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.

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.

Why?

My brother gave me a book for Christmas this last year. Pacific Crest Trials. It very strongly suggests making a couple of lists before even heading out to take the first step.

This is the first of these lists: Why Am I Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail.

I'll keep a copy of this with me so I can refer back to it when the "Why the fuck and I doing this!?" question rises in my mind. And it will.

• Because I finally can. Finally, I have the time, energy, money, and inclination to set out and do this trail.
  
  I've seen the thin red (and occasionally black) line labeled "Pacific Crest Trail" on topographic maps for literally decades. I followed it on the map kinda wishing I could. ("Oh, look! It goes through Devil's Postpile!" "Oh, right through Lassen, too!") I never thought that I could do it though I wanted to for a very long time.
• To become a little more spontaneous. The first part of my hike is pretty decently planned out. I kinda have an idea of where I might camp each night for the first 3 weeks. I kinda know where I can get water. I kinda know where I'll get food.
  
  Not everything needs to be planned out in advance.
  
  Ages ago, I saw "Into the Wild" and was brought to tears from longing to do what that guy did. (Stopping well short of the tragic end, mind you.) I've always--always--wanted, needed a plan. I've pretty much always thought plans are necessary. Intellectually, I know they aren't but I've never been able to tear myself away from wanting to always know what's going to happen. (Yeah, I know that's pretty impossible to know what's going to happen.)
• To do something remarkably simple and remarkably hard
• To live with less.
• To live freely and simply.  (Wake up, eat, pack, walk, eat, walk, camp, eat, sleep. Repeat.)
• To see things very few people (relative to everybody in the world) get to see.
• To exercise more. A lot more.
• To eat candy. A lot. (Mmmm....  Snickers.....)
  
• Surprisingly, to learn to rely on others. (Gonna have to do a lot of hitch-hiking.)
  
• To look out from the High Sierra and see vast expanses below me.
• To step outside my comfort zone.
• To expand my comfort zone.
• To have stories to tell.
• To be in the wilderness.
• To be by myself.