A large populace held in check by a small but powerful force is quite a common situation in our universe. And we know the major conditions wherein this large populace may turn upon its keepers --
When they find a leader. This is the most volatile threat to the powerful; they must retain control of leaders.
When the populace recognizes its chains. Keep the populace blind and unquestioning.
When the populace perceives a hope of escape from bondage. They must never even believe that escape is possible!
Yesterday I headed out to Monte Cristo for a quick night out. I was in this area last fall when I visited Gothic Basin, but had not continued all the way down the main trail to the town site.
Monte Cristo is an old mining town that was founded in the 1890s and lasted until 1907. It’s now a ghost town, maintained by the Monte Cristo Preservation Association. The trail into town is an easy hike along the old railroad grade. Most of the buildings in the town itself have burned down or were long ago dismantled, leaving only a few remnants. More interesting than the buildings are the metal artifacts strewn about the site.
From Monte Cristo, my plan was to head up to Glacier Basin in the Henry M. Jackson Wilderness (just the other side of Cadet Peak from Goat Lake) and see what the snow was doing. The hike up to the basin goes uphill alongside a waterfall that carries away the melting snow, as well as melt from Columbia Glacier.
The whole drainage, including the trail, had been hit by at least one major avalanche somewhat recently, leaving lots of debris and snapped trees for me to climb over. The hike was hot, but enjoyable. I encountered no snow until just before the basin at 4,500 feet. Before venturing further, I stopped to put on my gaiters, take out my other trekking pole and put the snow baskets on both. I almost always forget to pack the snow baskets for my poles, so I was excited to have remembered them this time around. Heading on into the snow, my pace slowed. It was now late afternoon – just about the worst time to attempt to traverse a snow field on an inclined slope. The sun had been beating down on the snow all day, making it soft and prone to slipping. I managed not to fall off any mountains, but, due to my lack of snowshoes, did posthole up to my crotch two different times. Soon enough I made it to a scree field just inside the basin.
My original plan had been to spend the night up here, but it didn’t look very promising. I dropped my pack in order to be a little lighter on my feet and took off to survey the basin. Most of it was still covered in the same deep, wet snow that I struggled through at the entrance. I didn’t fancy sleeping on this. The areas that were melted were rocky and devoid of any flat spaces. I imagine it will be mostly cleared up in another couple weeks, but for now I decided to turn around and spend the night at a lower elevation.
I managed not to sink or slip on the snow field on the way out. Retracing my steps, I made my way back down along the waterfall. The avalanche had exposed a lot of smooth rock that, wet with snow melt, made for slippery going. Near the bottom I slipped and slid down about ten feet on my side, slicing open my left knee. It was a 3” long incision across the front of the patella, but not very deep. I continued on the trail for a bit, letting it bleed. As long as it’s not a gusher, letting wounds ooze a little blood helps to clean them out.
Five minutes further down I found a nice rock sit on. I dropped my pack, grabbed the first aid kit, and pulled out my syringe. It took just under a liter of water to fully clean the cut. I had noticed a patch of yarrow further up the trail, but there didn’t seem to be any around my rock. Instead, there was a large hemlock tree that must have been knocked down by the recent avalanche. It still looked green and alive. When I punctured it with my knife, it oozed sap. I used this to cover the cut. The sap is antiseptic and forms a barrier to keep dirt or anything else from the wound. Plus, it smells good! After the sap had dried, I bandaged it and carried on down the trail, arriving back at Monte Cristo at 7PM. I had dinner in the town and took advantage of the long summer evening to scout out an agreeable place to sleep in the surrounding forest.
The following morning I breakfasted and started to head back to the trailhead. On the way out I decided to make a short detour up to Gothic Basin. As with neighboring Glacier Basin the climb was mostly clear, but I hit deep snow just at the entrance. After looking around a bit I climbed back down and finished the walk back to the road, arriving at the trailhead late that morning.
This past week I read Dominic Reeve’s Smoke in the Lanes. The book is a first-hand account of the lives of Romani in England during the mid-1950s, which marked the end of the era of horse-drawn wagons. It’s an interesting read if you’re at all interested in itinerant lifestyles.
Toward the end of the book the author describes lighting his daily fire in very wet conditions:
Nobody had collected any wood for the morning's fire, so I scrambled into the middle of a tangle of thorn-bushes, the limbs of which were heavy with rain that showered down on me; and within a matter of minutes I was completely soaked. I did not possess a raincoat and my old jacket and cord trousers were inadequate to withstand the water. Nevertheless, I managed to gather quite an imposing amount of dead wood, all sodden, and I returned with it to the site of the previous night's fire. I took a stump of candle from my pocket and broke it in half, then I lit one half and set it upright in the watery ashes, piling some twigs and small wood round and above it. When I had placed sufficient twigs above the tiny flame I laid the other half of the candle stump in the wood directly above the flame so that the heat from below gradually rose upwards, melting the wax which then caught fire and ignited the soggy twigs. It is an old Romani trick, and a very successful one.
Le Loup often talks about carrying a beeswax candle in his 18th century fire kit. I always assumed that this would be used to keep a flame below damp tinder to dry it out, similar to how today we might take advantage of the long burn time of cotton balls soaked in petroleum jelly to light slightly damp materials. It never occurred to me to break the candle in two and melt the second half above for even more heat. Neat trick!
None but the Romanies, or perhaps the few remaining tramps, can know how great a comfort is afforded by a fire. Once its warming tongues lick upwards into the pile of sticks and one's tingling, numbed fingers are eased in its glow, one experiences great pleasure and satisfaction. It is a creative, aesthetic, pleasure. On countless grey winter mornings, often in company with other travellers, I have sat huddled close to an immense [fire], my front glowing and steaming with heat and my back running with rain or heaped with snow. The fire is everything to us. With it we can cook, eat, survive and live: without it we should perish.
I went on a lengthy bike ride around the Seattle area yesterday. There were a couple of errands I wanted to run in the city and I thought I’d use them as an excuse to test out Google Maps new bicycle directions feature, which I had yet to use.
The Interurban Trail runs through Snohomish and King Counties, forming a highway for human powered transport. At least, that’s the idea. Parts of the trail are on old railway routes and parts are on normal city streets. The part of the trail in King county is great, but the Snohomish county trail is very poorly signed and notoriously difficult to follow as it moves between trail sections and streets. If you’ve never ridden it before, you’re guaranteed to lose it. Since the trail parallels I-5 and 99, it’s difficult to actually get lost – just keep heading north or south and you’ll eventually get where you’re going – but it’s nice to be able to stay on the trail itself as the Interurban’s route is generally the friendliest to non-motorized vehicles.
I was very impressed with Google’s ability to keep me on the trail. The directions only once told me to turn onto a non-existent road. Other than that, they proved accurate. I also had with me photocopies of the relevant route directions taken from Biking Puget Sound. The directions from both were very similar, but where they differed, I found that Google’s route was superior.
Of course, the whole trip couldn’t be on the trail. I had to get on the Interurban at the beginning of my ride and off it at the end. For that bit, I was also happy with Google’s directions. The route on and off the trail was not as direct as the one I would have chosen myself, but Google seemed to go out of their way to keep me on smaller streets with less traffic. It’s clear that Google takes topography into account, as well, as the streets that Google suggested were flatter than those on the more direct route that I would have chosen.
The downside to Google’s route was the number of turns. The directions were 7 pages long for the full trip (both to my destination and from the destination back to my starting point). I think the longest section I had without a turn was about 2 miles. I would make a turn, pull the directions out of my pocket to see how long I had on this stretch and what the next turn would be, shove the directions back into my pocket, go on for a bit, make the turn, and repeat the process. It was a bit inconvenient, shoving the directions into my pocket and pulling them out so frequently, and the directions got crinkled and difficult to read. I need to figure out someway to mount them on my handlebars. The other problem with the directions was that, because much of the Interurban is on the old railway that doesn’t have street names, Google would occasionally give a direction like “Turn left in 58 feet”. Turn left? Turn left where? In this driveway? That business parking lot? The lake? With the infrequent signage on the trail itself, I would often miss these mysterious left turns. When that happened I would look a couple steps ahead on the directions till it had me turning onto a street with a number. I could make my way to that numbered street along normal roads and soon find myself back on Google’s route.
Overall I was pleased with the directions and will definitely be taking advantage of Google again for future trips – though if it’s in an area that I have no familiarity with, I would probably want to supplement them with a good road map for added security. I’ll also be curious to see how they do in other cities, or outside of urban areas altogether. I’m told that the team who developed the bike route feature is based in Seattle, so it would make sense that that city would have the most accurate directions.
In Seattle I made a bit of a tour. I went past Woodland Park and cruised around Green Lake a bit before stopping in the center of the universe to refuel. From there I went over the Ship Canal and decided to torture myself by pedaling up the hill to Queen Anne before heading down to Pike Place. At the market, I paid a visit to Left Bank Books to browse the zine collection before heading over to Metsker Maps. I have something of a map fetish, so Metskers is one of my favorite shops in that area. I spent 45 minutes in there pouring over various topos that are difficult to acquire anywhere else.
Outside of Pike Place I saw somebody with what looked like a TAD FAST Pack. I don’t see those around very often, so I went up to the guy to congratulate him on his taste in bags. But on closer inspection I saw it was one of those cheap Japanese airsoft knock-off designs.
After walking the bike around downtown and doing more people-watching, I started to head back north. I decided to take a different route and go the long way around Lake Union. Eventually I picked up the Burke-Gilman Trail and ended up back in Fremont. From there I made a slight detour over to Ballard (nope, it isn’t free yet) and visit Second Ascent. They’re one of the best independent (i.e. non-REI) gear shops in the area and usually have a good selection of used gear. Once there I spent another half hour looking at maps – this time aided with some of the guide books they had – and happened upon a nice 50-ish mile loop in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, which is something that I’ve been looking for lately.
From Ballard, it was back to Fremont where I made a quick stop at PCC for some dolmas and a couple of cookies before retracing my route back home.
The route that I took was supposed to be 50 miles, but for all my detours and added explorations, it was probably closer to 70. My butt cheeks hurt, despite my padded panties.
If I could only carry one first aid specific item in the wilderness, it would be an irrigation syringe.
There’s a lot that can be done with bandannas, duct tape, and paracord. A multitool, spare clothing, sleeping pad, tarp, poles – pretty much everything in a pack, including the pack itself, can be fashioned into some kind of medical implement with a little ingenuity. But cleaning a wound will always remain difficult. It also remains extremely important. Infection is both very common and very inconvenient in the wilderness, where you’re well away from definitive care.
Clean water should always available and irrigation is a simple and effective method of cleaning a wound. But water just poured over a wound won’t do much good. Pressure is needed. Occasionally you might hear people claim that you can fill up a ziploc bag with water, cut or poke a hole in one corner, and squeeze the bag to force out a stream of water. That’s certainly better than nothing, but in my experience the pressure from that is not comparable to the pressure from a syringe. With an irrigation syringe, you can take the cleanest water available (usually your drinking water) and shoot it into the wound. Pressure washing the wound like this allows you to easily clean out all the grit and dirt. There’s no need to go poking around in there with unsanitary tools, probably causing more harm than good. A 12cc syringe like the one I carry costs $1, weighs 8 grams (0.28 oz), and takes up very little room. I can’t think of a reason not to have one in your pack!
Remember: a clean wound is a happy wound. You can put all the effort you want into the perfect bandage, but if the wound isn’t clean, you’re going to have some problems down the line.
After taking the photos I wanted for today’s stuff sack review, I spent the rest of the afternoon watching tadpoles, walking along railroad tracks, and looking at clouds.
"Then one day it dawned on me that... you can't rely on the accomplishment of goals or journeys -- however great or small -- for your happiness, because the completion of a goal is only a temporary gratification. If you want to be happy then you must enjoy it all, at whatever point your are at, from the beginning to the end, because happiness it the acceptance of the journey as it is now, not the promise of the other shore."
- Stevie Smith, Pedaling to Hawaii
(Originally, this post was titled Just Another Wednesday, but I have now been informed that today is, in fact, Tuesday.)
