What I Learned on my Summer Vacation(s)

My first summer of backpacking is over. The snow has started to fall (already? Yikes!) and I now have commitments starting next week that'll keep me in civilization for longer periods of time.

I got to do three backpacking trips (Henry W. Coe State Park, and two in Jennie Lakes Wilderness) and one "pretend" backpacking trip (this past week near* Desolation Wilderness. 

So, here's what I've learned:

• My 20°F Sleeping bag is fine down to about 30. I had to put on my down jacket at about 4am to stay comfy. My feet got too warm and I had to take of my sleeping-socks. I'll have to figure out what to do about that; I'm afraid that opening the foot zipper will be too cold.
• The 60/40 down fill on my sleeping bag is obvious when used as a quilt and temperatures drop to (probably) the mid-30's. (Might try to attach one of those $20 Costco down throws on that side to make that better.)
• I can indeed hike 8.5 miles in a day with a 30 pound pack. Yay! I get really tired and my legs hurt and it was difficult to sleep because I was sore despite being exhausted, but I did it.
• I actually hate going downhill.  I hate it more than going uphill. But only very, very, very slightly. Why can't all trails just be flat and unpaved? (Downhill tends to aggravate my knee pain.)
• Speaking of knees; variety is the key.  All uphill or all downhill will kill 'em.
• Sometimes, I don't feel like boiling water for dehydrated dinner packs.
• My tent is, in fact, water proof.
• If I fuck up and put my tent in a water-collecting divot in the ground, the inside still stays dry! (In other words, my tent succeeded where I failed.)
• Mosquito nets aren't as silly as I once thought they were.
• Some trails on some maps, even if that map was made by the government agency managing the land, don't exist.
• Campfires make most any day near perfect.

For future equipment, here's what I think I need/want:

• Decide if my (one size too large) down jacket is better than a fleece jacket. (I did like the hood of the puffy when it was 30-ish degrees...) (And in the wind.)
• Two (or three) of these nice 2 liter water bladders I've seen.
• Base layer for my legs.
• Second(?) base layer for legs for sleeping.
• Backpack rain cover or compactor bag liner? (I'm leaning slightly to rain cover.)
• Rain pants? Or just treat my current pants for water repellent-ness? Or just deal with the base layer and moistened pants... And wind. Ooh, I forgot about the wind. Ugh. Need more thinking...

On to the next adventures which are, a four-or-five day trip somewhere in January or February. Somewhere like Death Valley, Joshua Tree, Henry W. Coe State Park. And, I'm expecting to start the PCT in March. (Yikes, that seems so close...)

(*Near Desolation Wilderness: I'd planned to go into the Wilderness for a two night trip but the weather was too cold and possibly too wet for what I was comfortable with. So, I car-camped in a USFS Campground in case my preparations were not good enough for the 30° F overnight lows.)

Decisions Have Been Made!

Ok, I've watched a couple of videos from this guy, Jeff Corrigan (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4zc1A6-xCo30KjS54wcmNA).

He hiked a portion of the southern-most section earlier this year.

About a month ago, I knew I wanted to start the PCT earlier than most. I need the time to get, well, I guess, my hiker legs. I'm planning on starting out only able to do about 5 to 8 miles per day for a couple of weeks. If I started at that pace at the same time as everybody else, I'd likely never finish.

So I was trying to figure out the best time for me to start. The desert in late winter/early spring I hear is beautiful. I believe most of the streams and creeks will be flowing from rain and stuff.

So, I've decided to start my thru hike in <drum roll> mid-March 2018.

...

Wait, I thought there'd be trumpets or something. This is a monumental decision. Meh.  Ok, back to looking at maps.

Abort! ABORT!

Ok, for my second solo backpacking trip, I was going to go to the backcountry wilderness of Sequoia/Kings Canyon National Park. To Seville Lake. Not too far of a hike, not too difficult. And easy trails.

But, it didn't quite go as planned.

Of course.

So, I start off at the Rowell Trailhead. A bit of a bumpy ride, but still doable in the truck.

It was a sunny warm-to-hot climb up to the wilderness boundary where everything changed.

After this sign, the trail curves into shaded forest along a creek. It was beautiful if you could see through the damn thick clouds of nuclear-strength mosquitoes.

I had to stop and use the picaridin and zip on my pant legs and inhaled at least three mosquitoes in the process. I hiked faster. Hoping to out-run the cartoonish clouds. I was mostly successful.

Found a spot to camp and quickly, quickly set up my tent. It was the only place to escape the flying critters.

But, at least it was pretty.

I had to wait until it was long after dark to get out of the tent so I could boil water for my dinner. Even then, I was occasionally bugged (HA!) by the 'skeeters.

But, dinner was good, Mountain House Beef Stroganoff, I believe.

And I lay in my tent reading about how to forecast the weather in the backcountry by the light of my inflatable Luci light.

I went to bed.

Then I woke up.

That's me!

The campsite in the morning was mostly mosquito free. It wasn't until I had to, uh, "do my business" that the 'skeeters turned on me in places I'd really rather not talk about in polite company.

But, I packed up my stuff, trying not to scratch the mostly inappropriate places now sporting new 'skeeter bites. I envied the other backpackers and their bug net hats. Oh, how I envied their previously-scorned-by-me fashion choices...

But, I had a lake to get to.

I got to the border between the Forest and the Park and took a break. It was pleasantly mostly bug-free.

I'd made it. I was in the Wilderness of a National Park for the first time.

The lake! It was waiting for me!

After a rest, I shrugged and strained into my backpack again and headed down the hill. Down. The map said the trail forked; one trail directly to the lake and another down the canyon to a trail junction and then up a third trail to the lake.

I hiked.

I hiked some more. I passed a meadow. I thought, "I wonder if that's the meadow I've seen on the map." So I get out my GPS device and check.

It wasn't the meadow I'd seen on the map. I wasn't on the right trail. The right trail was west by a couple hundred feet.

So, after hemming and hawing and wondering if my bloodied corpse would be found by another wayward traveler years down the road, I traipsed off into the underbrush and debris-ridden forest floor to find the trail.

I followed the compass bearing. Checked the GPS device to see when I got close to where the maps (by the US Forest Service, mind you....) said the trail I wanted was.

It wasn't.

There was no trail.

I plopped back down in my camp chair and, with the bug and flies and 'skeeters pestering me, I decided to abort my trip.

I could get to the lake, sure, but it was not the trip I had prepared for. It was better for me to have a pretty hard day that day rather than a really too hard day the next.

I messaged my partner on the InReach I was coming home and why and headed back UP the steep trail to the Park/Forest boundary.

But not before I set a waypoint in the GPS where the maps said there was a fork in the trail but that I somehow missed.

The GPS alarm went off when I got the the "fork" and I looked around.

No trail. Only a run-off channel from the too-steep trail. Sure, it might have been a trail at some point; but not anymore.

That's allegedly a trail.

Still there was some beautiful scenery and nice, green forest stuff.

I ended up hiking about 8 miles from my campsite, to the border, to the "trail" to the meadow, back to the border, back past my campsite and then down to the truck. In the grand scheme, it's not a particularly long nor hard day.

And, in the end, I learned a few things:

1. I can hike 8 miles in a day going up and down hills with a 30 pound pack on my back and not hurt too much.
2. Check with the Forest Service (Or Park Service) to make sure the trails I see on a map--even if published by the Forest Service or Park Service--exist.

So, it was a good trip.

SUCCESS!

Well, I survived my first overnight backpacking trip!

Hurray!

Here's how it went down.

Pack in the truck; starting at about 3pm

Since all of the Sierra was still socked in with snow and other assorted weather-related problems (down trees blocking roads, etc.) and I needed to get out and try backpacking, I ended up at Henry W. Coe State Park near Gilroy, CA.

I didn't know how well my knees and back would handle the trip so I planned on walking a nice, easy 3 mile road along a nice valley.

Plenty of water, to be sure. Here, anyway.

A couple of pretty flowers along the way.

Ooh! A new friend!

My plan was to hike the three miles along the old road to right before it started an ugly climb up a steep hill to get to the pond near the top. I would evaluate whether or not I could continue on. If I didn't feel I could continue, the map seemed to indicate I could camp fairly easily at the end of the road and then just return the next day to my truck.

Well, I got to the end of the road and felt fine. It was about 4:30 and I decided I could get some of this bug-filled water and continue!

Getting water from a bug filled horse trough without bugs is hard. I should have remembered I had a bandana with me.... Good thing I'm pretty.

I was thrilled to feel good enough to try for the pond two miles further. But it was up hill. Like steeply uphill. It was brutal. 

I told you it was really just an old road.

The junction to Redfern Pond. I actually whooped with joy here.

The views were pretty, to be sure.

Redfern Pond. My stop for the night!

My first backpacking camp site!!!

The sun setting at Redfern Pond. It was delightful.

I didn't have a water filter yet (didn't know if I was gonna like backpacking enough to buy one) so I boiled the water I got at the bug-filled trough. I made dinner with some of it and left the rest in the pot covered for morning coffee.

I called my partner 'cause up on the ridge I got cell service. Yay!

And that night, at about 10pm, an magnitude -7.0 Irridium Satellite flare occurred. That doesn't mean much, I know, but it was nice and bright.

The next morning was foggy and a little cold. And I was a little paranoid about the water and whether or not I had boiled it all. Like maybe there was one molecule of unboiled water harboring some man-killing bacteria or something. So I boiled the water again for a minute before making coffee with it.

I took a walk around the lake in the fog in the morning.

I sat in my chair. Sipped my coffee. Had another cup. I watched the other campers leave. Finally, I was alone.

But I had to get moving. I guess.

I packed up my stuff, took a last look around and headed off on the trail back to the truck.

But not the trail I had taken to get to the pond; that would be boring.

The trail continued to be an old road, nice and wide and relatively easy. But then.

Then.

It started down hill. Like a lot. A ton. About a 18% grade down. I went slow. I had to. Surprisingly, people had come up to Redfern Pond this way the night before.

Right after I stared the steeply downhill section, I met an older couple on their way up. They were out of breath and straining hard. I told 'em that that was the steepest section yet on my way down; meaning, "It's easier from here, guys!"

They didn't tell me how long they'd been climbing up.

Turns out a damn long time. This trail needs switchbacks badly. And I hate switchbacks. Everybody hates switchbacks. But this trail needs 'em.

A mountain biker passed me on the way down. He said he didn't like that particular trail that much. I said, "Hiking it ain't much fun either." And then he was gone.

Eventually, I reached the nice, easy, flat road "trail" I'd walked down the day before. I set up my chair and rest in the shade. I never realized hiking downhill could be as exhausting as hiking up. (Ok, it isn't; the hike up was tons worse.)

I passed other mountain bikers casually biking along the road/trail. I ran into other groups of backpackers. Some looking even more out of shape than I was.

And then I made it to the truck.

My first backpacking trip was done. I liked it and hated it. But I did it. And it felt good to have done it.

There were cows.

First Overnight. Evah!

I'm nervous.

Like, a lot.

I didn't sleep well last night and I doubt I'll sleep well tonight.

A week ago, I decided that I was done with planning to go backpacking; I just wanted to fucking go do it. I decided that within two weeks, I was going to go on a quick initial backpacking trip. A simple overnighter. Everything around home here in the Sierras is still jammed up with snow and inaccessible which was frustrating.

All this planning and spending money--around $1,000 or so, I'd guess--and nowhere nearby that I wanted to go. My first trip was going to be to Weaver Lake in Sequoia National Forest, but it's all still under about 10 feet of snow and the roads aren't open. Fuck that. Everywhere I thought to go and found to go was always covered in snow. Or too long a hike. Or two damn much elevation gain. (I'm still worried about my knee.)

Then I found a little 11 mile round trip hike in Henry W. Coe State Park over by Gilroy, CA. Not too much elevation gain only about 1,350 feet. Not too long; about 11 miles. Not covered in snow. Water reports looked good, too.

So I started planning. Got my maps. Got everything I actually need. Got a little stove to boil water. Got the fuel canister (fucker's kinda heavy). And now I have everything packed up. And I'm fucking nervous.

I'm nervous about my knee. I'm nervous about the climbing. I'm nervous about the descending. I'm worried about how heavy my pack is.

28.2 pounds.

My pack weighs a whopping 28.2 pounds which includes two liters of water. (I think there's decent water out there, but I'm not 100% certain and two liters should get me through an 11 mile hike all by itself.) And I'm worried that carrying that much weight without a lot of training is going to be too much for my legs and knees.

And the route as described is 11 miles. 11 miles of carrying upwards of 30 pounds. Up and down hills. I just don't know if that's a wise place to start.

But. If I take the route and reverse it, it's a three mile walk up a creek. It's flatter. Probably wetter. And likely easier on my knees and legs. That's what I'm going to do. Hike to the end of the creek.

Then, if I'm feeling up to it, I'll continue the remaining two miles the pond. The slope up from the end of the creek to the pond is of 9.6% grade which, by the time I get to the end of the three miles of creek, I'll know if I'm able to do. And three miles of gently climbing alongside a creek should be easy and immensely doable. And fun. (This is supposed to be fun, remember?)

If nothing else, I'll find a nice secluded campsite all by myself and enjoy the evening and night and morning.

And, now, I'm ready to go. Excited and nervous. (I mean, what if I HATE backpacking???)

Onward!

Last week, I went camping in Joshua Tree National Park (Jumbo Rocks campground; highly recommend) and tested out the sleep system I have:

Sea to Summit Trek II bag (pre-2017 version)
REI Quarter Dome 2 (pre-2017 version)
Klymit Static V Insulated Sleeping Pad
Sea to Summit Areos Inflatable Pillow
Klymit X-Pillow

And it all worked beautifully. I already knew the X-Pillow wouldn't work for my head (but it came as a package deal with the sleeping pad) but I could easily use it between my knees while sleeping on my side or under one side of my chest while stomach-sleeping. The Sea-to-Summit pillow works great though when sleeping on my side, I have to stand it on end so my neck doesn't hurt. It also has to be slightly under-inflated for the most comfort.

I picked up a knee strap for my knee pain which is what I've come to realize is (dah-dada-DAHHH!!!!!!!) patellar tendonitis. I read about straps helping with pain and hoped it would.

And it did.

I did a lot of hiking, sans backpack (that was left back at camp). A total of about 18 miles over two days (according to the FitBit on my wrist...).  And my knee did a lot better than I had feared it would.

So, now I'm back home, doing exercises to help actually fix the problem with my patellar tendonitis and shopping for the next items on my backpacking list (stove for having hot coffee in the morning, now a must-have; and other things) and planning where the hell I'm going backpacking for the first time. Ever. (Redwood Canyon? Big Meadows? Sierra National Forest?)

And, just tonight, I loaded up my pack (a Cinnabar Red Osprey Atmos 65 AG) with the stuff I think I'd need for an overnight backpacking trip. It weighed about 20 pounds. And put on the pack. It felt really, really good. (I'm still struggling with the shoulder strap twisting when I put on the pack but I'll get that sorted out soon, I'm sure.)

All in all, I'm about 90% confident I could load up all that stuff for an over night, hike about 6 miles in, and then haul it all out the next day with ease.

I'm actually fucking thrilled.

"If he can do it, so can I"

You may be familiar with my complaining about my knee pain. (Primarily gone these many days after my hike in the Big Stump area.)

Here's another story of someone else whose knees were completely replaced after years of pain meds and other things. If he can do it, so can I.

Joint Venture: Walking the PCT with Two New Knees