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Jason Elliot’s An Unexpected Light: Travels In Afghanistan is a beautifully written book, on par with The Places In Between. The author’s aimless wanderings in Afghanistan during the rise to power of the Taliban record the country and its people in an undeniably alluring way. He captures the daily life of Afghans throughout the country and, in his honest and provocative writing, the impact of decades of war.
A sample of my tap-water is off to the lab today, to see if The Feds have been poisoning me with copper and lead. I’ve had enough interaction with the guys at the water treatment plant here to guess that the answer is yes.
A couple weeks ago there was an incident with an RV-er dumping his poopy-water near one of our water intakes. A while before that, one of the sewage pipes was leaking into one of the clean water pipes above it.
Advice: don’t drink the water in National Parks.
Colby Buzzel’s My War: Killing Time in Iraq falls into the category of books that I’m not sure what to say about – it leaves one stunned upon completion. Reminiscent of Jarhead, this book version of the author’s blog is a hard-hitting depiction of the war. There’s no coating or attempts to depict false senses of glory and honor and the rest of the recruiter’s material. The poor grammar serves to reinforce the raw vision. The highest praise I can give the book, I suppose, is that I burned through it in 8 hours.
Peppermint tea is excellent for the digestion. I drink a cup after dinner most every night. It immediately does away with that ‘stuffed’ feeling in my stomach if I accidentally ate too much. The tea greets me with a pleasant smell every time I open the cupboard and is also great for dealing with stress.
Bow hunting season started yesterday in the Forest, so now on my patrols I have to watch out for wackos with bows who’ve (un)knowingly wandered into the Park. Hunting season also means an influx of bears and deer – they know the boundaries and that they’re save from hunters inside the Park.
I think the squirrels are also aware. On my hike today I was bombarded by falling Sequoia cones, cut down by the squirrels above. They seem to be targeting habitual bipeds of all sorts – taking no chances.
One should always carry the knowledge and skill to navigate in your place. Always in my pack is a Silva Ranger CL compass – a light, compact compass, for which I can use to navigate either with the terrain or with a map. The compass is stored in a TAD Gear BC-8 pouch, which I picked up on my pilgrimage to TAD while passing through San Francisco earlier this summer. The pouch can be attached to my belt, pack, or any other piece of webbing, assuring the compass always has a place on my person, without taking up precious pocket space.
In the field, I also carry a Garmin Etrex Vista Cx GPS device. The GPS is unessential and shouldn’t be relied upon for primary navigation. Its error is larger than that of a compass; it depends upon a clear line of sight to the sky, making it more of a hassle than a help to use in forested areas; and, of course, it depends upon batteries. I’ve had one occasion this summer where the GPS insisted that North was South and South was North, implying either a sporadic pole shift or shaky satellite reception. My primary use of the GPS is the trip computer – the odometor, my moving time, my stopping time, my average speed, and elevation shift. I’ll also use it for a quick reading of my coordinates to get a rough idea where I am, and occasionally the Tracks program, which can be used to retrace my steps.
Always carry a map. USGS 7.5” topo maps are the best. On my backcountry trips here in the Park, I carry a minimum of 3 maps: a Tom Harrison Map of the entire Park, a Tom Harrison Map more specific to my location in the Park, and the USGS maps for each quadrangle I plan to walk through. The map I primary reference is the second Tom Harrison, which is clear and easy to read and has mileage printed directly on the trails. The USGS maps I carry for cross-country travel or in case I get lost. The large Tom Harrison map is carried more for a sense of place and planning other trips.
Learn to read a map. I’ve never had a class in the subject, nor read a book, but I’m confident in my ability to utilize a map. The best way to learn is practice. Here’s what to do: buy the USGS 7.5” quadrangle for the area you live in. If you live in an urban area, try to buy a quadrangle for a nearby park or forested area – someplace that isn’t flattened and paved. (But buy the maps for the urban areas too! I have the 7” quadrangles for the city I live in, covering my home and commute, taped on my wall, for exploration and post-Apocalypse survival.) Now take your new map and wander into the woods. Figure out where you are. Find a feature on the map, such as a hill or a ridge, and then find it in your place. How steep are the contours in real life? Here’s a hint: contours “V” upstream.
Even if you’re unable to triangulate your position or perform other minute calculations, you should have the confidence to read a map and have a rough idea of what that means in real life. A few weeks ago, a visitor came in to the Visitor Center in the Park while I was working. He was interested in a backcountry permit. After glancing at the map, he asked how much water he should bring. I hate giving someone like that a permit. If you’re unable to read the steepness of the trail and the locations of water sources, you have no business in the backcountry. And everybody should have business in the backcountry. So learn to read.
Pictures of my gear may be found here.
Since my first visit to Ranger Lake, I’ve had an inkling to climb the trail-less Mt. Silliman. It sits at 11,188 feet – just a little below Alta. On this last 3 day trip in the backcounty, I took a day to attempt it. From my camp at Ranger Lake, there’s a trail that took me about 2 miles and 1,000 feet to the top of Silliman Pass. From there, I cut south to go cross-country 2 miles and 1,000 feet to the summit.
About half the trek is a scramble up and down granite boulders. I had a couple questionable moments, where I wasn’t sure if I could get back, or even forward, and had to elect for a risky slide on my backside. The other half opens up into wider, flatter stretches of sand. There I saw Mountain Lion tracks and, for the first time, the tracks of the ever-elusive Bighorn Sheep.
After about 1.5 miles cross-country, I decided to turn around, having made it almost to the base of the summit. I hadn’t started till late in the day so I was losing the sun, and the terrain ahead looked like it was to get a bit technical for my non-existent rock climbing skills. (My hands were already scraped up and blistered from the scrambling and the previous day’s adventures.)
The views from the crest rivaled that of Alta; I was able to hang my feet over the jagged, immense cliff on the eastern side while stopping for a snack. The attempt was not wasted. Some day I’ll make my way back.
