Our group consisted of Awesome Friends Steve & his son Michael, Allen, and Garth and New Awesome Friends Tom and Rob. Plus Husband and me. I was duly dubbed a man-ette and was told, at the rest stop, that I had to use the men's bathroom, quickly followed by "Just Kidding".
We arrived in Baker City in eastern Oregon, at the home of an endearing older gentleman named Farrell. I'm guessing on the spelling. We sat in his lovely back yard and ate our lunches while he talked about his vast camping experience in the nearby mountains where we would spend the week. I asked him to please come pick me up if he sees storm clouds in them thar hills, but I doubt he thought I was serious. I kind of was.
We paid Farrell and his friend to ferry us to the head of the Elkhorn Crest Trail and then leave the truck parked at the end of the trail, at a spot where I swear I heard Heavenly choirs singing five days later.
The weather was perfect. We immediately settled into a pattern that typified the week. Michael launched ahead and we would all catch up to him at either a fork in the path, or at the end of the day's hike. Several others would follow Michael, then, generally I'd be in the next group, or by myself, or with Husband, and a small group brought up the rear. We all hiked at our own speeds, knowing we'd end up in the same spot eventually.
I discovered on this first day that, after several hours, when I'd take off my pack, my body seemed to propel forward awkwardly trying to adjust for the balance shift. And I quickly learned that I had to be careful where I took it off, needing either a stump or a rock to rest it on so that I could climb out of it without wrenching a shoulder. Same for putting it back on. This is one of the few times I gratefully accepted help. The first day was a little over six miles, or so we were told. It always felt farther than it was.
The first night we spent at Lost Lake. It was, thankfully, uneventful. We knew the next day would bring some rain. 40% chance, the forecast said.
We woke up to perfectly calm weather.
With less than seven miles to do that day, we were in no hurry to break camp; however, as we sat around with our breakfasts, suddenly we heard a curious low roar in the distance. Then Allen's astute and memorable words:
"Weather's changing."
We sprang for our tents, Husband and I thinking to take cover, but quickly realizing we were all to pack up before our tents got wet. I was amazed how fast the elements changed from calm to threatening in a matter of minutes. The wind picked up and the sky went dark. We were packed and on the trail in impressive time. Fortunately the rain held off for hours, but as we hiked we could see it coming, like a huge approaching gray blob. This was no time to dawdle.
We finally got to our next campsite at Summit Lake and got our tent up before the rain hit. At my brother Larry's suggestion, we had brought a thin plastic sheet that Husband and I stretched across our tent site, naming it the "Lanai". It kept us dry for a few hours .... The rain came and went and came and went. We hovered around the campfire until the rain sent us back to our tents. Then we'd emerge again. Here is one problem I discovered about backpacking:
Since it was September, it was dark by around 8:00. Then what do you do? I attempted to sit around the fire, but the smoke kept me on my feet as it chased me from one side to the other. And although there was usually a log or rock to sit on, the smoke quickly chased me off it. Some of the guys just went to bed, but I knew if I turned in that early, I'd be awake at 4 a.m. So I tried to stay by the fire until at least nine. Allen was always there attempting to dry some piece of clothing. Then I'd give up dodging the smoke and head off into the dark trees to take care of business with the desperate hope that there would be no need for similar visits to the trees at 2 a.m. Thankfully, there never was. This, I figured, was due to my conscious effort to limit water-intake, and tender mercies from heaven. Husband was asleep before I got to the tent and I discovered the wind had nearly dismantled our plastic cover. I feebly tried to reattach it, knowing my effort was futile. I pulled most of our supplies into our crowded little tent, and settled in for the worst night of the trip.
The wind howled all night, thrashing and whipping our poor "lanai" over our heads and blowing puffs of frigid air through the vents into our tent. It would occasionally die down and I'd hope it was over, then it would crescendo up with more hair-raising howls and violent assaults on the plastic sheet. I kept wishing, with absolutely no apologies to environmentalists, that the poor thing would give up the fight and just fly away across the lake.
We awoke the next morning to Tom's raised voice outside our tent.
"Are you guys awake? We've got snow."
What!!?? This was NOT in the forecast! Farrell ..... come get me NOW.
We emerged into a winter wonderland. Yes, it was beautiful, but it was COLD. We had another frantic pack-up-and-go morning. This was our 13 mile day and now we had to do it in snow. And it was still falling. We didn't even take time to eat. We put on every piece of clothing we had and managed, with frozen hands to pack up our sad, mud-spattered stuff. And yes, I stuffed the shredded plastic sheet into a ziploc and into my pack. Environmentalists, you're welcome. T'was this day when I was so thankful that I brought gloves, albeit thin ones, and had good boots. Good boots are gold, when backpacking.
This was one long day. Runners, this was officially the distance of a half marathon, and I did it carrying my pack plus the tent of a fellow hiker, in the snow. I got separated between the faster guys and the slower group on the trail and hiked for hours by myself, following tracks in the snow. I'd stop and wait, thinking the slower group had to be coming along directly, but there was no sign of them. So I kept going. Finally, I came upon Tom waiting on a rock, Talk about a sight for sore eyes! Several others were still off ahead, but at least I had company again. Rob showed up shortly and about a half an hour later the rear group arrived, including Husband who had purposely stayed with the slower hikers. Tom had cell service at this spot, and he had talked to someone in Baker who said the weather was improving. He had formulated an escape plan if needed which, fortunately, no one did ..... but I was tempted.
By the time we reached half way, the snow stopped and the world gradually brightened. But there were still six or so miles to go before our next campsite. As the clouds lifted, the view opened to some amazing scenery. I tried to appreciate it ... and I did somewhat ..... but I was focused on my sore feet, sore legs, sore back, and less-than-cheerful disposition.
"I'll hike to that stand of trees at that next crest and then I'll die," I informed Husband .... several times. Except I didn't die. It wasn't an option .... Who, after all, would carry my pack?
We finally came to the view of our destination, Twin Lakes, and began the tedious switchbacks down to the lake.
Those endless switchbacks-from-hell teased us by sending us back and forth, passing by the length of the lake over and over, slowly descending down the hillside for a good hour. We could see the tents of our faster hikers and strained to see signs of smoke from the fire that I hoped was burning. When I finally walked into camp, I slumped down onto a big rock and stayed there. I don't remember how many hours we hiked that day, but I was done. Husband put up our tent and I sat on the rock. Thank Goodness the next day we rested and the weather returned to perfect.
Stay tuned for Part Three and ..... The Goats.
Part 2 makes me question whether or not I'd ever want to do this...
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