Do you know anyone who has run the Grand Canyon rim 38 times, climbed and camped on Mount Shasta in the winter, jumped out of an airplane 200 times, climbed Weaver’s Needle in Arizona’s Superstition Mountains 20 times, and run the Colorado River during its historic floods in 1972?
This is just a sample of Kay Alderton’s many outdoor adventures. Now in her 90s, Kay still restores mountain trails and hikes them in Arizona’s White Mountains.
Kay once told me, “Working on trails feels like I’m building a stairway to paradise. And in the higher elevations, 9,000 feet and up, it very well may feel like paradise.”
My first encounter with Kay was through a hiking group called Tracks. I had recently moved to Pinetop, Arizona after a tumultuous time dealing with my parents’ estate after they both died within a year of each other. I needed to meet new people and get outside more—to breathe, to move, and perhaps to ease some of my grief.
It turned out Kay lived within walking distance of my house.
Since we were both outdoor enthusiasts and had so much in common, we began taking excursions together and participating in the hiking club. In winter, we cross-country skied at Pole Knoll and other places not far from our homes.
Kay was always prepared. She carried the largest daypack I’d ever seen. I’m pretty sure it contained everything but the kitchen sink.
We laughed and talked as we hiked and skied, reminiscing about family, boyfriends, husbands, and the twists and turns our lives had taken. Kay had already experienced more adventures than most people could imagine. She had also outlived her twin sister, who died of cancer at a much younger age.
There was something about Kay’s approach to life that I admired. She didn’t seem to sit around waiting for life to happen. She went looking for it.
It was Kay who introduced me to Trash Trackers.
By then, she had already been on more than a dozen of the volunteer trips to Lake Powell. She loved them enough to keep returning, and eventually convinced me to try one myself.
So in July, 2001, I signed up for a four-day working vacation with Trash Trackers to help clean up Lake Powell.
Trash Trackers: Losing Track of Time on Lake Powell
Surrounded by the peacefulness of the lake, time seemed to stop.
Kay once described Trash Trackers this way:
“This is the best part of the program. Every trip is different. Never go with expectations. Go with an open mind and go with the flow. I have never had a bad trip.”
I didn’t know it then, but those words would become part of one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life.
Gliding across Lake Powell in our houseboat on the evening of September 10th, our group witnessed a remarkable sunset. Light seemed to pour through the clouds, almost as if a window had opened in the heavens.
I called it the “Opening of the Heavens.”
The next morning, we went about our work as usual. The goal was to pick up trash early in the day before the heat became unbearable.
We worked along the shoreline.
We talked.
We laughed.
We had no communication with the outside world. Our captain had turned off the radio, and surrounded by miles of water, cliffs and desert, we had no idea that anything unusual was happening.
The morning of September 11 was simply another morning on Lake Powell.
Until it wasn’t.
Two days later, as we returned from an excursion to Rainbow Bridge, we headed toward Wahweap Marina for ice cream. Along the way, we noticed something strange.
The flags were at half-mast.
All of them.
We walked into the concession stand and asked the woman inside what had happened.
“You don’t know?” she asked.
Of course we didn’t.
Then she told us.
The world we had left behind only days earlier had changed forever.
I will never forget the shock of standing there in that peaceful place and realizing what had happened in New York. Our little bubble on Lake Powell had protected us from the news, but it couldn’t protect us from the reality waiting for us when we returned.
Our peacefulness was shattered.
And yet, even after that terrible discovery, I remember the beauty of those days—the work, the laughter, the canyon walls glowing in the sunlight, and the evenings sitting on top of the houseboat beneath a sky filled with stars.
Perhaps that is one of the things I remember most: how quickly life can change.
One day you’re watching the most beautiful sunset you’ve seen in years. The next, you’re learning that thousands of lives have been changed forever.
I sometimes think about how easily I might never have experienced that trip at all if Kay hadn’t told me about Trash Trackers.
She knew something I didn’t yet know: some of the experiences in life that seem ordinary when we say yes to them become the ones we remember forever.
The Gift That Keeps Going
Kay and I have now been friends for more than 25 years.
Kay had originally earned a scholarship to attend pre-med school in St. Paul, Minnesota, but followed her boyfriend to Phoenix instead. They married and, within seven years, had six children. When the marriage ended in divorce, her husband took the children while Kay returned to school to pursue the nursing career she had once dreamed of.
She graduated from Glendale College in 1974 with a degree in nursing. Her former husband wanted to take the children back to his family’s farm in Wisconsin, where Kay had grown up as well. The children were surrounded by familiar people, including some of the same teachers Kay had known growing up, and she believed they would be given a strong foundation and a good work ethic. She made the painful decision to let them go, knowing she could still see them often.
Kay never remarried and kept her married name. She went on to spend more than 30 years as a nurse, while building a life filled with adventure, friendship, faith, and an extraordinary love of the outdoors. She has maintained relationships with most of her children, and her story is far more complicated—and far more human—than the list of adventures that first drew me to her.
Recently, Kay called to tell me that her right wrist had been hurting and that the doctors hadn’t been able to help. I sent her a diagram showing the Jin Shin Jyutsu hold that had helped me when I experienced carpal tunnel symptoms.
About a month later, she called.
“It worked!,” she told me.
Her wrist wasn’t sore anymore.
I smiled when I hung up the phone.
So much of our friendship has been about sharing what we discover along the way—trails, adventures, stories, faith, and now, perhaps, a little healing.
Kay taught me many things without ever setting out to be my teacher.
She taught me that age doesn’t have to be a reason to stop living.
And perhaps most importantly, she taught me to go with the flow.
We have both seen unexpected turns in our lives. We’ve both experienced loss. We’ve both witnessed what we believe are miracles. And through all of it, we continue to share our stories and remind each other that there is still plenty of life to live.
When I think back to that September evening on Lake Powell, I still see that opening in the heavens.
At the time, I couldn’t have known what the next few days would bring.
Maybe that’s the lesson.
We don’t know what is waiting around the corner. We don’t know which sunset will become a memory we carry for the rest of our lives. We don’t know which person will walk into our lives and quietly change the direction of our journey.
Sometimes all we can do is step forward with an open heart, say yes to the adventure, and—as Kay has taught me—
go with the flow.
If You Want to get Involved With Trash Trackers
Learn more about Trash Trackers here
Unfortunately, due to low water levels in 2026, this has been suspended at least for this year. My thought it would be a perfect time to clean as more buried items surface.