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???)

Big Stump Hike March 29, 2017

Holy crap. Today has been a damn good day for me planning a 2018 PCT thru hike. I've been afraid that my knee and back pains would be dream killers; that they'd prevent me from even attempting any backpacking trips I want to do; much less the PCT. (And they came so soon after the moment about a year ago when I realized, "Hey; wow.  I could hike the Pacific Crest Trail now...."  More on that moment in another post.)

Ok, so I decided to hike today after all.  I took some ibuprofen at noon, ate a small-ish breakfast, and hopped into the shower.  In the shower, I talked myself out of going.

"What if you hurt your knee further?"
"What if there's too much snow?"
"What if your back hurts?"

And then I started thinking about what I would do around the house if I didn't go. How disappointing that would be. How boring it would be.

So, as is usually the case for me, deciding not to go, gets me out the door all that much faster. I got dressed, wrote the earlier short post and headed up.

First thing was this mound of snow.

Mound of snow "blocking" trail.  Boo...

A little discouraging. I walked up and over it and looked at the trail anyway and it seemed fine. I loaded up my day pack, started the GPS on my phone, started a "hike" on FitBit, grabbed my trekking poles, and headed out.

Some snow. Way back there.

The lack of snow was nice!

The going was slow, I had to consciously think to myself, "Slow down." I slipped once or twice with my left knee on the snow and that caused a short stab of pain but it went away quickly.

Selfies? Never!

Got to the part of the trail I expected to make it to; a small meadow with a fallen sequoia.

Shattered Giant

Upstream of the Shattered Giant

Slightly less upstream

I crossed the Shattered Giant and headed on.  I knew there was a trail around the other side of the meadow and figured I'd decide if I'd turn back or keep going once I got to the trail junction.

Doesn't look much like a meadow

I felt pretty good at the junction so I continued on to Mark Twain Stump.

Mark Twain Stump

And that was my hoped-for goal. That I'd be physically able to make it to this spot. I did. And that's when I realized, if I take a hike slowly, carefully, deliberately, I can still hike.

I continued on the loop for a short while, crossing 180 and heading on the back-end of the loop to my truck.

But, the trail on the other side of 180 was not well traveled and covered in snow. I was slipping more than I cared to on the snow. I couldn't navigate with my phone, use the trekking poles, and watch my step all at the same time. So I turned around and went back the way I came.

Took a couple of pictures from the other end of the Shattered Giant meadow.

OMG! It's a tree!

Same stand. Panorama'd!

It'll be green and growing and flowering soon. I promise.

And then I made it back to the truck. I had to stop and rest some more when my left knee started to hurt again. And I used the poles to help take some weight off of my knee.

Got in the truck and then headed home.  On the way, I found a waterfall along the highway I didn't know existed.

Zoom in? That's crazy talk!

After I got home and rested for a bit, I took a walk up and down the driveway here at home (about .22 miles round trip). I was walking back, and I saw the sun set over the Central Valley through the oak trees on either side of our driveway; I started crying. I realized I can still go see the sun rise from the mountain tops. I can still go watch the sun set every day and watch it rise every morning all summer long.  I cried to myself over and over, "I can do it. I can do it. I can do it."  It wasn't a mantra of reassurance and self reliance. It was the absolutely joyous realization that my dream is not dead.

My hike will probably be slower than I would like but it will be my hike.

Today's hike was short, flat, and slow (1.7 miles in about 90 minutes) but I didn't experience any overly painful knee problem nor back issues. I know I can do the PCT.  I can still hike. I can continue the dream. I can do it.

I'm experiencing the same tearful jubilation as that moment last year when I realized I could hike the PCT.

Also, I realized today that hiking on a ton of snow (probably) just isn't gonna be my thing. But, I learned that my boots are reasonably waterproof. That woolen socks help keep my feet warm even when wet. And that fording streams isn't something awful to fear. (Creeks and rivers, well, we'll see about those.)

All in all, a damn good fucking day today.