from L to R, UK Green, The Planners, me then Daniel.
Daniel, then me
The 2 planners
Journey begins:
Paper work finished I am done with my work for the day. I pick up a notepad and scribble King’s Canyon, north trails. Deciding it would be prudent to let someone else in California know where I will be for the next week I look over at Kyle. “Going to be in Kings Canyon with Daniel and some other s for the next week or so.”
“King’s Canyon you’ve done this before?” He’s got a crooked knowing smile, he always has that smile, and it kind of pisses me off.
“Ya, did some backpacking in New Mexico for 10 days or so. Did that trip twice¼ Yellowstone, West Coast trail Vancouver Canada, Big South Fork down in Tennessee and last summer my buddy and I did 50 of the toughest 100 miles on the Appellation Trail in Southern Maine. “ Didn’t even loose that smile.
” Ya but that aint no Sierra’s”
Looking up “ Shitt¼ I’ve hit the Sierras before”
Still smilen he replies, “Ya but not with Daniel and his friends.”
I had gotten a pretty intense e-mail earlier that week. The message listed out the mileage, ascents, and descents. Attached was a very clear spelled out warning that should be training daily, if any problems were to arise and I were not able to finish the trail the rest of the crew would continue and Daniel would accompany me off the trail. I was pretty offended at first, even intimidated. I looked at the mileage; Nathan and I had covered harder terrain in Maine. This note made since. I was an unknown, Daniel spoke for me but they were making it clear, if I could not finish the trail Daniels vacation would be ruined, not there’s. The note ended with an invitation for me to join the group for exercises to help prepare for the trip. I was concerned. The last time I was truly concerned about not being able to keep up with the rest I was 13 years old preparing for my first ever backpacking trip. I knew I was not a runner. Didn’t want anyone running me through any loops so decided I had to miss the training sessions. I figured I was doing something active at least several times a week. I have either been playing in the ocean or riding my bike. I was banking on the fact that most of them would overpack.
I see Daniel earlier that day at lunch, he speaks with a thick French accent, ” You're sure you want to do this, You ready?”
“Ya, Ya¼.I’m sure, been packed since Saturday.”
“Good, those guys can get a little intense. I told them you would hike out on your hands if you had to¼.. Don’t worry about it; I think you won’t have a problem. If you do I’ll stay back with you. No big deal¼. I think you’ll do fine.”
He gives me directions and later that evening and I get terribly lost trying to get to his place. I get there at approximately 700. We head to several stores before we have head back to his place. He wants to buy a floppy plastic container for holding dirty water from the stream. I am confused. I think he is after a drinking bladder.
“No. No. he replies, its for dirty water. For collecting water to pump or bathe in.”
He must be joking. I am still confused. Bathe?, ya,¼ must be a joke your backpacking. Why on earth would anybody need to collect water to pump? You just go to the stream and start pumping. I say nothing; he is in much better shape then I. Recently he has tried to recruit me to take on two minitriatholons. More weight for him will make me look better. He wants a bucket, he’s got one. I don’t understand, and I didn’t feel comfortable yet giving advice. We talk about the terrorist and the trade center. Heard for me to really write about that. We head back to his place and meet Mountain Goat (MG). (Not her real name) She is one of the most fit females I have ever seen. She removes a bike from her car and asks Daniel if she can leave it in his room. He starts to put it in the garage. “No, here’s the really big favor, I need it put in your room. If anyone stole that bike I would be at a big loss.” MG drives an old hatch back Honda. She gives the car some encouragement; we pack the car full and head for the hills. MG has been training with the group for weeks. One of her first comments to Daniel was regarding how surprised she was that they had let me come. I sit in the back and remain quite. Neat¼..She did not mean to make me feel awkward. I spit out my backcountry resume as casually as I can and we drive on. Daniel and MG talk about some 200-mile bike trail that they had ridden. Come to find out MG had trained for the Olympic cycling team several years earlier. She barely missed making the team, with a third place in the qualifying rounds. We drive on into the night seeing several deer along back mountain roads. We make a camp along the road close to the trail head at 230 AM. I slept outside in good old troop 109 fashion. No planes flew overhead. No football/baseball week, the entire country seemed still pausing to recatch its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. That Monday I report to work and am greeted by police directing traffic around a hospital building. Bomb threat. I sleep under the stars thinking about all this. We all half expect a war with all the Arabs to be in full swing by the time we return to civilization. This all happened Monday, it is Wednesday.
Day 1:
I meet the trips planners (I’ll call the couple the Planners). They are a married couple who have brought their dog, Hyde. Hyde wears a small dog pack that hangs on both sides down her trunk and nylon dog shoes on each foot. I ask about the shoes, “ You know it’s interesting, most vets are clueless about them. We really find they are necessary, or her feet get worn and cut from the rocks.” We make pleasant conversation. They both look well packed and carry external frame packs. We talk about how superior external frame backpacks compared to internal frames. Both prefer the thin gray sleeping pads over therma rests. Both wear lightweight canvas boots, one hikes with a ski pole, an Indiana Jones hat and long paints. Both have more backcountry experience then me. I also meet the fifth hiking companion. He is a gentleman from England who spoke with an English accent. I think he has had his green card for about a year or so. I’ll call him UK Green. (I met to ask if I could use his real name in the journal) He packed an internal frame pack, carried 4 quarts of water at almost all times, used a wind proof tent. Tucked away in his pack he would later produce a teapot, which he used for tea with dinner. He has done many climbs including a climb a couple of years ago in the Himalayan’s at 20,000+ feet. I was the youngest, trained the least but I was also probably the lightest packed. (See the old Maine journal for packing details.) My food was dry, requiring cooking only at dinner times. In addition to my soccer shorts, t-shirt 2 pair wool socks and bandanna I hiked in I also brought a poncho, wool hat, fleece pull over, a water pump and long johns. I carried my tin bowl but managed to forget my fork. Not sure if I impressed them or grossed them out when at dinner time I would simply snap a branch off the fire and use it to eat. “You need a fork?” ¼.”Naw, I’m ok. Who needs a fork when you got sticks.” Easy to clean anyway. Maybe they thought it was a Kentucky thing. With that said I did borrow a fork from time to time. My pack is older, the same I have used science I was thirteen. My hiking boots well worn, owned science fall of 94. I am now twenty-five, sure hope the equipment holds. I am among some pretty strong athletes. I feel very much the young new guy. I reassure myself, build my inner strength. I try to feel solid, it almost works. We’ll just see I tell myself. “Shit¼ I got this, come on now¼. What’s your name now anyway? .All right¼.Now then, what you afraid of?” (I think Nadine, an old scout friend said that to me once. At the time he was modeling himself after Jewels from Pulp Fiction. ) Good little pep talk never hurts. I feel better.
The plan is to bushwhack in for the first two miles then pick up the trail. We hike following a dry creak bed. Pines trees are all around; the ground is littered with extremely large pinecones. About two miles in my hip belt snaps. THIS IS A VERY BIG DEAL. I would not be possible for me to finish the trip caring 50 pounds souly on my shoulders. I think for a moment. I recalled an argument I once had with Mr. McCullough, my old scoutmaster about the uselessness of knots. I recall, and use an extra shoestring to lash my hip belt onto the pack frame. I am good to go. The lash is done well and holds for the rest of the trip. As usual Mr. McCullough was right. I owe a lot to my old scout leaders. My hip is sore for the first two days. We spend most of the morning trying to find the trail. Bushwhacking just sucks, avoid it at almost all costs. My companions are good at their map skills and we are able to more or less stay on course. They use a navigation GPS system that is able to state our altitude and location. I don’t have a map, almost preferred it that way. There is much confusion about location; the trails are not well used. We hiked for most of the day passing through abandoned cabins and farmlands. We took many half hour breaks. The tail remained thin, often losing and refinding it after a good twenty-minute search. We camped that night in a meadow among Giant Sequoias. There is a small tinkle of a creek close by. All of my companions use their plastic bendable buckets to bathe. The water is cold and I prefer to be dirty. Daniel gives me some of his left over potatoes a sausage, which I am able to eat with my fingers. Not bad, the meal is much better then the dehydrated dinner I had planned.
Day 2: The next morning camp break down occurs at a leisurely pace. I crawl out of my tent a while after dawn. I roll my thermarest, lower my bear bag and stuff my sleeping bag. Most people cook breakfast, I don’t giving me even more free time. Over all we spent over about three hours breaking down camp. We did not start the trail until past 11:00. We hike for about an hour and a half, and then stop for a half hour. The land that morning was flat. After the break I set the pace and we continue to make good time till 3:45 or so. I eat granola bars dipped in peanut butter. We start an ascent. I am now definitely not leading. In preparations all of my companions have trained for at least an hour or more a day. They can go very heard and ascend much faster then I. I probably ascend the same pace I always have. These guys blow past me. I keep it respectable but it takes much effort. We almost stop at a small camp by a stream. We are behind in mileage and we still have two hours daylight. The two planners disagree on the camp whether or not to move on. I stay out. The decision is to move onward. We take a mad pace, lead by the planner who lost the argument. We decide to hike for an hour then stop. I put a good pace to keep up with the leader, the others string out along the countryside. I am trying to still establish that this old Kentucky boy can keep up with theses Californians. I am the youngest on this trip and I still felt a need to prove myself. The leader and I pushing hard (least for me anyway). An hour passes. No camps we continue to climb. Second hour goes by and we continue on. I am hangen on, tired. We are all getting tired. We finally break camp in a dusty meadow. Here I spend most of the evening convincing Mountain Goat (MG) and myself that my dehydrated food is top notch. Don’t ask why, I think I was probably just getting myself motivated to eat the crap. “Oh man this stuff is good. Just look at it!!! Wow¼ you know I’ve paid 30 bucks at some fancy restaurant and the food wasn’t nearly as good as this.” She was not used to my humor, and politely replied, ”Really I didn’t know those where that good.”
Course I had to keep it going, “ No, I’m telling ya, Backpackers Pantry (a brand name) is the way to go. Just look, almost no flavor bursts and all prepared in a burnable package.” I turn the mush with much enthusiasm. She laughs catching on. Let me explain to concept of flavorbursts. Flaverbusts, were named by a bunch of thirteen year olds scouts on their first extended backpacking trip way back in 1991. The trip occurred on a scout ranch out in New Mexico. Lasting 10 days, almost all of our food was dehydrated. Flavor bursts are the sheer delight that occurs when eating a hydrated, dried cooked dinner and discovering pockets of dryed unhydrated food mixed in the moist mush. They leave a strong taste and interesting texture in your mouth.
It was getting pretty cold at about 9:00. I begin to worry that I did not bring enough cloths. Camp is at 9,000 ft. My sleeping bag is good, I have a thermarest to help keep me warm. I take my tennis shoes off put them in the bottom of my bag Rain poncho, top and bottom get scrunched up along with several empty 2 gallon zip lock bags, thera rest cover, and tent bags. I sleep in my wool hat and strip down to my boxers and t-shirt. I also stick my feet in a garbage bag for extra warmth. In the end I go to sleep warm, waking later hot and sweaty.
Day 3: The goal that morning was to leave by 8:00, with the expectation we would really leave by 8:30. Getting out of my sleeping bag I manage to rip off a good section of my thumbnail. Using my fingernail clippers I file away the rip. I then careful examine the rest of my nails. Though dirty all pass inspection. There is ice on the tents. I munch down some granola bars and watch the others cook. 8:30 comes and goes. I open my only luxury for the trip, a cherry coke and do some writing. 9:00 passes. I finish my Coke and sit happily. The two planners that camped further away came over ready to begin the trail. They help the others get packed. One begins to ask me about the Appalachian Trail. I talk about the trail, talk about backpackers midnight, 9:00 PM. I did fail to mention 10:00 AM is usually considered late noon. Everyone is packed and we continue to ascent. We finally break tree line. We decide to change our route to stay at higher altitudes and the two females in the group set a fast up hill pace. We stop twice for half hour periods. I am learning that with this bunch any stop it is assumed that it is a 30-minute break and you should start eating. No official lunchtime. We continue on through the morning. Later that afternoon the group gets separated. The group sits by a lake while the female planner heads back to find her husband and UK green. We have been hiking in little traveled backcountry. We have only seen a couple of hunters thus far. Not too much signs of other humans. We sit and think, ” They really should have been here by now.” In this kind of country a person could wander for days on the trails with out seeing anyone. And a person could wander for much longer off trails before finding help. I am only a little concerned, both are skilled with maps, have the only maps, and should be able to refine the group with out much delay. I thought about my emergency whistle. Scouts have prepared me well. The dog keeps getting up to search for its mother. Hyde takes constant comforting, even two commands to stay. The only other dog I have seen better behaved was a Seeing Eye dog. Everyone returns, evidently they stopped to take care of blisters, and take a snack. We decide to camp at tree line next to a beautiful mountain lake surrounded on three sides by mountain peaks. Camp is set at about 3:45. This will be the base camp at 10,027 ft for the next two nights. My companions spend the day bathing and hanging out. I eat talk and write. Later that evening we all sit by the fire. Conversation ranges from complete history on England through WII, to all the different kinds of toilets, W/C’s, found throughout the world. The engineering of which was of course discussed in great detail. The benefits of traveling with such a worldly group. No final conclusions on the W/C’s were ever made. Later that evening as everyone returns to their tents. I eat a late dinner of Backpacker’s Pantry Chicken Terkie. This time it actually tastes good. The last one to bed I hang my bear bag and look the camp over. I prepare for a cold night. My pack is next to my tent. I leave the compartments open to allow any mice or anything else sniff as they need. My last thoughts were about how I had eaten tuna fish next to my tent. That was stupid, any spilled juice would leave a strong smell. I turn in. After twenty minutes I hear plastic rustle. Must be a mouse climbing in my pack. I lessen. I hear it again much louder, like a stomp. That aint no mouse¼. SHIT>>>SHIT SHIT¼Bear!!!¼¼.Breath, breath quietly. What the hell am I suppose to do? Keep quite, wait till this bloody bear leaves? Or make noise and scare this fool off. This fool probolly 300+ pounds, my ass is confined in a sleeping bag. Stay quite, I remind my self to breath. More plastic crackles¼.the side of my tent shakes. SHIT SHIT SHIT¼¼
Then something weird happens. I hear plastic crinkle on both sides wait¼..then the tent shakes. My heart is still going. Waite¼. Aint two bears now¼ this can’t be right. It’s the wind. I am using a plastic ground cloth for the first time to protect a barrowed tent. It takes me a while to convince my self this but I finally dose to sleep. I was real close to waking an entire camp because the wind was blowing my tent. Feel pretty macho now.
Day 4
I awoke near dawn hot. Ice had formed on the tent. Today there is talk about climbing Silver Peak Mountain 11,600 feet. It is a relaxing morning and even I bathe. Granola and brownies are breakfast. We leave at 12:07 and start the climb over the saddle of Cox’s Comb. As we descend the saddle we take a group picture and wind down between Rainbow Lake left, and Margot lake right. We then plan the ascent and filter water from the lakes. In Margot late I stop and notice light brown spotted frogs. They are about the size of a quarter. “Didn’t you see those earlier? There were hundreds of them when we passed Frog Lake.” “ Ohh¼ now that would make science now¼” Silver peak has a sister peak 11420 we called bronze peak. So named by Daniel. The plan is to ascend bronze peak then follow the ridge to silver peak. The ascent is difficult, for some reason or another I was the first one to start the climb and I am leading. I pick a 40-degree slope up a crack between two rock faces. We follow the crack up to where it splits. The one to the left runs closer to bronze peak the one to the right leads away from the peak. The one to the right is not as steep so that is the one I pick. I keep climbing. I look below to see that the rest of the group take the left split. I have worked my way up 1/3 of the crack and from my vantage point the right side looked to be the easiest climb. My stubbornist came through and I continue on. I make the ridge and can fairly easy make my way over to the group. I am getting angry with my self for being so foolish. This type of terrain it is very easy to get hurt. Splitting up was stupid. I pick my way along and meet the others who are just coming over the crest. I stay at my elevated position and drink while everyone breaks. A half hour later their group splits and Daniel, Mountain goat, and UK green all cont the ascent of the ridge to the right of Bronze Mountain. The planners are concerned about there dog and return to camp. We all meet on the ridge to the right of Bronze peak. UK green says, “It’s two thirty, at 3:00 we have to turn back.” We take off, Mountain Goat and I had only brought hip packs for this day hike and set the pace. After much bouldering we reached the peak of Bronze mountain. Shortly after Daniel and UK green meet us, we sit and eat lunch at 11,420 ft. It is 3:05 Silver peak will have to wait. We scramble down the mountain choosing a different descent. We boulder back to the ridge then pick a wash path down into the valley. To our left there is a parallel ridge with snow still lurking in the mountain’s shadows. The ridge is bare and rugged, grayed rock running into charcoal black. Very rugged in front of us lay Mammoth Mountain in full view. Margot Lake is cradled by a large green grassy meadow. In the meadow there are feeder steams, which flow into the lake. We are all feeling quite good. Daniel turns to me and in his thick French accent says, ”You know MG is quite a goat.” I laughed, “You better watch it.. Those could be fighting words. Most people where I am from don’t take too kindly to that kind of talk.” I used a thick southern accent just for fun. MG says to Daniel, “Thanks, I actually take that as a complement.” “No, she is a goat. Mike you just smell like goat.” Strange Belgium humor. We all do our best at singing Adlevise from the sound of music and continued downward into the meadow. In the meadow the streams form pools were schools of large trout gather with brown tops and orange bellies. We continue on to camp. Here everyone but myself bathe. Water is just to cold for my blood. I decide it’s finally time for my lunch.
It’s about 7:00 and the rest eat and we trade backcountry stories. UK green tells us about the Himalayans and his 20,000ft + trip. “ The shurpa’s really carry most of your equipment. Your pack is actually pretty light.” With that said it still sounded like a challenging exciting trip. One of the planners talks about how his friend would shit in a sealed PVC pipe when snow camping. After managing to aim your poop properly you then add water to make a creamy pour able past. You then stir the mixture with a stick so that when you return home you can simply poor the mixture down the toilet. Thus it is known as a Shit slurry, an invention of a friend of his. At first I thought he said shit slurpy,¼well now there’s a tasty thought. The Slurry remains a favorite topic of conversation for the next twenty-four hours. Pretty hard core low impact camping. We decide to leave at 10:00 the next morning. Sleep comes easy, as I am tired. I have crazy dreams.
Day 5
I awake at dawn and decide to stay in my sleeping bag until the sun hits my tent. Frost covers to the tent and I was going to stay warm. The rest of the groups were already warming up by the fire. I finally get up eat some granola for breakfast and dry my rain frosty rain fly and frozen stiff t-shirt, washed from the night before, in the sun. I then got my things together, wrote and drew until 10:00 when we all left. We followed the same trail we used to enter the camp sight two days before. I spent the morning talking about scouts. I talked about trips we used to take, the importance of a boy lead troop, and the need for youths to have mentors. I think most of life’s important lessons can be learned from backpacking. Be prepared, team work, carry your weight and live simply.
We rebroke tree line as we headed over the next ridge at 10,500. Most of that morning we were hiking at 10,00 ft. We follow the ridge to arch rock. Here we stop take some pictures and take a break. After arch rock we descend 3000 ft with very scenic mountain views. Even on day 5 the power and beauty of the Sequoia’s continues to impress. At the base of our descent we eat at a small stream. I devour my tuna, giving the rest to Hyde, the dog. After receiving input from some of my companions I decide it’s time to shave. I pull out my Safeway special disposable from my pack. I wash my face in the stream and begin. The razor keeps getting clogged, but now with hair. “Man according to this razor my face is flat out filthy.”
“Well¼. Someone should give him a mirror.”
“Why didn’t any one tell me I was this dirty?”
“Well I did start calling you pigpen” MG replied. My sun block had trapped and held dirt all over my face. It was a new brand. I am unable to shave. We continue hiking and stop to talk with some bear hunter. They were waiting for the pack animals to bring down their kill. The hunters tell us the first news of the world in five days. It all sounded like a military war against Afghanistan. This upsets me. To many dead. A war will not discourage terrorist. We follow the road to Onion Spring Camp. The camp is next to a drivable road and litter is everywhere. Bullet shells, cigarette butts and garbage are all about. The trees are packed full with bullet holes, which left sap bleeding and pussing out of their scars. There is a stream and an old out house next to camp. We remove all the burnable garbage, place it in the fire pit and start a fire. I sit and write enjoying the meadow and the warmth of the sun around me. A very close gunshot causes me to jump. I turn to look at the fire pit and see a large puff of ash. “Live ammo! Live ammo!!, every one get back!!” I am now crouching behind a tree. We all stay back and wait. The fire continues to burn. I am upset.” Thought California boys would be smarter than this. Rednecks in Kentucky aint even this stupid. Now who goes leaven live ammo in a fire pit.”? We wait. Looking back on all this, this next part might not sound so smart. We decide to build the fire high. We all stand clear and burn out any more live ammo that might still be buried in the ash. I sit behind a tree and continue to write. The fire burn high, time passes. The fire burns down. We all get more comfortable and finish preparing camp. We talk about the upcoming war and the history of the Middle East. UK green knows a lot about British history in the Middle East. It is all very interesting. We all agree to an early start. Departure is 8:00. Different people have different wake up times depending on how long it has taken them over the past week. UK green had the wristwatch and would be responsible for waking people. We sleep with out tent fly’s to keep the tents dry. This will avoid drying the tents in the morning. Before we went to bed some one pulls an exploded butane bottle from the fire. Well there’s our gunshot. I slept well that night. Full view of the large trees looming overhead, the still quite sky. It is peaceful. How big and gentle the world looked that night as I drifted to sleep.
Day 6
UK green wakes the camp one by one. I am the last to get out of my tent. It is chilly, I am in my hiking shorts and we meet the 8:00 goal. UK green had woken everyone up 15 minutes early and had been periodically announcing the time 15 minutes fast. He did what he had to do. We hike out on the dirt road. The group slits in two, the first group stops only once for a quick snack and cover the 8-10 miles well before the 2:00 goal. My body felt very good, I felt strong and solid. The second group arrives some time later, taking several stops for food. I change cloths for the first time all week. Now that I have arrived to the car I am ready to get all the dirt possible off my body. We decide to drive to get some lunch. We stopped at Mexican place with American flags and patriotic poetry posted all over the walls. This Land is Your land played on the radio. America was reacting. We bought a paper and crowded around. I read out loud to the group which all sat in silence. After reading for a while I turned the paper over and went to the bathroom to wash my face, hair and hands. Mountain Goat drove us home, Pink Floyd playing in the sunset. I felt good, felt young. A sort of strange heaviness lay pone me. Yet my body on soul felt fresh. In the wake of such tragedy I had been detached. The tragedy was ever as real but I was given an opportunity to simplify, to embrace, and truly observe the details of nature. I was once stranded on high way 17, a mountainous, curvy highway. While sitting waiting for my car’s radiator to cool I noticed for the first time truly details of the hillside. The calmness of the grass, the gentle rocks, the smell of pine. Contrasts with the stress of a broken car. The very very constant 65-m/ph traffic maddening by. When looked at closely in these situations, the rock the grass can be glorified. An art teacher used to routinely tell me, to emphases a red color you surround it with green. Red and green are contracts, mixed and they make black. Make a contrast in both color and texture and the eye will notice. I noticed, I noticed maybe more then before. Though I have not traveled the Sierra’s like this but I've spent many an hour looking at this picture. It’s the picture of backcountry. The colors have always been there. The contrast now emphasis, the shapes the roundness and power. It is rare in life you are given such deep darks. It is rare that one has the opportunity to compare those darks. In this craziness take time out to enjoy those little simple things. Enjoy the everyday greens, securities, opportunity to grow, love from friends we all come to accept and expect. Leaning and attempting to understand the reds, the hate, the blood, we understand the good, and thus the reds make the green more brilliant. Live well above all use understand and enjoy goodness when it presents. With green there is growth. We must learn growth and love.
The realities of the civilized world wash over me. I return to work and begin my routine.
Paper work finished I am done with my work for the day. I pick up a notepad and scribble King’s Canyon, north trails. Deciding it would be prudent to let someone else in California know where I will be for the next week I look over at Kyle. “Going to be in Kings Canyon with Daniel and some other s for the next week or so.”
“King’s Canyon you’ve done this before?” He’s got a crooked knowing smile, he always has that smile, and it kind of pisses me off.
“Ya, did some backpacking in New Mexico for 10 days or so. Did that trip twice¼ Yellowstone, West Coast trail Vancouver Canada, Big South Fork down in Tennessee and last summer my buddy and I did 50 of the toughest 100 miles on the Appellation Trail in Southern Maine. “ Didn’t even loose that smile.
” Ya but that aint no Sierra’s”
Looking up “ Shitt¼ I’ve hit the Sierras before”
Still smilen he replies, “Ya but not with Daniel and his friends.”
I had gotten a pretty intense e-mail earlier that week. The message listed out the mileage, ascents, and descents. Attached was a very clear spelled out warning that should be training daily, if any problems were to arise and I were not able to finish the trail the rest of the crew would continue and Daniel would accompany me off the trail. I was pretty offended at first, even intimidated. I looked at the mileage; Nathan and I had covered harder terrain in Maine. This note made since. I was an unknown, Daniel spoke for me but they were making it clear, if I could not finish the trail Daniels vacation would be ruined, not there’s. The note ended with an invitation for me to join the group for exercises to help prepare for the trip. I was concerned. The last time I was truly concerned about not being able to keep up with the rest I was 13 years old preparing for my first ever backpacking trip. I knew I was not a runner. Didn’t want anyone running me through any loops so decided I had to miss the training sessions. I figured I was doing something active at least several times a week. I have either been playing in the ocean or riding my bike. I was banking on the fact that most of them would overpack.
I see Daniel earlier that day at lunch, he speaks with a thick French accent, ” You're sure you want to do this, You ready?”
“Ya, Ya¼.I’m sure, been packed since Saturday.”
“Good, those guys can get a little intense. I told them you would hike out on your hands if you had to¼.. Don’t worry about it; I think you won’t have a problem. If you do I’ll stay back with you. No big deal¼. I think you’ll do fine.”
He gives me directions and later that evening and I get terribly lost trying to get to his place. I get there at approximately 700. We head to several stores before we have head back to his place. He wants to buy a floppy plastic container for holding dirty water from the stream. I am confused. I think he is after a drinking bladder.
“No. No. he replies, its for dirty water. For collecting water to pump or bathe in.”
He must be joking. I am still confused. Bathe?, ya,¼ must be a joke your backpacking. Why on earth would anybody need to collect water to pump? You just go to the stream and start pumping. I say nothing; he is in much better shape then I. Recently he has tried to recruit me to take on two minitriatholons. More weight for him will make me look better. He wants a bucket, he’s got one. I don’t understand, and I didn’t feel comfortable yet giving advice. We talk about the terrorist and the trade center. Heard for me to really write about that. We head back to his place and meet Mountain Goat (MG). (Not her real name) She is one of the most fit females I have ever seen. She removes a bike from her car and asks Daniel if she can leave it in his room. He starts to put it in the garage. “No, here’s the really big favor, I need it put in your room. If anyone stole that bike I would be at a big loss.” MG drives an old hatch back Honda. She gives the car some encouragement; we pack the car full and head for the hills. MG has been training with the group for weeks. One of her first comments to Daniel was regarding how surprised she was that they had let me come. I sit in the back and remain quite. Neat¼..She did not mean to make me feel awkward. I spit out my backcountry resume as casually as I can and we drive on. Daniel and MG talk about some 200-mile bike trail that they had ridden. Come to find out MG had trained for the Olympic cycling team several years earlier. She barely missed making the team, with a third place in the qualifying rounds. We drive on into the night seeing several deer along back mountain roads. We make a camp along the road close to the trail head at 230 AM. I slept outside in good old troop 109 fashion. No planes flew overhead. No football/baseball week, the entire country seemed still pausing to recatch its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. That Monday I report to work and am greeted by police directing traffic around a hospital building. Bomb threat. I sleep under the stars thinking about all this. We all half expect a war with all the Arabs to be in full swing by the time we return to civilization. This all happened Monday, it is Wednesday.
Day 1:
I meet the trips planners (I’ll call the couple the Planners). They are a married couple who have brought their dog, Hyde. Hyde wears a small dog pack that hangs on both sides down her trunk and nylon dog shoes on each foot. I ask about the shoes, “ You know it’s interesting, most vets are clueless about them. We really find they are necessary, or her feet get worn and cut from the rocks.” We make pleasant conversation. They both look well packed and carry external frame packs. We talk about how superior external frame backpacks compared to internal frames. Both prefer the thin gray sleeping pads over therma rests. Both wear lightweight canvas boots, one hikes with a ski pole, an Indiana Jones hat and long paints. Both have more backcountry experience then me. I also meet the fifth hiking companion. He is a gentleman from England who spoke with an English accent. I think he has had his green card for about a year or so. I’ll call him UK Green. (I met to ask if I could use his real name in the journal) He packed an internal frame pack, carried 4 quarts of water at almost all times, used a wind proof tent. Tucked away in his pack he would later produce a teapot, which he used for tea with dinner. He has done many climbs including a climb a couple of years ago in the Himalayan’s at 20,000+ feet. I was the youngest, trained the least but I was also probably the lightest packed. (See the old Maine journal for packing details.) My food was dry, requiring cooking only at dinner times. In addition to my soccer shorts, t-shirt 2 pair wool socks and bandanna I hiked in I also brought a poncho, wool hat, fleece pull over, a water pump and long johns. I carried my tin bowl but managed to forget my fork. Not sure if I impressed them or grossed them out when at dinner time I would simply snap a branch off the fire and use it to eat. “You need a fork?” ¼.”Naw, I’m ok. Who needs a fork when you got sticks.” Easy to clean anyway. Maybe they thought it was a Kentucky thing. With that said I did borrow a fork from time to time. My pack is older, the same I have used science I was thirteen. My hiking boots well worn, owned science fall of 94. I am now twenty-five, sure hope the equipment holds. I am among some pretty strong athletes. I feel very much the young new guy. I reassure myself, build my inner strength. I try to feel solid, it almost works. We’ll just see I tell myself. “Shit¼ I got this, come on now¼. What’s your name now anyway? .All right¼.Now then, what you afraid of?” (I think Nadine, an old scout friend said that to me once. At the time he was modeling himself after Jewels from Pulp Fiction. ) Good little pep talk never hurts. I feel better.
The plan is to bushwhack in for the first two miles then pick up the trail. We hike following a dry creak bed. Pines trees are all around; the ground is littered with extremely large pinecones. About two miles in my hip belt snaps. THIS IS A VERY BIG DEAL. I would not be possible for me to finish the trip caring 50 pounds souly on my shoulders. I think for a moment. I recalled an argument I once had with Mr. McCullough, my old scoutmaster about the uselessness of knots. I recall, and use an extra shoestring to lash my hip belt onto the pack frame. I am good to go. The lash is done well and holds for the rest of the trip. As usual Mr. McCullough was right. I owe a lot to my old scout leaders. My hip is sore for the first two days. We spend most of the morning trying to find the trail. Bushwhacking just sucks, avoid it at almost all costs. My companions are good at their map skills and we are able to more or less stay on course. They use a navigation GPS system that is able to state our altitude and location. I don’t have a map, almost preferred it that way. There is much confusion about location; the trails are not well used. We hiked for most of the day passing through abandoned cabins and farmlands. We took many half hour breaks. The tail remained thin, often losing and refinding it after a good twenty-minute search. We camped that night in a meadow among Giant Sequoias. There is a small tinkle of a creek close by. All of my companions use their plastic bendable buckets to bathe. The water is cold and I prefer to be dirty. Daniel gives me some of his left over potatoes a sausage, which I am able to eat with my fingers. Not bad, the meal is much better then the dehydrated dinner I had planned.
Day 2: The next morning camp break down occurs at a leisurely pace. I crawl out of my tent a while after dawn. I roll my thermarest, lower my bear bag and stuff my sleeping bag. Most people cook breakfast, I don’t giving me even more free time. Over all we spent over about three hours breaking down camp. We did not start the trail until past 11:00. We hike for about an hour and a half, and then stop for a half hour. The land that morning was flat. After the break I set the pace and we continue to make good time till 3:45 or so. I eat granola bars dipped in peanut butter. We start an ascent. I am now definitely not leading. In preparations all of my companions have trained for at least an hour or more a day. They can go very heard and ascend much faster then I. I probably ascend the same pace I always have. These guys blow past me. I keep it respectable but it takes much effort. We almost stop at a small camp by a stream. We are behind in mileage and we still have two hours daylight. The two planners disagree on the camp whether or not to move on. I stay out. The decision is to move onward. We take a mad pace, lead by the planner who lost the argument. We decide to hike for an hour then stop. I put a good pace to keep up with the leader, the others string out along the countryside. I am trying to still establish that this old Kentucky boy can keep up with theses Californians. I am the youngest on this trip and I still felt a need to prove myself. The leader and I pushing hard (least for me anyway). An hour passes. No camps we continue to climb. Second hour goes by and we continue on. I am hangen on, tired. We are all getting tired. We finally break camp in a dusty meadow. Here I spend most of the evening convincing Mountain Goat (MG) and myself that my dehydrated food is top notch. Don’t ask why, I think I was probably just getting myself motivated to eat the crap. “Oh man this stuff is good. Just look at it!!! Wow¼ you know I’ve paid 30 bucks at some fancy restaurant and the food wasn’t nearly as good as this.” She was not used to my humor, and politely replied, ”Really I didn’t know those where that good.”
Course I had to keep it going, “ No, I’m telling ya, Backpackers Pantry (a brand name) is the way to go. Just look, almost no flavor bursts and all prepared in a burnable package.” I turn the mush with much enthusiasm. She laughs catching on. Let me explain to concept of flavorbursts. Flaverbusts, were named by a bunch of thirteen year olds scouts on their first extended backpacking trip way back in 1991. The trip occurred on a scout ranch out in New Mexico. Lasting 10 days, almost all of our food was dehydrated. Flavor bursts are the sheer delight that occurs when eating a hydrated, dried cooked dinner and discovering pockets of dryed unhydrated food mixed in the moist mush. They leave a strong taste and interesting texture in your mouth.
It was getting pretty cold at about 9:00. I begin to worry that I did not bring enough cloths. Camp is at 9,000 ft. My sleeping bag is good, I have a thermarest to help keep me warm. I take my tennis shoes off put them in the bottom of my bag Rain poncho, top and bottom get scrunched up along with several empty 2 gallon zip lock bags, thera rest cover, and tent bags. I sleep in my wool hat and strip down to my boxers and t-shirt. I also stick my feet in a garbage bag for extra warmth. In the end I go to sleep warm, waking later hot and sweaty.
Day 3: The goal that morning was to leave by 8:00, with the expectation we would really leave by 8:30. Getting out of my sleeping bag I manage to rip off a good section of my thumbnail. Using my fingernail clippers I file away the rip. I then careful examine the rest of my nails. Though dirty all pass inspection. There is ice on the tents. I munch down some granola bars and watch the others cook. 8:30 comes and goes. I open my only luxury for the trip, a cherry coke and do some writing. 9:00 passes. I finish my Coke and sit happily. The two planners that camped further away came over ready to begin the trail. They help the others get packed. One begins to ask me about the Appalachian Trail. I talk about the trail, talk about backpackers midnight, 9:00 PM. I did fail to mention 10:00 AM is usually considered late noon. Everyone is packed and we continue to ascent. We finally break tree line. We decide to change our route to stay at higher altitudes and the two females in the group set a fast up hill pace. We stop twice for half hour periods. I am learning that with this bunch any stop it is assumed that it is a 30-minute break and you should start eating. No official lunchtime. We continue on through the morning. Later that afternoon the group gets separated. The group sits by a lake while the female planner heads back to find her husband and UK green. We have been hiking in little traveled backcountry. We have only seen a couple of hunters thus far. Not too much signs of other humans. We sit and think, ” They really should have been here by now.” In this kind of country a person could wander for days on the trails with out seeing anyone. And a person could wander for much longer off trails before finding help. I am only a little concerned, both are skilled with maps, have the only maps, and should be able to refine the group with out much delay. I thought about my emergency whistle. Scouts have prepared me well. The dog keeps getting up to search for its mother. Hyde takes constant comforting, even two commands to stay. The only other dog I have seen better behaved was a Seeing Eye dog. Everyone returns, evidently they stopped to take care of blisters, and take a snack. We decide to camp at tree line next to a beautiful mountain lake surrounded on three sides by mountain peaks. Camp is set at about 3:45. This will be the base camp at 10,027 ft for the next two nights. My companions spend the day bathing and hanging out. I eat talk and write. Later that evening we all sit by the fire. Conversation ranges from complete history on England through WII, to all the different kinds of toilets, W/C’s, found throughout the world. The engineering of which was of course discussed in great detail. The benefits of traveling with such a worldly group. No final conclusions on the W/C’s were ever made. Later that evening as everyone returns to their tents. I eat a late dinner of Backpacker’s Pantry Chicken Terkie. This time it actually tastes good. The last one to bed I hang my bear bag and look the camp over. I prepare for a cold night. My pack is next to my tent. I leave the compartments open to allow any mice or anything else sniff as they need. My last thoughts were about how I had eaten tuna fish next to my tent. That was stupid, any spilled juice would leave a strong smell. I turn in. After twenty minutes I hear plastic rustle. Must be a mouse climbing in my pack. I lessen. I hear it again much louder, like a stomp. That aint no mouse¼. SHIT>>>SHIT SHIT¼Bear!!!¼¼.Breath, breath quietly. What the hell am I suppose to do? Keep quite, wait till this bloody bear leaves? Or make noise and scare this fool off. This fool probolly 300+ pounds, my ass is confined in a sleeping bag. Stay quite, I remind my self to breath. More plastic crackles¼.the side of my tent shakes. SHIT SHIT SHIT¼¼
Then something weird happens. I hear plastic crinkle on both sides wait¼..then the tent shakes. My heart is still going. Waite¼. Aint two bears now¼ this can’t be right. It’s the wind. I am using a plastic ground cloth for the first time to protect a barrowed tent. It takes me a while to convince my self this but I finally dose to sleep. I was real close to waking an entire camp because the wind was blowing my tent. Feel pretty macho now.
Day 4
I awoke near dawn hot. Ice had formed on the tent. Today there is talk about climbing Silver Peak Mountain 11,600 feet. It is a relaxing morning and even I bathe. Granola and brownies are breakfast. We leave at 12:07 and start the climb over the saddle of Cox’s Comb. As we descend the saddle we take a group picture and wind down between Rainbow Lake left, and Margot lake right. We then plan the ascent and filter water from the lakes. In Margot late I stop and notice light brown spotted frogs. They are about the size of a quarter. “Didn’t you see those earlier? There were hundreds of them when we passed Frog Lake.” “ Ohh¼ now that would make science now¼” Silver peak has a sister peak 11420 we called bronze peak. So named by Daniel. The plan is to ascend bronze peak then follow the ridge to silver peak. The ascent is difficult, for some reason or another I was the first one to start the climb and I am leading. I pick a 40-degree slope up a crack between two rock faces. We follow the crack up to where it splits. The one to the left runs closer to bronze peak the one to the right leads away from the peak. The one to the right is not as steep so that is the one I pick. I keep climbing. I look below to see that the rest of the group take the left split. I have worked my way up 1/3 of the crack and from my vantage point the right side looked to be the easiest climb. My stubbornist came through and I continue on. I make the ridge and can fairly easy make my way over to the group. I am getting angry with my self for being so foolish. This type of terrain it is very easy to get hurt. Splitting up was stupid. I pick my way along and meet the others who are just coming over the crest. I stay at my elevated position and drink while everyone breaks. A half hour later their group splits and Daniel, Mountain goat, and UK green all cont the ascent of the ridge to the right of Bronze Mountain. The planners are concerned about there dog and return to camp. We all meet on the ridge to the right of Bronze peak. UK green says, “It’s two thirty, at 3:00 we have to turn back.” We take off, Mountain Goat and I had only brought hip packs for this day hike and set the pace. After much bouldering we reached the peak of Bronze mountain. Shortly after Daniel and UK green meet us, we sit and eat lunch at 11,420 ft. It is 3:05 Silver peak will have to wait. We scramble down the mountain choosing a different descent. We boulder back to the ridge then pick a wash path down into the valley. To our left there is a parallel ridge with snow still lurking in the mountain’s shadows. The ridge is bare and rugged, grayed rock running into charcoal black. Very rugged in front of us lay Mammoth Mountain in full view. Margot Lake is cradled by a large green grassy meadow. In the meadow there are feeder steams, which flow into the lake. We are all feeling quite good. Daniel turns to me and in his thick French accent says, ”You know MG is quite a goat.” I laughed, “You better watch it.. Those could be fighting words. Most people where I am from don’t take too kindly to that kind of talk.” I used a thick southern accent just for fun. MG says to Daniel, “Thanks, I actually take that as a complement.” “No, she is a goat. Mike you just smell like goat.” Strange Belgium humor. We all do our best at singing Adlevise from the sound of music and continued downward into the meadow. In the meadow the streams form pools were schools of large trout gather with brown tops and orange bellies. We continue on to camp. Here everyone but myself bathe. Water is just to cold for my blood. I decide it’s finally time for my lunch.
It’s about 7:00 and the rest eat and we trade backcountry stories. UK green tells us about the Himalayans and his 20,000ft + trip. “ The shurpa’s really carry most of your equipment. Your pack is actually pretty light.” With that said it still sounded like a challenging exciting trip. One of the planners talks about how his friend would shit in a sealed PVC pipe when snow camping. After managing to aim your poop properly you then add water to make a creamy pour able past. You then stir the mixture with a stick so that when you return home you can simply poor the mixture down the toilet. Thus it is known as a Shit slurry, an invention of a friend of his. At first I thought he said shit slurpy,¼well now there’s a tasty thought. The Slurry remains a favorite topic of conversation for the next twenty-four hours. Pretty hard core low impact camping. We decide to leave at 10:00 the next morning. Sleep comes easy, as I am tired. I have crazy dreams.
Day 5
I awake at dawn and decide to stay in my sleeping bag until the sun hits my tent. Frost covers to the tent and I was going to stay warm. The rest of the groups were already warming up by the fire. I finally get up eat some granola for breakfast and dry my rain frosty rain fly and frozen stiff t-shirt, washed from the night before, in the sun. I then got my things together, wrote and drew until 10:00 when we all left. We followed the same trail we used to enter the camp sight two days before. I spent the morning talking about scouts. I talked about trips we used to take, the importance of a boy lead troop, and the need for youths to have mentors. I think most of life’s important lessons can be learned from backpacking. Be prepared, team work, carry your weight and live simply.
We rebroke tree line as we headed over the next ridge at 10,500. Most of that morning we were hiking at 10,00 ft. We follow the ridge to arch rock. Here we stop take some pictures and take a break. After arch rock we descend 3000 ft with very scenic mountain views. Even on day 5 the power and beauty of the Sequoia’s continues to impress. At the base of our descent we eat at a small stream. I devour my tuna, giving the rest to Hyde, the dog. After receiving input from some of my companions I decide it’s time to shave. I pull out my Safeway special disposable from my pack. I wash my face in the stream and begin. The razor keeps getting clogged, but now with hair. “Man according to this razor my face is flat out filthy.”
“Well¼. Someone should give him a mirror.”
“Why didn’t any one tell me I was this dirty?”
“Well I did start calling you pigpen” MG replied. My sun block had trapped and held dirt all over my face. It was a new brand. I am unable to shave. We continue hiking and stop to talk with some bear hunter. They were waiting for the pack animals to bring down their kill. The hunters tell us the first news of the world in five days. It all sounded like a military war against Afghanistan. This upsets me. To many dead. A war will not discourage terrorist. We follow the road to Onion Spring Camp. The camp is next to a drivable road and litter is everywhere. Bullet shells, cigarette butts and garbage are all about. The trees are packed full with bullet holes, which left sap bleeding and pussing out of their scars. There is a stream and an old out house next to camp. We remove all the burnable garbage, place it in the fire pit and start a fire. I sit and write enjoying the meadow and the warmth of the sun around me. A very close gunshot causes me to jump. I turn to look at the fire pit and see a large puff of ash. “Live ammo! Live ammo!!, every one get back!!” I am now crouching behind a tree. We all stay back and wait. The fire continues to burn. I am upset.” Thought California boys would be smarter than this. Rednecks in Kentucky aint even this stupid. Now who goes leaven live ammo in a fire pit.”? We wait. Looking back on all this, this next part might not sound so smart. We decide to build the fire high. We all stand clear and burn out any more live ammo that might still be buried in the ash. I sit behind a tree and continue to write. The fire burn high, time passes. The fire burns down. We all get more comfortable and finish preparing camp. We talk about the upcoming war and the history of the Middle East. UK green knows a lot about British history in the Middle East. It is all very interesting. We all agree to an early start. Departure is 8:00. Different people have different wake up times depending on how long it has taken them over the past week. UK green had the wristwatch and would be responsible for waking people. We sleep with out tent fly’s to keep the tents dry. This will avoid drying the tents in the morning. Before we went to bed some one pulls an exploded butane bottle from the fire. Well there’s our gunshot. I slept well that night. Full view of the large trees looming overhead, the still quite sky. It is peaceful. How big and gentle the world looked that night as I drifted to sleep.
Day 6
UK green wakes the camp one by one. I am the last to get out of my tent. It is chilly, I am in my hiking shorts and we meet the 8:00 goal. UK green had woken everyone up 15 minutes early and had been periodically announcing the time 15 minutes fast. He did what he had to do. We hike out on the dirt road. The group slits in two, the first group stops only once for a quick snack and cover the 8-10 miles well before the 2:00 goal. My body felt very good, I felt strong and solid. The second group arrives some time later, taking several stops for food. I change cloths for the first time all week. Now that I have arrived to the car I am ready to get all the dirt possible off my body. We decide to drive to get some lunch. We stopped at Mexican place with American flags and patriotic poetry posted all over the walls. This Land is Your land played on the radio. America was reacting. We bought a paper and crowded around. I read out loud to the group which all sat in silence. After reading for a while I turned the paper over and went to the bathroom to wash my face, hair and hands. Mountain Goat drove us home, Pink Floyd playing in the sunset. I felt good, felt young. A sort of strange heaviness lay pone me. Yet my body on soul felt fresh. In the wake of such tragedy I had been detached. The tragedy was ever as real but I was given an opportunity to simplify, to embrace, and truly observe the details of nature. I was once stranded on high way 17, a mountainous, curvy highway. While sitting waiting for my car’s radiator to cool I noticed for the first time truly details of the hillside. The calmness of the grass, the gentle rocks, the smell of pine. Contrasts with the stress of a broken car. The very very constant 65-m/ph traffic maddening by. When looked at closely in these situations, the rock the grass can be glorified. An art teacher used to routinely tell me, to emphases a red color you surround it with green. Red and green are contracts, mixed and they make black. Make a contrast in both color and texture and the eye will notice. I noticed, I noticed maybe more then before. Though I have not traveled the Sierra’s like this but I've spent many an hour looking at this picture. It’s the picture of backcountry. The colors have always been there. The contrast now emphasis, the shapes the roundness and power. It is rare in life you are given such deep darks. It is rare that one has the opportunity to compare those darks. In this craziness take time out to enjoy those little simple things. Enjoy the everyday greens, securities, opportunity to grow, love from friends we all come to accept and expect. Leaning and attempting to understand the reds, the hate, the blood, we understand the good, and thus the reds make the green more brilliant. Live well above all use understand and enjoy goodness when it presents. With green there is growth. We must learn growth and love.
The realities of the civilized world wash over me. I return to work and begin my routine.
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