Backpacking ..... leaving the glamour behind

Don't worry how you'll look out on the trail, because nobody cares.  Nature steals the show anyway.  

That said ..... this ...... 

                                                                                                                                              (Great picture, Lindsay!)

..... reminds me of this.

I just needed some cymbals between my knees.



(Read the whole story here.)

  

Move over REI, here comes Cabela's

Years ago I remember my brother commenting to my kids, while driving along a section of I-5, just south of Portland......Said he, in words something like this:

"There are two important and noteworthy landmarks here along this freeway.... the LDS (Mormon) temple and .... (reverent pause)...  REI."

This was years before I developed an appreciation for this epic store of stores.  I didn't yet know I needed its products, although they piqued my interest.  I'd wander through its aisles, perusing the various camping and backpacking treasures and think about how fun it'd be..... until I pondered nights in a small tent, on the ground, in the dark, with bugs, and quickly dismissed the whole idea completely.

Then Husband was given a church-assignment to hang out with teenage boys on backpacking trips, and this sent us, and our credit card, to every sporting goods store within miles.  I went along on the shopping trips and watched the bill grow while our bank account shrank.   Down-filled sleeping bags, tents, air mattresses, backpacks ...... added to miniature stoves, cooking tools, and various other light-weight, yet costly items.  And with his anticipation that I might eventually join in on this new hobby, he bought some things in duplicate.

Fast forward to now.  I am indeed shamelessly hooked on this outdoor lifestyle and no one is more surprised at this than I.  There is no logical explanation for it.  I love to trot on over to our local REI to see if perhaps there is SOMETHING new on their shelves that I missed last time, that I really, really need.  And for a REAL treat, I arrive early, stand in line awaiting the doors to open, and elbow my way around their occasional "garage" sales when they sell returned items for ..... well, let's just say, a LOT less than new.   Some people prefer wearing Ralph Lauren and going to concerts and over-priced restaurants.  I prefer Gore-tex and testing out camp chairs and trekking poles.

But a few years ago, while on a trip to Utah, we were introduced to a monstrous wonder called Cabela's. In this heady version of retail sporting goods, you will find recreations of the great outdoors, with life-size taxidermied animals, and huge aquariums full of live fish.  It sells that tacky cabin-style home-decor and bedding, casual clothes and shoes, woodsy-type toys, and anything to keep the family entertained while Dad is off looking at the boat supplies, guns, and fishing gear.  There is an exorbitant amount of floor space wasted on camouflage clothes and hunting supplies that must be patiently endured, but the camping section can keep me happy for an hour.  Plus there's fudge.....

Since there was no Cabela's near us, we'd occasionally do a day trip, driving several hours north to visit the one in Lacy, Washington.  Just for fun.  Because we like fun.


True story:  Husband's brother lives an hour or so north of the Lacy store.  During one of our Cabela's day trips, he happened to call Husband's cell.

"Hey", he taunted/teased, "I'm at Cabela's.  Need anything?"  (In his I'm-here-and-you're-not tone.)

To which Husband responded, "I'M at Cabela's!"

"No you're not!"

"Yes, I am!"

"You're kidding!!  Where ARE you??"

"By the guns....we've been here nearly an hour!"

"Us too!!"

After which we had a fun reunion next to the caramel corn stand.  Cabela's is just THAT kind of place.



Then came the BIG news:  Cabela's is coming!!  Here!!  This red-neck-catering, gun-promoting bastion of outdoorsiness is coming to liberal Portland.

We drove by the site frequently to monitor the progress of its construction, and marked the opening day on our calendar ..... which happened while Husband was still traipsing around Mt. Hood.... so we went the next day.

Here again, I wander the aisles in vain searching for SOMETHING I NEED.   But sad to say, there isn't.  I don't need anything.  I have it all ..... liner socks, water bottles, inflatable pillow, pack cover, collapsible sink ..... I even have stuff Cabela's doesn't sell.

All in all, I must say, in conclusion ..... REI probably still holds its spot of importance, ranking just below the temple.  It doesn't sell fudge, but it cuts to the chase by keeping out all the camo.  As far as I'm concerned, it's focused on the good stuff, without all the hoopla.  No guns, no fishing, no boating silliness in REI.  No taxidermied animals, nor bear-themed lamps.  Just the important stuff.  Husband may not agree, but this is not his blog.

And if you REALLY want the best deal for camping/hiking knickknacks, other than buying used, it's at Walmart.  Yep. ..... But don't tell anyone I said that, because I'm NOT one of those people.  I'm not.

Really.

I'm not.

High on the mountain top ..... Three days on the Timberline Trail

The first part of this post is a letter to me.  I know I will feel some regret for the decision I made so I want to remember my reasons.

Dear Self:  When you chose to go home after day three, two days and twelve miles short of completing the 40 mile backpacking circuit around Mt. Hood, this is how you felt -----

You just completed three of the most challenging days of your nearly 60 years of life.  You hiked 28 miles, much of it going up, up, UP!!!..... carrying a 35-pound pack the size of Kansas.   The climbing was endless and many times you had to stop every few yards and heave in air. You saw the best that the Timberline Trail had to offer, and it defies description.  There were many moments when you couldn't believe where you were and what you were seeing.  But you pushed your body and mind to the limit and when the opportunity came to stop, it was too much.  You were exhausted, filthy, and sore to your bones.  Each day had been harder than the previous day.  And the climactic end of that third day, crossing through the ominous Eliot glacier canyon and across that raging river, well..... you'll just have to remember what it was like because words fall short.  You were afraid of an emotional collapse if you watched the car that could take you home, drive away.

But also remember that you were among the first into camp at the end of each day.  Remember that the physical help you received from others was essential but rare.  You could have stayed and you could have finished, but remember, REMEMBER what you DID do, and not what you didn't do.

Because what you did was awesome.

********************   

I do a lot of driving for our business, running our manufactured parts around, doing deliveries.  One of my frequent routes takes me out towards Troutdale on I-84, where I pass by Exit 13.   When the day is clear, and the afternoon sun is behind me, it's at this spot where I am suddenly greeted by the panorama of Mt. Hood towering on the horizon.  Especially in the spring when it's still heavy with snow, sparkling white against the vivid blue sky...... the scene is so stunning that I nearly gasp each time it bursts into view.  I grew up loving the sight of that mountain.

Enter the annual Manly Man Hike.  (Last year's hike is documented here, here, and here.)  Completing the Timberline Trail was entrenched on the bucket lists of several of the "Manly Men", and there have been previous failed attempts.  So it became the goal for this year.  Last year's hike was hard.  This would be harder.  I was scared, but couldn't bear not to go.  

Like last year, I prepared for weeks with my usual obsessive intensity, studying blogs and reports from others who had done it.  The more recent the report the better, because this mountain is ever changing.  I shopped, packed, weighed, and scrutinized every item that went into my pack that I would have to haul on my back.  We trained by stuffing bags of flour or liter pop bottles into our packs and trudging up and down local hills.  I haunted the weather forecasts which seemed to bounce around almost every hour.   I did all I could do.  

Although the title of the Manly Man Hike is forever carved in stone, this year it included three women -- New Delightful Friend Heather, Favorite Daughter Lindsay, and me.   Lindsay is truly her father's daughter, gleefully jumping head first into whatever adventure presents itself and flinging joy wherever she lands.   I just make sure she remembers to pack her socks and enough food.

Filtering water.

Topping off the list of fellow hero-hikers are:

Fearless Leader/Organizer Steve, whose truth-embellishments can seldom be trusted.
Coolest Guy Garth, who makes everything fun.

Intrepid (don't-forget-your-hat-next-time) Allen.
Always Smiling Josh.  (Heather's husband and they are the perfect pair!)

 ..... and of course, Dear Husband Bryce, who is the rock to which I cling.

Favorite comment of the trip:  (paraphrasing)  "The Manly Man hike is where we send the women ahead to scout out the route and help us across the streams."  ~ Garth

Day One.  No turning back.

Bryce, Lindsay, and I hit the road at 4 a.m. in two cars.  Lindsay, mom of three show-stopping young kidlets, couldn't be gone five days, so we dropped off her car at the campsite called Cloud Cap that we would hike into three days later, so that she could drive home early.  It was the only spot along the trail accessible by car .... although that nine-mile bumpy, rutted, dirt path barely qualifies as a road.   The sunrise was spectacular.

Then we headed back to Timberline Lodge to meet the rest of our group.   Here we left our cars, climbed into our packs, and began walking.

This was a ten-mile day, much of it a knee/thigh-killing descent, ending at Ramona Falls.... a beautiful spot which sadly went unappreciated because by the time we got there, we were spent.

There is no time to stand and gawk at the waterfall that cascades beautifully over the rocks, because there are tents to pitch, air mattresses to inflate, things to wash, food to cook, sore feet to bemoan, etc.  It's a crowded camp area bordered by a mountain wall on one side and a drop off on the other, with campers all around.  Trying to find a private spot to take care of "business" was challenging, and finding a spot to set up a shower was futile.  I gave up on the shower.   T'was also the night we were welcomed by spiders and shirt-eating squirrels.

That first day, we saw sights that are the reason for it all.   We stood at the edge of canyons, with the magnificent rocky summit of Hood above us and sprawling vistas below us.  Even pictures fail to express .... but that's the best I can do here…..

We met up with the Sandy River, among the first of many river crossings.  It's at places like this where one learns to appreciate cairns (properly pronounced "kerns", although everyone says carns, or ca-erns,  because that's how it's spelled, darn it.)

 These are little stacks of rocks left by previous hikers to show the best direction to go, or the best place to cross, or at least the best way when THEY were there.   Fortunately there were logs laid together on which we gingerly crossed, remembering at every step that if your pack falls in and gets soaked, you are toast.  Bodies and clothes dry.  Down-filled sleeping bags, tents, and your change of clothes also dry.... eventually.... but not before that night when you will sorely need them.

Day Two.  "Oh, 'bout a mile/mile-and-a-half."

Note to self:  Bring more Ambien.  It's not good to have to ration at times like this.

The weather held and it was beautiful.  But this was the day we had to pay for all those descents of the day before.  We had approximately nine to ten miles to do that day, and those miles went on and on, seemingly into the Millennium.

Great picture by Josh.

We climbed and we climbed and I panted, gasped, sweated, and groaned.  My affection for this mountain wore thin.  After each long ascent, the trail would level off mercifully for all of about 30 seconds before handing us another long climb.  We trudged up a long tree-covered ridge that dropped downward on both sides.  Now and then the trees would open up and offer haunting views of the looming summit, through the smokey haze of a forest fire happening somewhere off in the valley.  Again, there are no words to describe it.

Wait.  Do you see it?

I had a copy of a trail summary I had printed off before coming and with our map, we kept thinking we were farther than we actually were.

 Conversation typically went like ..... "Now according to what it says, we should hit a trail junction any minute now, which means we are at mile 18, which then means all we've got are a few switchbacks and we're there!"  ("There" meaning our next campsite.)  But the junction wouldn't come when expected and then we'd realize we weren't nearly as far along as we thought and "there" was still miles and several river crossings away.   We averaged about a mile an hour.

We planned to take a shortcut path that Garth and Steve had taken some years previous, which they found in the foggy mist via a GPS.  We came to what Garth thought might be it, and Bryce hiked up to check it out.  Garth, Lindsay, and I sat and waited and Garth scoured his memory trying to recall if this was the correct path.   After Bryce had disappeared into the trees, Garth mentioned he remembered there were big rocks and Lindsay said, pointing back a short distance from where we were sitting, ..... "There are some big rocks over there".  Then we saw the cairn and the right path.  If we hadn't stopped and waited at the wrong path, we would have missed the right path entirely. 

Note to other hikers:  When the sign says "Cairn Basin - 3 miles", don't believe it.   Plan on at least four, which will feel more like six.

Cairn Basin is still recovering from a 2011 forest fire and is where we planned to camp that night.  It's a wide area with multiple tent sites, allowing us to spread out away from the several other campers.... or rather they away from us since we were the bigger, noisier group.  We met up with a 20-something-year-old girl doing a solo hike, who insisted, according to her map, that Cairn Basin was still ahead.  My printout said there was an old stone shelter at Cairn Basin which, said (creepy) shelter, was right there within sight during our discussion.

Fortunately another couple of hikers happened along who concurred that we were indeed where I knew we were.  We encountered this young solo hiker once again the next day, and she was doing well.  We all hope she made it, but I highly question the wisdom in her plan of doing this by herself.

Day Three.  In the shadow of glaciers.

The weather was getting cooler, but was still good.  According to the map, we only had about a thousand feet to climb that day, but it felt like we repeated that thousand feet multiple times.  It was another hard day, but during breaks we were almost dumb-struck as we filled our water bottles beneath snow-covered glacier-bridges stretched across waterfalls with the top of Hood hovering overhead.... we could not get over where we were and what we were seeing!

It was too easy to forget to pull our eyes up off the path ahead as we trudged up those trails, and yet each time we did pause to look around, we almost had to grab hold of someone or something because the view was powerful enough to jolt a grown man off balance.  (I need more WORDS! ….. Majestic?  Unbelievable?  Incredible?  …. Wow???…… Nothing describes it.)

This was to be a seven or eight mile day, which meant to plan on about eight hours.  It actually took over nine hours, because this was the day we faced Eliot.  

There used to be what was probably a LOVELY bridge built crossing the Eliot river, but in 2006 it was washed out in a storm.  Eliot is a huge glacier high up on the mountain that melts into a small, yet fast-moving river that rages over boulders, creating rapids and waterfalls.  This river lies at the bottom of a mammoth canyon.  With the loss of the bridge, the Forest Service officially closed the trail, with threat of fines to trespassers which has not stopped the hundreds of hikers passing through every year.  This was our biggest concern so a few weeks ago we drove up to check it out, via the east side.  That morning we found a semi-easy trail down into the canyon on that side where there was even a rope at one spot.  The river was low and we found a crossable section.  Easy peasy.  Other hikers told us there was also a rope on the west side but they hardly needed it.  We wondered what the big deal was.  Piece of cake.  

Fast forward to our third day on the trail.  The new detour trail that was created after the bridge washed out, on the west side from which we approached the canyon, was this ridiculous squirrel path etched in the side of a nearly straight-up hill.  At the base of this path sat a rough little sign saying, "Don't do it".   (As IF we had a choice?)  We crawled our way up to the top and then stood gasping and sweating as we gazed into the gaping mouth of the Beast.

Stole this pic off the web.

This canyon was the biggest yet, lined with gritty scree and rocks that threatened to let loose and tumble down taking us along for the ride.  Lindsay's fear of heights kicked in as we had to crawl, scrape, skid, and claw our way (still hauling the weight of Kansas on our backs) down the steep walls into the abyss.  We met up with the "hardly needed" first rope, which we clutched like a lifeline.  After the first harrowing descent to the bottom of the rope, we were able to sit for a moment and I dumped the pound of scree out of my boots.  At that point we realized the river was still far below so we then had to hike and scramble over boulders to make our way up stream in the canyon, gradually bringing the river up to our level.  It was at this point we THOUGHT the worst was behind us.  Not so.

A frightened Lindsay took her turn on the rope while Josh and I waited above.

That speck on the hill in the upper left is me, working my way down the rope.

Heather and Josh heading down

We soon realized the river was higher, due to the lateness of the day, compared to what it was on our reconnaissance hike of a few weeks previous.  The spot where we had crossed before was still doable but treacherous, and upstream held no possibilities.  Bryce got his pack across and came back to take other packs, which meant his feet, if not the rest of him, would be soaked before we all got to the other side.  There was no option to crossing this torrent.  It had to be done.  So we said a prayer.  Then we decided to check further downstream, (which I credit to inspiration) which was tricky to access because the shore became very steep and more unstable.  More clawing, scraping, and scree in the boots as we worked our way down along the river's edge until we found a couple of crossable spots.  Bryce took my pack across and then I, with the help of poles and his outstretched hand, got across by leaping from rock to rock while the river roared below me.  Rock-leaping across a raging river is definitely unnerving, to say the least.  Over-leap and you fall forward, under-leap and you fall backward, and either way you're going in the water.  There are no second chances, you have to get it right the first time.

(Unfortunately we have no pictures here.  Being in survival-mode, all cameras were packed away.)

The roar of the rushing water was so loud that we had to shout to be heard.   I went back part of the way to help Heather across, and the others plus their packs, crossed over one by one at another spot close by.   I appreciated all the previous river and stream crossings we'd weathered before this, which had bolstered my courage..... otherwise, I would have frozen into a useless mess of tears.   All in all, our prayers were heard and answered.  

More ropes and a doable path took us up the east side and out of the canyon and Lindsay and I made our way ahead of the others, down the half mile or so to Cloud Cap campground and her car.  Here were actual picnic tables and an actual faucet with actual running water that needed no filtering and an actual toilet with actual toilet paper...... and an escape.  

With the use of Lindsay's car, Bryce planned a surprise and had a cooler ready with steaks and pie, and a small BBQ.   While we ate this delicious treat, I debated.  Should I go, or stay?  As I said above, I was physically and emotionally spent.  I worried about Lindsay driving on that long remote cow path without cell service, alone in the dark.  And rain was forecasted for the next day.  I just didn't have it in me to go on.  It was never on my bucket list to complete the Timberline Trail.  Heck, I don't even HAVE a bucket list.  

My gut said go home.  So I did.

At this point, my only regret is leaving Bryce to finish it without me, although I know he would have done the trip if I hadn't gone at all.

But the shower when I got home, and my bed were as wonderful as I anticipated.  It was a tremendous experience that I will NEVER do again .... and one I will never forget.

Lindsay, me, and Hood.  Fabulous shot, Bryce!

Again, thank you Steve, Garth, Allen, and Josh, for allowing us "manettes" to tag along.  You guys are wonderful and you saved me more than once on many a stream crossing.  I admire your patient natures as you helped one another over the rough spots.   Thank you Heather, for your gentle, cheerful presence and complete lack of complaints.  You did it, Girl!  Thank you Lins, for talking me up those brutal climbs and showing us how fears are faced and conquered.  And thank you Bryce, for being my rock. 

The Manly Man Hike, Goats, and after-thoughts, Part Three

I must say that Twin Lakes in eastern Oregon is not the prettiest spot I've ever seen.  The other lakes that we visited had less of that dry, rocky terrain and, sad to say, that awful night with the flapping plastic "lanai", raging wind, and surprise snow, has forever scarred my memories of Summit Lake, which was probably the most scenic.  The two nights we spent at Twin Lakes were the best of the trip.  The rain and snow were over, with only blue skies ahead.  Ah Weather.  You hold all the power.

We spent one whole glorious day there.  THIS, in my opinion, is what backpacking SHOULD be about.  Husband and I did an easy little pack-less(!) hike around the bigger lake.  We ran into Garth and the two guys managed to scoop up some ungrateful trout, that were trapped in a small pond, and release them into the lake.

It was a day to nap, read, wander, and ..... to my delight and relief ... shower and do laundry!  Yes!

Oh, let me tell you about my shower, for it was a triumph.  Awesome Brother Larry gave me the idea to bring an empty milk jug.  It's weightless, free, and works for splashing on just enough water.  And a small shammy .... the fake-leather type of cloth that you dry cars with .... makes a perfectly adequate, and quick-drying towel.  I even practiced at home and found that a half-gallon size jug is big enough.  I carried that milk jug tied to the outside of my pack for three days anticipating this shower, but when I arrived after our last long hike, I discovered I had lost it somewhere on the trail.  No problem, our water bladder worked just as well.

Using clothes pins, I attached one of those foil emergency blankets to some tree limbs so that the breeze blew into it forming a semi-circle enclosure.  The foil reflected the sun rays, creating a solar-heated shower stall.  Obviously I set it up well away from camp, and then planted Husband nearby as a guard.

I'm dwelling on my shower-in-the-woods here, to make a point.  Many die-hard outdoorsman might scoff.  But in many of my late-in-life, out-in-the-wild adventures, the ONE thing that causes me angst, is no shower.  To me, it's a darn important morale booster and worth the effort.  I am willing to try just about anything hard ....  almost  .... if I can clean up afterwards.  And if there is absolutely no way, then THANK HEAVENS for baby wipes.  And that's all I'm saying about that.

So let me introduce you to the goats.

We started seeing them in the distance several miles before reaching Twin Lakes.  At first they were just little white dots on the hillside.  But they became a constant presence while we camped.  They wandered into and through our camp regularly, too timid to get very close to us, but very interested in what we might have for them to eat.  One goat didn't notice me as I sat on a log working a crossword puzzle.  It came within a few feet of me, so I said hello.  It stopped, looked at me with alarm, and ran off.  They frequently liked to appear when someone was cooking.  Dinnertime brought the whole herd.

We were told to heed nature's call a good distance from our tents and to not leave anything sweaty, like socks laying about, because the goats are attracted to salt .... take THAT thought wherever you choose.  And at night, after we were bedded down, they would romp and cavort through our camp, while I worried about what items I had left outside that they were probably eating or carting off.

"Great!" I thought.  "If it's not wind and snow at night, it's goats!"

But after the first goat-night, I learned they weren't interested in our non-sweaty, non-edibles.  So after that, they became a fun novelty.

It's quite something to behold when rational, grown men turn into school boys when given the opportunity.  In a remote, non-civilized and far-from-home environment, mature men can somehow lose all good sense and think that when you're among wild mountain goats, there simply MUST be goat-roping.  Now I won't say whether or not it happened, but there are some goats that frequent Twin Lakes that may never forget that day in September.  I WILL say that neither man nor beast was injured while we hiked and camped along the Elkhorn Crest trail -- other than some minor, but well-deserved rope burns for one un-named hiker, and a possible, but temporary, loss of dignity for one goat.  For all we know, that goat is probably milking the excitement of that one brief but lively evening, and bragging for all it's worth to the other goats.


I knew what lay between me and the end of all life's hardships, were those switch-backs-from-hell, that had to be ascended that final morning.  At the top, and a few miles beyond, was the truck.  The TRUCK.  A soft seat that would carry me to actual toilets, to a non-dehydrated meal including ice cream, and to home.  The hike that day was quick, enjoyable, and the views were killer.  Conversation was good and it was soon over.  I even ran, with my pack, the last twenty feet to the truck.

****************

Post MM hike thoughts:  The night I got home, my words were, and this is a direct quote ....

"Over my dead body will I do that again."  (A totally illogical statement, but you get the point.)

But in a day or two, I was already thinking of a few things I'd do differently next time .... mainly I want a bigger tent for the two of us.  Husband's respect for me and all my preliminary homework had grown ten-fold.  I insisted I needed a trowel.  He said to just use a stick.  But guess who used my trowel?  And guess who also enjoyed my outdoor shower?  And guess who has asked me to look for a pair of weightless Croc-type shoes for him, like the pair I brought for me, so that I could escape from my boots now and then.  One of the guys came to me for advice on how to reduce some of the weight in his pack and kidded about me teaching a class.  Husband even said he will make a light weight backpacking latrine for me!  And I have already sewn some new stuff-sacks and a hammock-type chair that uses campsite-gleaned sticks for support, that I plan to bring next time .....

..... yes.  Next time.  I cannot let all this new and hard-earned expertise go to waste.  And besides, I have a WHOLE YEAR to plan, prepare, gather and test new ideas, and hang out at REI.  It just doesn't get better than that.

P.S.  Thank you Steve, Allen, Garth, Michael, Tom, and Rob, for allowing me to tag along.  I felt welcomed and included, every step of the way.  And thank you to the LOML for carrying our tent, filtering our water, and keeping me warm on those shivery nights.

The Manly Man Hike, Part Two

The trip began obscenely early before daylight.  The guys loaded the truck and I tried to retrieve our cat that had slipped out the open door.

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.