My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking (5 page)

  Seeing all these poor plants uprooted when hikers crossed downhill made me ponder the struggle of life. Most little plants start the same way, all created equal.  A seed fell. Ten years later, having finally soaked up enough moisture, it germinated. In ten more years it grew big enough to have stickers, thus reaching its full potential. But life throws a curve, and places one in a favorable location, another in a bad. Those out on their own, with no big brother to shelter them, get run over in life. And it's not their fault. Sad to see such tenacity rewarded thus.
  One instant food I enjoyed a lot was the “4-cheese” mashed potatoes. I was surprised how light it was. A box came with two packages containing 4 servings each and together weighed only 7 ounces. That made 2 suppers for me. A beef stick, or some salami broken into pieces and added to cornmeal, cooked over low heat was amazingly filling as well. To avoid lumps, I brought the water to a low boil, then while stirring slowly, sprinkled in the cornmeal until the consistency was thick. Ramen noodles, broken into bits and placed in a peanut butter jar, can be solar cooked. By filling the jar with water, screwing on the plastic lid, and placing it in the sunshine, within half an hour, the noodles will be softened and satisfyingly warm. Sprinkle in the flavor packet, if desired. Ramen noodles can be eaten raw, like pretzels, so I always considered them a good investment in the food bag.
  After only five weeks on the trail, civilization meant little. It didn’t matter whether we slept in our clothes, brushed our hair, said our bedtime prayers, had all four-food groups, or wore things inside out. Personal strength and tenaciousness were the intangible values now. It’s not what we wore but what we did that earned respect. Long distance hiking culture has a way of developing its own jargon. Some of my terms are defined below:

 
Trail Animal
- A long distance hiker who is thoroughly comfortable being dirty, smelly, stealth camping and hiking mega miles (20+) every day. Usually has a wild gleam in the eyes, prone to laughter without reason, especially when hiking solo. Happily eats ramen and oatmeal, but will cause a stampede for pizza, beer or the use of a telephone.
 
Trail Maintenance
- Originally meant to signify a pee break, but further elaboration includes removing stones from shoes, changing clothes, stopping for a drink or other things designed to make the miles less miserable.
 
Stampede -
Term for the onset and completion of a mad rush to a goal, initiated by a trail animal who has pizza on his or her brain, and knows where he or she can get some an ungodly distance away. The proposed mileage is initially deemed to be impossible by other hikers, but the idea is implanted and the stampede is on. From that point, breaks are limited to a quick pee and a chug of water, lasting no more than 2 minutes. In 6 weeks, I have been in 4 stampedes. They usually involved 5 – 6 hikers.
 
Treadmill -
This happens when trying in vain to gain elevation on a four-foot wide, sandy, undulating trail. Using hiking poles like mad and climbing, one suddenly looks over to the trail’s edge and realizes they’ve been hiking by that same damn rock for 15 minutes.
 
Undulation
- The vertical or horizontal waves of trail tread. The vertical ones caused by illegal mountain bikers are especially maddening because they are totally uncalled for and preventable. Thru-hikers have verbally expressed bodily harm intended for such offending bikers, solely in the interest of such prevention. No hard feelings. The horizontal ones caused by canyons are just there because they have to be, or else this trail wouldn’t be 2,659 miles long.
  We celebrated upon reaching Kennedy Meadows. It meant the end of the desert; now there would be plenty of water. It meant we had come 697 miles. For most of us, it meant reunion with our cherished bounce boxes. There was access to a newly installed pay phone, the enormous hiker box and a wonderful little store with quaint showers, soap and laundry facilities.  We showered, washed clothes, stuffed ourselves with hot food and kept that phone busy for hours. In preparation for elevations above 10,000 feet, I bought an old army blanket for $2, trimmed it down, and sewed it with dental floss. I used it to supplement my sleeping bag. This added two extra pounds of pack weight, but I couldn’t have done the High Sierra without it. The price for starting this trail with a worn-out sleeping bag would now be paid.
 

Kennedy Meadows to Tuolumne Meadows/John Muir Trail

 
From Kennedy Meadows to Tuolumne Meadows, in Yosemite National Park, hikers do not cross a single paved road for over 235 miles. I packed food and supplies for 192 miles, which included a 15-mile round trip day hike to the summit of Mount Whitney, then over to Vermillion Valley Resort. With ten days of food, my ice ax and blanket liner, my pack now weighed twenty-eight pounds on their scale.
In the desert, I used my Cherokee tent every night, but sometimes just as
a “bivy bag”, spreading it out on the ground, and crawling in. The condensation was tolerable in such a dry climate. Once we entered the High Sierra, in early June, I used my tent properly every night.

 
Ascending from an elevation of 6,120 ft. to 10,540 ft., we noted plenty of water and every creek was swarming with thousands of hungry mosquitoes. Upon reaching a suitable campsite, I would immediately set up my tent, and then throw everything, including myself, inside. Those with bivy sacks were very limited. Friends intending to hike straight through to Vermillion Valley Resort, but lacking strong bug repellent, decided to hike the two miles down to a parking lot on a side trail, hitch into Lone Pine and buy something, anything. The bugs were making them nuts. Becky told us the natural herbal stuff that she carried didn’t work at all.

The Gorp Bag

  This is a phenomenon I have noticed among many long distance hikers. A gallon size zip lock bag is filled with a decent recipe of Gorp. This name originated when good old raisins and peanuts were mixed together for trail food. Nowadays, there are more elaborate recipes. For instance, the one with equal amounts of peanut M&Ms, walnuts, raisins, and yogurt covered dates. It is an enormous amount of food, and sometimes cannot be finished before the next resupply.
  At the next town, perhaps a 13-ounce bag of pretzels, or a hiker box find of sesame sticks and sunflower seeds is thrown into The Gorp Bag. Better to carry one large snack bag than several tads of food.
  In the following town we find leftover Chex breakfast cereal joining The Bag. Or some “Does anyone want these?" apricots gets dumped in, along with some indecently moist raisins, or questionable dried apples.
  One renowned Bag made it all the way from Idyllwild to Kennedy Meadows, 423 trail miles, where its owner committed said Gorp bag in disgust to a hiker box. Within 2 hours another hiker claimed it. Thankfully, that hiker finished it by Vermillion Valley.
  No way could recipes ever be written for a 300 Mile Bag. It may be the most awesome of trail gorps, including shredded coconut, freeze dried strawberries, corn and peas. Included, but not limited to, may be Captain Crunch, Kandy Korn, peanuts, bacon crackers, and corn nuts. It is not a matter of imagination. It is a matter of not enough zip locks. Well, that and convenience. At snack time, one just hauls out The Bag and munches. If holes develop, as in even the best of Bags, a duct tape patch is used. If the zip refuses to lock, a hiker may chose to double bag. Crumbs are not thrown away, but eaten, regardless of salt or sugar concentration. A note of caution however, eating from zip lock bags containing food of such origin is like playing Russian roulette with your stomach.

  From Kennedy Meadows to Crab Tree Meadows it is 63 trail miles. There, many PCT hikers camp, hike 7.5 miles on a side trail to summit Mt. Whitney the next day and return to camp that night. There are bear boxes (metal food storage lockers), which are fully utilized. Hikers stash anything they don't need for their hikes to Mt. Whitney, with an elevation of 14,492 feet, the highest mountain in the contiguous United States. At a campsite so remote from roads, there was no fear of theft. Only long distance hikers use such a place and the honesty among our peers was a given. Someone was more likely to leave something behind than to steal anything.

  On June 10
th
, I cooked breakfast, and was on the trail at 7 a.m. with Ben. It was quite overcast, with a line of blue to the west. We planned to summit, if at all possible. Mt. Whitney is the southern terminus of the John Muir Trail. The Pacific Crest Trail joins the JMT for nearly 170 miles, then they split at Tuolumne Meadows. Without a summit of Whitney, there would be no point in finishing the JMT in Yosemite Valley. We stripped our packs down to essentials, placing gear
and extra food in the bear box. My external frame, now equipped with just one stuff sack, carried clothes, snacks, one full water bottle, ice ax and rain gear. It weighed about 5 pounds total and felt like nothing. This was my first taste of a seriously ultralight pack weight.

  There was ice on the log when we forded Rock Creek. An hour later, we came to Guitar Lake. The dark clouds moving eastward gave us hope the weather would clear. Snowfields began to appear. Key rocks used for climbing were covered with thick ice. “Just follow the footsteps, don’t worry about the trail,” Ben called back to me as I approached a set of 3 switchbacks. He waited at the top of that section, and cautioned me not to touch the icy rocks. On hands and knees, I pulled myself up and over the snow bank. We gained 4,500 ft. of elevation in 7.5 miles. It was mentally exhausting watching for ice, snow and loose tread with every footstep so near the edge and just inches away from eternity.

  Since it was Sunday, many day hikers appeared on the Whitney Portal Trail, which joined ours just 1.7 miles from the summit. Some carried crampons, ice axes and packs. They seemed winded, theirs being a longer and steeper trail. Near the summit, ice mounds taller than me covered the trail, requiring axing-in and pulling myself over and onto a narrow ledge. Picking our way to the top, much of the trail obscured with snow or boulders, we gained the summit at 12:15 and stayed until 2:00 p.m. Going down was easier because the snow became soft and mushy. There was dangerous post holing, where one breaks though the snow crust and becomes lodged up to the groin. Climbing out of such a hole, hopefully on solid snow near by, took extra time. I learned to watch for the bluish tint just beneath the snow's surface that warned of such danger.

  Near
Guitar Lake there was so much snowmelt that I lost the trail and bushwhacked straight down, seeing the PCT/JMT winding around the lake below. Ben had gone ahead and I took a little extra time.
  I had just a few problems with the altitude. During the night, I would fall asleep just fine, then I’d wake feeling breathless. Once I adopted a No Fear attitude, slight headaches and mild nausea disappeared. If everyone around you says they feel sick, it can affect you. Ben and I decided we felt fine. The high top trail runner shoes were a good choice for this section, keeping out loose stones and some snow.  For the first time I tried some Smart Wool socks. My feet stayed warm and comfortable, even though they were sopping wet by day’s end.
  The next day, Becky rejoined us. We forded streams barefooted, pressed on to Forester Pass, highest point on the PCT at 13,200 ft., all the while anticipating the snowy climb. We needed to get there before it refroze in the evening. These areas are dangerous in early season because the approach to the pass is often snow covered, and hikers may find themselves traversing a snowfield undercut by water. The first clue is the sound of a rushing river, while it remains unseen. At that point, one gets to higher ground, avoiding the sunspots, or low melted areas, with that same bluish tint.

Forester Pass, highest point on the PCT/ Ben, Becky, Brawny

  After the pass, the northbound trail below was totally snow covered with footprints diagonally traversing the slope. We three had cross-country skied before, so with that same gliding motion we descended the slope. When at last we were back on a small piece of dirt footpath, we celebrated by placing clean snow in our empty peanut butter jars,  stirring in some packages of cocoa mix, and making Ice Cream Slushies. We spent the rest of that day hunting the trail, which was covered in snow, ice and water.

Things You’d Rather Not Hear:
“It’s all down hill from here.”
- Somehow those words always precede the worst of sections, but draw one into an insanely huge mileage day. Be careful who tells you that. They may just be trying to get rid of you.
“The prices there are pretty reasonable for California.” -
Means outrageous to normal folks.
“So, are you having fun?”
– Excuse me? You mean I’m supposed to?