tiger, beyond the perplexing amount of typos, is not his best.

My favorite? There were a lot of good ones. By far the best, however, was Marylinne Robinson's Gilead. It is a masterpiece. The language alone gave me chills. The story made me cry (sad and happy tears). And the message has continued to linger.

So What's Your 20? What is on my list for 2009? I'm up for suggestions. I have gotten a headstart on The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (it's like 650 freaking pages), next in line is American Lion (the biography of Andrew Jackson), after that something light.

Lightning Strikes Twice

You may remember that last year we put Anna rose through the torture of sitting on Santa Claus' lap. Well, against better judgement, we decided to give it another go...

Before we go there, here is last year's photo.

This year, I was bound and determined for a smile. We talked up the encounter for weeks. A-Ro would just stare at us and say, "No!" "Come on, Santa's nice." "Santa's not nice. I don't like Santa." We nodded, but didn't heed her warning.

Resorting to bribery I told A-Ro that if she didn't cry that Daddy would give her french fries, ice cream, and a merry-go-round ride. She brightened, "French Fries?" I really thought we had a chance. Then she pointed at me, "You sit on his lap, first." "I'm not sitting on his lap," I said. Lia looked at me. "Tell you what, I'll give Santa a hug. How about that?" "First?"asked Anna Rose. "First," I said. It seemed to work.

I walked up to Santa. "Hey!" I called, then under my breath, "Don't think I'm weird but I need to hug you." He kind of patted me and reached for my daughter. In that split second, it was over.

Two years, to screams of terror. You would think we would learn our lesson. But no. Oh no. Oh yes. Don't you fret. We'll be back next year!

a philadelphia story

I have spent the last couple weeks analyzing the complete transformation that has taken place in my psyche ever since Brad Lidge threw that slider in the top of the ninth to seal the World Series for the Philadelphia Phillies.

I have been a Phillies fan since I can remember. I lost my first tooth at a Phils/Mets game. I went to dozens of games after I got my license. Heck, when they tore down the Vet, me and my friends went down and "purchased" some seats. I have two mounted in my basement.

Really, like most Philadelphians, I'm not just a Phillies fan; I'm a Philadelphia sports fan. I care. I care deeply. My dad started me early. I was actually born on September 24th because he and the doctor were rapt by the television set, watching the Eagles beat the Cowboys on Monday Night Football (13-10). We went 7-7 that year, second to last in our division.

And so the years go round: the Flyers and Sixers seasons into the Phillies, all the way through the Eagles. And I realize we, Philadelphians, are not the only ones accustomed to losing. There are planty of other towns, cities, regions that have gone on similar if not longer droughts than the one we in Philadelphia just weathered. And I don't want to assume to speak for you, but at least for us who grew up in Philadelphia, losing has done some serious things to our minds, hearts, and souls.

To name a few: (1) Philadelphians hate New York teams. Not New Yorkers, just New York teams. We don't hate the people of New York, that is unless they are rooting. Then, we hate them. The thing is, we won't admit this, we have too much pride, but Philadelphia, let's face it, really can't compete with its neighbor to the north. We have such an inferiority complex it isn't funny.

(2) Philadelphians really believe in Murphy's Law. I know I do. Sooner or later something bad is going to happen. You hope this year will be different, but deep down you have little confidence that anything but disappoint will be waiting for you at the end of the season. If there is a way to lose, Philadelphia will find it. No matter how good the Eagles look games 1-16, their last game will be a loss. We were up 3 games to 1 this year in the World Series, and there was no Philadelphian who was 100% confident we were going to pull it off. If Tampa Bay couldn't stop us, the weather would. I was still sweating it two outs in the ninth with an 0-2 count. Again, this belief has its non-sport connotation. I, personally, never expect things to work out the way I want them to. If something good happens to me, I'm keeping an eye out to see where the next shoe will drop. There is always a dark lining around every silver lining. It's just the way we Philadelphians see it.

(3) Philadelphians simultaneously embrace/despise their Sysiphisian role. When the Phillies lost their 10,000th game last year, becoming the first team in history to eclipse the fifth digit, we cheered. There is a part of us that loves getting beat. We are so hard core crazy about our teams, and we hang our hopes on them every preseason even though deep down we know it is only going to end in pain. Ben Franklin coined the saying: "Insanity is doing the same thing twice and expecting different results." Only a Philadelphian could come up with that. We have made insanity an art. Philadelphia is the real Washington Generals. We are there for others entertainment. And it is kind of funny. I mean, we're there. But man do we hate it. That is why we boo. It is not because we are mean-spirited. It isn't really the players or the opposing players or the coaches or the refs or Santa or the owners or the GMs or anybody in particular (sometimes it is) but really it is our role. We are men and women accustomed to losing, and we hate it. We want to win so bad we would do anything for the cause. I have put some thought to it (really, I have): I would have seriously given an arm if it would have helped the Phillies win. Fortunately, they didn't need it. But I would have done it. I would still do it for the Eagles. I would do anything for a victory. During the final post game press conference, a reporter asked Charlie Manuel how he felt; he said, "I feel like a winner." Cole Hamels said the same thing. We want to be winners. We are tired of losing. That's why we boo.

But somehow, some way, this time, we won! And now, at least for now, everything has changed - my whole psyche. My inferiority complex, gone! And Murphy's Law, you have been amended: whatever can go wrong, will, but not always. Sometimes even Philadelphia wins.

smoking hot

I don't like to smoke. I didn't even enjoy this particular cigar. But man do I look cool.

(photo by Bobby Milam)

Zion Adventure - Part 3 - Subway

Sorry it has taken me a month to get these Zion blogs out. Our last Zion adventure was a hike called "The Subway." After our trek through the Narrows, our scaling of Angel's Landing, it was hard to believe our third adventure would measure up. In two words, it did. If anything, it was the most exhilarating of them all!

We started before sunrise, dropping our car off at the base of the trail and picking up a shuttle to Wildcat Canyon. Gordon was our driver again. Two other men, retired FBI in their 70s, were hiking the East Rim trim. Gordon said there was another couple he was scheduled to pick up. After waiting ten minutes, a car did show up. They were Germans, and boy did they take their time. The FBI guys were not naturally patient men, and after waiting another fifteen minutes, as the European couple lallygagged, they were past fed up. Gordon stood there, poor man, not knowing what to do. Finally, I went over and figured out what the hang up was. Turns out the couple weren't taking the shuttle. They were kind of freaking out because there was this shuttle of people staring at them! Ha! Poor Gordon was embarrassed. Once he got behind the wheel, he flew. It was terrifying.

He got us to Wildcat Canyon trailhead in less than ten minutes (he had told us it would take twenty). In a second the FBI and Gordon were gone, and it was pristinely silent. Lia and I were off. In a mile and a half the Subway route veers offtrail and follows a series of poorly laid cairns. Our outfitters told us it was easy to get lost. In fact, one of the guides confessed to us that she had never gotten the trail right. We took their advice to heart and proceeded with caution, following the trail description like it was a treasure map. It really did feel like a treasure hunt. And I'm proud to say that Lia and I never had to double back.

The trail itself is nuts! It eventually leads to a crazy downhill scramble that (having to negotiate it with 25lbs of ropes, harnesses, dry suits, a dry bag of junk) was about at my limit of ability. Lia had little difficulty. Once we reached the bottom we hiked to our first "obstacle." A thirty foot angled rappel. It wasn't too bad (though it had the added pressure of being the first rappel of Lia's life!). She did awesome. From there, we had to swim through a series of frigid, narrow, deep pools, the longest about 50 ft around a bend until we reached our second rappel. It was beyond awesome.

We had been forewarned of the iciness of the water and had rented, along with our handy-dandy canyoneering boots, "dry suits" which are basically old costumes from the television series of Star Trek. Unbelievably, they work!

The adventure got better and better. Each rappel was more sweet than the last. The scenery was beyond description. Our third rappel was at Key Hole Falls (I'm pictured above it); it was a waterfall rappel into water, which led into the actual "Subway" section. It's called the "Subway" because for some reason the water had chiseled out a perfect horizontal cylinder out of the canyon wall. I wish our camera could better capture it. You'll just have to go.

The only bummer was that there was no one around. No one was there to witness Lia's rock star talents. But then, as I clipped her into the final rappel, seven people showed up! They were "bottom-uppers" who had hiked to this point, just in time to watch Lia rappel angelically down from the sky! It was the third, and best, rock start moment in three days! Ha!