Dick Summers thought lazily that these were different from mountain men. These couldn't enjoy life as it rolled by; they wanted to make something out of it, as if they could take it and shape it to their way if only they worked and figured hard enough. They didn't talk beaver and whiskey and squaws or let themselves soak in the weather; they talked crops and water power and business and maybe didn't even notice the sun or the pale green of new leaves except as something along the way to whatever it was they wanted to be and to have. Later they might look back, some of them might, and wonder how it happened that things had slid by them. They would remember, maybe, a morning and the camp smoke rising and the sun rolling up in the early mist and the air sharp and heady as a drink, and they would hanker back for the day and wish they had got the good out of it. But, hell, a man looking back felt the same, regardless. There wasn't any way to whip time.
- A.B. Guthrie, Jr., The Way West
Having been back from the Glacier Peak Wilderness for near a week, I felt a need to return to the mountains. The maps suggested a few possibilities, but one didn’t commend itself to me over the others. I thought to contact Avagdu, who was still in Washington, to see if he had time for another walk before returning to California. He did, so I gave him the options I had come up with and asked what he would prefer.
We settled on heading into the Wild Sky Wilderness. I would lead him back to Eagle Lake, where we would spend the first night. The next day we would climb the ridge of Townsend Mountain, descend down the opposite side, and make our way to Sunset Lake for our second night. From there, we would hike out on the third day.
When we arrived at the trailhead in the early afternoon it was hot – somewhere in the upper 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Too hot for hauling around a pack, but luckily the short, flat hike to the first destination of Barclay Lake was mostly in the shade. From there we would head up, and I hoped the higher elevations would be cooler.
I’ve traveled to Eagle Lake via Barclay Lake a half dozen or so times, but the sight of the steep north face of Mount Baring jutting up from the lake basin never fails to impress. On the drive over I had told Avagdu that only yesterday a base-jumper had died leaping off Baring when her parachute failed to open. The death is tragic, but still, I felt, like Ed, the need to congratulate her taste.
Looking out on this panorama of light, space, rock and silence I am inclined to congratulate the dead man on his choice of jumping-off place; he had good taste. He had good luck -- I envy him the manner of his going: to die alone, on rock under sun at the brink of the unknown, like a wolf, like a great bird, seems to me very good fortune indeed. To die in the open, under the sky, far from the insolent interference of leech and priest, before this desert vastness opening like a window onto the eternity -- that surely was an overwhelming stroke of rare good luck.
- Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire
At Barclay Lake, the official trail ends. We turned north and headed up the steep slope to Stone Lake, which sits in a small saddle at the top of the ridge. The first half of the route is through forest. It’s a popular route, so a trail made by the many feet of travelers is vaguely visible. The way is also marked by occasional flagging, which I always have a difficult time spotting on the way up. (On the way down, sticking to the route is easy.)
After breaking out of the trees we entered the boulder field. Here the route is marked by cairns, but at this point the way is obvious enough that the markers aren’t really needed – at least, the way is obvious enough to me after having ascended and descended the field a few times before!
At Stone Lake we stopped for a breather. We had gained enough elevation that the temperature was no longer uncomfortably hot, but still pleasant. While waiting for Avagdu to reach the lake, I ate an apple that I had been carrying.
From Stone Lake it was only a short 15 minute walk through Paradise Meadow to our day’s destination of Eagle Lake. I warned Avagdu that the meadow would be extremely muddy, but in fact it was surprisingly dry. I had been in the area earlier in the year and later in the year, but never had I visited in late July, so clearly my predictions were off.
I enjoyed the pleasant walk through green grass, trying to avoid the occasional mud patch, and jumping over the creek as it meandered through the meadow. We spotted a few frogs jumping around, and one or two small trout in the creek.
As we approached Eagle Lake I saw a tent in the clearing on the edge of the lake at the south side of the creek. There was no one there, so we ventured over to the cabin to see if anyone was about. At the cabin was a family of three fishing the lake. They had spent the previous night at the lake and were planning on one more at the same site before heading out in the morrow. There had been no luck fishing, which surprised me as you usually can barely throw a rock into the lake without hitting a trout. We talked about Townsend and what lay on the other side before I suggested Avagdu take a look inside the cabin.
It’s a neat place. I don’t enjoy spending the night inside: it’s small and dark and smelly and the mice always want to share the bed – much better to spend the night under the stars – but I enjoy visiting. The cabin looked to be in good repair and was cleaner than the last time I visited (in early February of this year). One new addition that caught my eye was a small inner tube tucked away in the corner. I had visions of floating about the lake, followed by visions of being extremely cold. But the latter was not enough to deter me. I knew that I could not echo the timeless lament of Shaquille O’Neal (particularly since I had used that quote as my email signature for the better part of a year and even had the piece of zen wisdom inscribed on a bright yellow pin).
We left the cabin to go make camp. My preferred site was on the opposite side of the creek that drains the lake. There was one clear, flat spot that I usually used for my tarp, but no other spot that was ideal for Avagdu. Since I intended to pitch the tarp in an elevated manner, we decided that there would be plenty of room for both of us to sleep below it. The chance of rain that night was slight, anyways.
Having made camp and filled up on water, I returned to the cabin to grab the inner tube. It was about 5 PM. I figured that I had enough time to kick around the lake for a bit and then dry off before the sun was lost behind Merchant Peak.
The tube, it turned out, was a little small. It floated, but after putting my weight on it, it sunk in about halfway. With my butt hanging down the middle, I was submerged up to my navel. Still, the water was actually pleasant after getting over the initial shock – much warmer than some of the icy cold rivers and alpine lakes I’ve jumped into in the past. I kicked around for a bit and thought to use the opportunity to try out a small pocket fishing kit I had put together a few months ago, but I was unable to efficiently cast with it. After seeing that I hadn’t died of shock from the water, Avagdu decided to join me. He slowly made his way in until the water was up to his neck. I suggested that, since my small kit had failed, he could swim down the shore to the cabin and pick up the spinning rod that was hung on one of the rafters. He had had the same thought.
As Avagdu swam, I slowly attempted to follow, but it was difficult to propel the tube in the direction I wanted to go. After he got the rod, Avagdu walked back down along some of the logs that cluttered the shore and we managed to meet about halfway. I had him hold out the tip of the rod to me as I tied on a rooster tail lure that I had spotted in the water near where I had gotten on the tube. “Okay, you’re fishing!” I announced.
We figured out how the spin-cast reel worked and, after only a couple tips, Avagdu was casting out to the lake. I gave it a couple shots as well, but neither of us had any bites.
Soon the sun fell beneath the peak of Merchant. Though there were still many hours till dark, neither of us wished to be standing around wet without the direct warmth of the sun. We walked back to camp.
I had gotten in the lake in my underwear and pants. Dry underwear and merino long johns awaited me in my pack, so I wasn’t concerned about that. The pants were quick drying, but in the meantime I didn’t want to put them on and wet out my dry underwear. So I was walking around camp in my long johns, which I was concerned about: being made of a lightweight merino wool, they are somewhat delicate. I didn’t want to sit down directly on the ground or on a log without some other layer of protection, out of fear of snagging them. Before leaving for the trip I had taken my normal rain pants out of the pack to save weight, but had tossed in a garbage bag rain skirt on the off-chance that rain did occur. So, as a bit of protection until my pants dried, I donned the stylish garbage bag skirt.
We both wanted a fire to dry our things. Easy to gather wood was scarce in the area, but soon enough we had a merry blaze.
As the sun set the bugs came out in force. They bothered me a bit, but were bearable. Avagdu, however, they loved. He couldn’t go more than a minute without waving his hands around and slapping himself. I had packed along a bottle of a natural insect repellent that I was skeptical of, but wished to test further. After trying it out, Avagdu concurred with my conclusion that the repellent worked great for ten or fifteen minutes, but then failed. Still, we had the smoke of the fire to protect us.
The following day we rose around 7 AM, breakfasted, and broke camp. Shouldering our packs, we headed for the ridge of Townsend Mountain that lay along the north side of the lake.
The first part of the route was through thick bush, but this quickly led to an easy climb up a small talus field. As with the previous day’s walk, there was no official trail, but people did sometimes come this way and cairns occasionally suggested a route.
After the talus it was back into the bush. I enjoy off-trail travel, but the trouble is that when making my own way, I have a tendency to always go straight up and make nary a switchback. A defect in my character, perhaps. No matter. Switchbacks are luxuries, not necessities.
Breaking through the bush we entered an open area of rock. This was a little over halfway up the mountain. We stopped for a breather and to enjoy the view.
Observing the face of the mountain from below I had pointed out this large face of rock to Avagdu, saying “See that rock? We don’t want to go up it, so we’ll just hug the edge and make our way around. We’ll come above it and then have only a short skip to the top.” A good plan. But near the rock on which we sat I spotted a cairn, and another beyond it. This seemed to suggest that there was a safe route across the field. Okay, I said to myself. I had never been up here before, so thought to trust to the judgment of my predecessors on the mountain. We donned our packs, and I led Avagdu off in the direction of the markers.
The route started out easy, but progressively got steeper. I couldn’t spot any more cairns, so I observed the rock and picked my own route. We moved from scrambling to what was basically rock climbing – but with full packs, boots, and no ropes or other safety equipment. This was my idea of fun. I was quite enjoying myself. Avagdu was making his way, but struggling a bit and falling behind. As I was waiting on a small ledge for him, he called out that he would need some help. I stashed my pack in a crack and, after making sure that it was secure, went back down to him. It was his pack that was slowing him down, so I threw it on my back, climbed back up, and stashed it with my own. Then I guided him to the ledge where I waited.
Directly above us the way looked more technical. We would have had more difficulty climbing that with our packs. But off to one side I spotted another cairn on an angle of the slope. Studying the rock, I saw what would make a decent enough path for us to use to traverse over to the cairn. Due to the angle I couldn’t see what lay on the other side, but I assumed that since there was a marker it would lead us back onto a more manageable route. I pointed out the cairn to Avagdu and the path that I meant to follow. He wisely queried how we would get from where we were to the ledge that started the path. I replied “I don’t know. Just follow me.” I was making this up as I went!
Getting to the path wouldn’t have been much trouble, but for the water. Most of the rock between it and where we were was wet from a trickle that came down from the top of the mountain (from snow melt I thought, since the map showed no other water source up there). It made the rock slick and extremely difficult to get any purchase on. I managed to traverse a few feet laterally from where Avagdu stood till I got myself jammed in a crack. I hoped to be able to make my way down the crack to where the path started below. But there was water in there as well and I couldn’t get enough holds. About halfway down I decided that this wasn’t going to work. There was a slope to the crack and I had been making my way down it facing out. With my pack on again, I couldn’t turn around and face into the mountain to climb back up. I tried inching my way back up while still facing out, but that didn’t work either: I had no holds for my feet and I couldn’t spot where I should be placing my hands. There was no going anywhere with the pack on.
I pushed out on either side of the crack with both my legs so that I could temporarily take my hands off the rock and slip out of my pack straps. Then I slowly moved my body forward and down to see if the pack was jammed in enough to stay where it was. I had to move only a couple inches before realizing that the pack was coming too. That wouldn’t work. I yelled back up to where Avagdu was watching and asked if he had any paracord. He did, so I told him to throw me one end and keep the other. He got it out and untangled it as I thought to myself “Does he have to take forever with this?” I’m sure it was only 15 seconds or so, but my feet had slipped, and I was holding up both my body and my pack with only my locked out arms.
Eventually he tossed the end to me and I was able to get enough purchase with my feet again to temporarily remove my hands and tie the cord in a quick knot around one of the shoulder straps of my pack. Having done this, I instructed Avagdu to slowly start to pull in the cord until it was taut. “Okay,” I said. “You have my pack.” I moved forward away from the pack, but found that even without the extra weight on my back, I wasn’t going to be able to make it along this route to where the path started. I was able to get out of the crack and onto the rock face on the opposite side from Avagdu and scrambled back up till I was level with him. I asked him to hold onto the cord for a bit longer until I could figure out what to do, and then went scrambling around, trying to find a route. There wasn’t much of promise. I scrambled up a little higher along a slick face till I couldn’t go up anymore, and then found that I couldn’t get back down. “Whoops,” I thought to myself and announced out loud that I was stuck (which probably didn’t do much good for Avagdu’s morale). But I found that by laying down on the rock so that my whole body was in contact I was able to generate enough friction to slowly slide and inchworm my way back down to a more secure area.
Avagdu suggested that we turn around. The way showed no signs of easing up and since I was having such difficulty I knew that Avagdu would probably not enjoy this next bit, even if he could do it. So I agreed. I was disappointed that we wouldn’t make the top and see what was on the other side, but it was my fault for trying to go up along these rocks rather than trusting my original plan of hugging the edge and going around them.
But there was still that cairn that I had spotted over in the distance. The way we took up was certainly not the intended trail and would be no easier going down. If that cairn marked the trail, it would probably offer a better path back down to the lake. I stilled wanted to reach it.
I thought to try the crack again. I made my way back down till I was above the pack and, making sure that Avagdu still had a good hold on the cord, gave it a slight kick till it swung out of the way. With the crack cleared, I eventually made it down to the path that I had been aiming for. I walked along it a ways toward the cairn, but I didn’t like what I saw between us and it. And I didn’t like what I couldn’t see, on the other side of the angle. I decided to take the known challenge offered by the route that we had come up, rather than risk the unknown.
Back at the bottom of the crack I had come down on, I found that I couldn’t make it back up to where Avagdu sat. I spotted what looked like a doable route below me and announced to Avagdu that I would make my way down a bit, traverse to the other side, and then climb back up to where he was. He assented, though I’m sure he was tired of holding up my pack by a single piece of paracord at this point. He probably was thinking that I would fall off and die and there would be no one to get him off the mountain.
I have thought briefly about getting caught in rock slides or falling from a rock face. If that happened, I would probably perish on the mountain in much the same way many of the big animals do. I would be long gone before anyone found me. My only wish would be that folks wouldn't spend a lot of time searching. When the time comes for man to look his Maker in the eye, where better could the meeting be held than in the wilderness?
- Richard Proenneke, One Man's Wilderness
Getting down and over was easy. The way back up proved more challenging. There were handholds, but with my boots on, I couldn’t get my toes into anyplace where they needed to be. So I basically pulled myself back up the mountain with just my arms.
I had almost reached Avagdu, but then found that, on this side, I could actually get to where my pack was hanging and take that off his hands. So I headed over there, got a hold on it, and had him drop the cord. Then I traversed off in the other direction a bit till I found a spot where I could securely stash the pack. I untied the paracord from it, wrapped it around my hand, and went back to the spot where the pack had previously been dangling, right below Avagdu. Tossing one end of the cord back up, I instructed him to tie it onto his pack. He did so, and I said that he should then slowly lower the pack down to where I was. I would hold onto the end of the cord and he would lower from above, acting as a sort of pulley in the three-point system. He lowered it down till I could grab it. I put it on my back and had him drop the cord, then traversed back over to my pack and stashed his next to it.
Avagdu came over till he was directly above me and I guided him down to where I was. He wasn’t comfortable moving down the mountain with his pack on, so I donned my own and climbed down 30 feet or so till I found another spot where I could take it off and stash it. Then I had him slowly lower his own pack to me via the paracord. When I could grab it, he would drop the cord and I would stash his pack with mine and wait for him to make his way down.
We repeated this procedure a couple times till the slope of the rock eased up again and the going was simpler. I figured he could make it down easily enough with the pack on. I made my own way down to a sort of mini-cirque where I could stand comfortably and wait for him.
Avagdu made his way down, dragging his pack along side him. Above where I was standing he announced that he was going to drop his pack. I assumed he meant that he would hold on to one end of the cord that was still tied to the pack. I got out of the way and saw him toss down the pack without holding onto the cord. Turning around, I watched the pack tumble off the cliff behind me and vanish from sight.
Luckily Avagdu could watch it fall down the mountain from his higher vantage point. He saw it land in a finger of greenery that shot up into the rocks from the treeline below. It was a bit off from the path that I had intended to follow back down.
We went down a ways before I dropped my pack and said that I would go down into the bushes and retrieve his. I knew he was physically tired at this point and the fact that he had just thrown his pack off a mountain suggested that he was somewhat mentally exhausted. I didn’t think he needed to climb down, beat around the bushes for a bit, and then climb back up till where we could continue our planned descent.
The bushes were thick. I poked around a bit and, not finding anything, climbed back up till where I could see Avagdu. I yelled up to him, asking exactly where he saw the pack come in. He replied that he couldn’t be sure from the spot where he was. I silently thought to myself “Well you need to be fucking sure! I can’t scour this whole mountain for the pack that you threw off it.” But rather than voicing my thoughts, I turned around and dived into another spot in the bushes and small trees. Pushing my way through, I stumbled upon the pack. I looked it over briefly and nothing appeared to be broken, so I threw it on my back and began the hard climb back up to where Avagdu waited. “Don’t do that again,” I suggested as I returned his pack.
I knew that my internal frustration toward Avagdu was unjustified. I was supposed to be the experienced one who was leading this little venture. I could only blame myself for anything that occurred. It pointed at my own mental exhaustion. We both needed to sit down, hydrate, and eat something. In the distance below us I could spot the rock that we rested on as soon as we had broken out of the tree line on the way up. I took off for that.
From there it was only an hour’s easy climb back down to the lake, so I didn’t have any problem draining my last liter of water. After drinking, I threw down a Clif Bar. Feeling much better after that, I yelled out a bit of guidance to Avagdu, who was a little ways behind me but doing a good job of making his way down. As he approached, he teased me, saying my problem was that I confused backpacking with mountaineering. I smiled, but replied honestly that in my book they were the same thing. I couldn’t spot a difference. Later, I reminded him that before heading out I had told him that this would be an easy, mellow trip. “I’m a man of my word,” I said.
After Avagdu had drank and eaten something, I led the way back down. I broke off from the marked route after a few hundred feet, favoring what looked like a more direct path. It went through a bit thicker bush, but I still think it ended up being a quicker descent.
Since the family of three had gone, we decided to make camp in the larger clearing opposite the creek from where we had camped the previous night. I quickly threw up my tarp, filled up my water containers, gathered some firewood, and cooked an early dinner while Avagdu was still pitching his own tarp. It was about 5 PM. We were both glad to be back at the lake, and I had my mind set on that inner tube and fishing rod again. After Avagdu pitched his tarp, he helped to gather a bit more wood before filtering water for himself. I had finished my rice before he started to cook his own meal, but I waited around for a bit to get a little digestion happening before getting into the lake.
When I jumped on the tube, the cold water was invigorating and refreshing. I kicked around the lake a little bit while Avagdu ate his meal. Eventually I tired of that and thought I would see what I could do about getting some line wet.
On the second or third cast I noticed a small trout investigating my scavenged lure, but he wouldn’t bite. I tried to get the next cast in that general area and, by luck, succeeded. As soon as it hit, I felt the bite and started to reel it in. But the line snapped and the little guy made off with my hook. I have no idea what type of line was in the reel or what its age or condition was, but it also might have been the fault of my knot. I tried casting a few more times with a couple of the different hooks and lures that I had in my pocket kit, but had no luck. All the fish were jumping for the bugs on top of the water, but none but the one who had taken my lure seemed interested in anything under the surface. A fly rod would probably have been the weapon of choice.
Avagdu and I hung out on the logs on the shore of the lake until the sun dipped below Merchant Peak once more. As the sun left, the mosquitoes appeared. We decided to return to the camp and light up the fire to smoke all the bugs out.
On the way down the mountain, Avagdu had ripped out the stitching on one of the bottom compression straps on his pack. It was his first field repair, so I loaned him the kit from my hat to sew it up. I advised an X-ed box stitch. After preparing my second dinner, I looked back to his sewing and saw his creative interpretation of a box stitch. We both laughed as I pointed out what I had meant by a box stitch. His stitching looked plenty strong for the job, so it didn’t much matter. Embolden by his sewing success, Avagdu decided to use the Reflectix material I had given him to make his first pot cozy.
The rest of the evening was spent talking around the fire. There had been a few thick logs stacked next to the fire ring. After our fire had got good and hot I was able to arrange three of the thick logs into a tripod and had them burning strongly in a manner that probably would have heated us all night, had we wanted it. Around 11 PM we retired to our bags for sleep.
I awoke once at 2 AM to get up and pee. The fire was still burning brightly.
Next morning I slept in, awakening at 8 AM to find Avagdu already tending the fire and cooking breakfast. We had a slow morning, eating, talking, and packing. Late in the morning we left Eagle Lake and returned through Paradise Meadow to Stone Lake. Then, it was an easy hike back down to Barclay Lake.
It was the hottest day of the trip. When we reached Barclay Lake I took off my shirt and jumped in (much to the the chagrin of some of the family day hikers who were there, I think). I swam for about a minute before getting out and eating a little beef jerky followed by granola while drying off. After Avagdu had eaten something we hit the trail again for the final stretch back to the trailhead.
Avagdu had a bus to catch late that afternoon, so I set a 4 mph pace. We reached the trailhead in good time and, after refreshing ourselves, traded the safety of mountains for the hazards of urbanity.
We are vagabonds of a peculiar type. Our chief pleasure is in roving about the mountains. Each of us has a month's wages -- forty-five dollars -- and consequently we feel wealthy. Our lives are free from care, therefore we have but to enjoy ourselves.
- Pat Quayle, quoted in Gary Ferguson's Walking Down the Wild
Indian hellebore is one of the most violently poisonous plants on the Northwest Coat, a fact recognized by all indigenous groups. This plant was, and still is, highly respected, for even to eat a small portion of it would result in loss of consciousness, followed by death. It is sometimes known as 'skookum' root, the Chinook jargon for 'strong, powerful.' This plant was an important and respected medicine, used by most northwest coast groups. The Tlingit used an Indian-hellebore medicine for colds. The Nisga'a used small quantities of the root for toothache. There is one report of a Haisla who was cured of tuberculosis by placing a lozenge of dried Indian-hellebore root under his tongue for a day. It is said that his face went numb, but he recovered. The Haida made a poultice for sprains, bruises, and rashes, and a medicine for colds. It was believed almost any disease could be cured with Indian hellebore. The Haida also treated kidney and bladder troubles and acute fevers with this plant. The Nuxalk made preparations for chronic coughs, gonorrhea, constipation, stomach pains, chest pains, heart trouble and for toothache or rotting teeth. The Kwakwak'wakw made medicinal preparations for constipation, internal back and chest pains, colds and to abort pregnancy. The Nuu-chah-nulth rubbed the mashed root on sores or rheumatic areas to stop pain, and as a general liniment. Among the Coast Salish this plant was utilized by the Quinalt, Squamish, Sechelt, Mainland Comox, Southern Vancouver Island Salish and other groups for similar cures.
Some species of this genus are powdered to form the garden insecticide 'hellebore.' People who drink water in which hellebore is growing have reported stomach cramps. Other symptoms of hellebore poisoning include frothing at the mouth, blurred vision, 'lockjaw,' vomiting and diarrhea.
- Jim Pojar, Plants of the Pacific Northwest Coast
Needs? I guess that is what bothers so many folks. They keep expanding their needs until they are dependent on too many things and too many other people. I don't understand economics, and I suppose the country would be in a real mess if people suddenly cut out a lot of things they don't need. I wonder how many things in the average American home could be eliminated if the question were asked, "Must I really have this?" I guess most of the extras are chalked up to comfort or saving time.
Funny thing about comfort -- one man's comfort is another man's misery. Most people don't work hard enough physically anymore, and comfort is not easy to find. It is surprising how comfortable a hard bunk can be after you come down off a mountain.
- Richard Proenneke, One Man's Wilderness
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!
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.
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.)
I arrived at the Panjab trailhead in the Tucannon canyon at around 3PM on Saturday. The plan for the day was to take a short walk and spend the night at Dunlap Spring, a distance of about 6 miles. The Panjab trail proved uneventful, with no interesting sightings. I reached the meadow above the spring at 6PM and was happy to see it free of snow. The meadow sits at 5,700 feet (around 2,500 feet higher than the trailhead) which was not the highest elevation I would be reaching during the loop, but close. It seemed a safe bet that I wouldn’t be post holing the whole trip, which is always good news.
As I walked down the meadow toward the spring, I ran into my first local. A black bear with a nice brown coat was having his supper about a hundred feet away. He had his butt toward me and his head down. I yelled a greeting. He didn’t budge. Not exactly the response I was hoping for. I yelled a bit more and he looked around but was either blind or uninterested in the biped waving frantically at him. After a minute, though, the wind shifted direction and brought my scent to him. He turned his head to look right at me, then ran off into the trees. Thanking him, I went on my way.
I found the spring without any trouble and filled up my water bladder. After pitching my tarp in a nice spot in the trees a little ways away, I started to think about dinner. The sky was clear that evening and there was a spot up on the meadow that would provide a nice seat to watch the sun as it set into the West. I grabbed my food, stove, and water and headed on up. Along the way I grabbed a few small sticks and twigs to fuel the stove. After dinner and the show I headed back down into the trees and climbed into bed at 9:30PM.
Sunday morning I awoke to a light sprinkle. No matter. I thought it’d be good to get a few miles under my belt before breakfast. I got out of bed and topped off my water at the spring. Just as I was about to start breaking down my small camp, the rain really started coming down. Maybe breakfast later on down the trail wasn’t such a good idea. It seemed like a better option to crawl back under the tarp and do a little breakfast from bed.
That proved a good choice. Just as I was finishing my noodles the rain stopped. I took advantage of the lull to quickly break camp and get on my way. Most of the day’s walk was along high meadows that should have provided good views to either side, but everything was covered in cloud and I was unable to see more than a hundred feet or so in any direction for all the mist.
Occasional small breaks in the cloud provided a hint of the country I was traveling through and I did manage to spot a herd of seven elk having breakfast further down the meadow.
The trail was gaining elevation and started to enter a few trees. Snow covered the ground. It was only a few inches deep and pretty crusty so I didn’t sink in, but it obscured the trail. I was looking around trying to decide where the trail might have gone when I spotted a pair of really big bear tracks. “Aha,” I thought. “Those are heading in the right direction. I’ll follow them.” The tracks led on through the trees and I followed (hoping not to meet the fellow who left the tracks). Eventually the tracks led out of the trees and deposited me on the trail at exactly where I wanted to be: the aptly named Bear Wallow Spring.
From then on whenever I lost the trail in the snow I would just follow the tracks of bear or elk. They always seem to know where they’re going and tend to take the most efficient route to get there.
The trail continued east along the ridge, with a steep drop-off on the south side. At its highest point it got to around 6,200 feet, but there still was no more than a few inches of snow. The trail passed Squaw Spring, which was a disgusting mess of a hunter’s camp, and Sheephead Spring before finally reaching the high point at Diamond Spring. From that point my route turned south as I began a long, slow descent down into the canyon toward Oregon. I had been in fog all day and just as I started to descend the canyon I heard thunder off in the west. Whoops! That high open ridge was about the last place I wanted to be. I picked up the pace a bit and started to loose elevation. Safely back in the trees I spooked another elk, grazing all by his lonesome.
As I slowly (very slowly) lost elevation I began to get underneath the clouds and started to see a bit more of the country. Lots of canyons all around, and somewhere down there to the south the Wenaha River. Oregon Trail country. (Briefly, I relived childhood fears of dying of dysentery.)
At one point I misplaced my foot and starting to slide down the slope to my right. Throwing out my left hand I was able to stop myself but scraped up the palm of my hand in the process. Right where I fell was a patch of yarrow, which I grabbed and put on my palm as a poultice. After walking for another half hour or so I found a good spot to stop and properly clean and bandage the wound.
Continuing on, the trail finally finished its descent into the canyon and met up with Melton Creek. At 7PM I stopped to cook up dinner. The local ants were apparently of the mind that my meal was lacking in protein: a few of them crawled into the pot and ended up in my tummy. As I was eating dinner I spotted movement on the opposite side of the canyon. At first I thought it was an elk, but it turned out to be another black bear, this time with a light brown coat of fur around the body and dark fur around the neck and head. Just like an elk! Neat.
Another few miles down the trail and I finally arrived at the confluence of Melton Creek and Crooked Creek, where I intended to camp. After filling up my water supply and cleaning the pot from dinner, I pitched my tarp and crawled right in. It was a little after 9PM. I had walked around 17 miles that day.
Monday morning it was raining. It was to be a short day – I had only about 7 miles to go – so I decided I would wait it out. The rain fell for a good while as I killed time in the tarp.
Finally it stopped and I got out of bed, hitting the trail near 11AM. Just a few steps down the trail I had my first water crossing of the trip. I had to get to the other side of Melton Creek just north of where it joins with Crooked Creek. The water was cold, but only about knee deep. Another mile down the trail was another crossing, so I just left my sandals on and my shoes hanging around my neck.
When I got to it, First Creek proved to be a bit deeper and very fast moving. Had I slipped and fallen in Melton Creek I would have been cold and wet and might have come out with a bruised bum or stubbed toe, but it looked like if I was to fall here in First Creek I could actually get swept down it a ways.
The creek was waist deep. I made it across with no more trouble than frozen privates – which was trouble enough – but the creek also proved to be the boundary between winter and summer. Just as I got to the other side the sun popped out and the temperatures were soon in the mid-70F degrees. A bit downstream from the crossing was an old cabin and horse corral. I headed over there to cook up a brunch and dry out in the sun.
Back on the trail, the bush got really thick as I headed south down the side of Crooked Creek. I might as well have been bushwhacking, but the sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky so it didn’t much matter. A mile or so down the “trail” I ran into a mule train. They had just packed in an SCA crew down at the Oregon border who would be spending the summer working on this trail. Good luck! In a couple weeks it’ll be getting way to hot for me down in that canyon, but I’m glad that somebody will be working the trail. The guy at the head of the mule train seemed impressed when I told him my route – more so because I was solo. “That’s quite a walk!” he said. Before I had gotten on the trail, I was in the town of Pomeroy where I ran into a couple locals. They described the Wilderness as “bumfuck nowhere” and tried to discourage me from going in by myself. Apparently people who live in the region don’t venture into the Wenaha-Tucannon very often. Seems strange to me.
Soon after passing the mules I reached the Oregon border. Just off in the trees I found the trail crew having lunch. I headed over to say hello and swap stories about the SCA. Since this was their very first day, they were all still looking pretty neat and clean. One of the girls even had makeup on! I imagine they’ll look a bit different come August. Anyway, I wished them good luck and continued on my way, soon reaching the point where Melton Creek drains into the Wenaha River. Here, my route turned west and headed upstream along the river.
The Wenaha River and its canyon really are beautiful. It’s not the sort of area I associate with the Northwest, instead seeming like it belongs somewhere in Montana. At this point the day had warmed up till it was somewhere around 80F which seemed to please the two rattlesnakes I found hanging out in the middle of the trail.
I reached Fairview Bar just after 5PM and, after dropping my pack, stripped down and jumped in the river. It wasn’t any warmer than the ball-freezing First Creek, but was refreshing after the hot hike. After getting out of the Wenaha I threw up the tarp and collected water while drying off in the sun. I dressed as the sun began to sink below the canyon wall. Then, laying my pad out on the ground, I had a good sit. It lasted about 3 hours. During that time I cooked up dinner and paid a little attention to my feet, which were hurting due to the new footwear I was trying out.
While I was digging in my food bag for dinner I came across the chocolate bar I packed. I always like to pack a bar of chocolate in the cooler months when it won’t melt. Emergency Chocolate, I call it. Not only is it tasty and mentally comforting, but it provides a great energy boost and can be helpful in warding off hypothermia. When I pulled it out of the bag it was still firm, but I said to myself “Self, look at this here chocolate bar. With warm temperatures like today, it’s going to melt in no time! We better eat it before that happens.” To which I replied “I like the way you think, Self” and proceeded to eat the whole thing.
The next day I woke determined not to lounge around in bed that morning, but to get an early start on the day. I had a long and steep climb north out of the canyon ahead of me and wanted to get most of it done before the sun started beating down. Quickly breaking camp, I threw on my pack and started heading uphill just past 6AM. Sunrise in the Wenaha is a wonderful time. Undoubtedly, that leg of the trip had the best scenery.
Around 7:30AM I reached the trees and stopped to cook breakfast at the base of an old pine. I spotted two ospreys flying over head.
After that, my hike was through forest. Soon I was back in Washington. I lost the trail a couple times and stumbled upon another hunting camp, but found my way up out of the trees without much trouble.
There are some great grassy ridges up there around Moore Flat and Smooth Ridge that demand one to at least have a sit on them, if not take a nap. I did a bit of both.
Soon I reached the top of Weller Butte and the highest point of elevation for the day. Lodgepole Spring, where I planned to spend the night, was just another few miles north of that.
Lodgepole Spring was a bit disappointing when I got there. It was fairly muddy and finding a good spot to put the tarp was difficult. Despite the day’s perfect weather, some clouds had started to move in and it was looking like rain. Eventually I found a spot a bit above the spring that was sort of flat and had a few trees around it to help protect from any wind. Most of an Elk skeleton lay beside it.
The wind did pick up and got pretty strong that night. I was cozy inside my tarp, but I had pitched the front left side a little sloppily which meant that it was making a lot of noise as the slack got blown back and forth in the wind. It woke me a couple times, but I was too comfy inside my bag to get up and do anything about it.
The next morning was rainy and windy. Still, I didn’t want to hang out in the tarp all morning. I broke camp, filled up on water at the spring, and headed on my way. Around 10AM the sky cleared up and the sun came out for another fine summer day.
As I headed north, I was gaining elevation. I went along the narrow ridge along Danger Point and a bit further on reached Oregon Butte – at 6387 feet, the highest point in the Wilderness area. Just north of Oregon Butte I reentered the snow and lost the trail. There was a confusing intersection with three or four trails heading off in different directions at that point and I wanted to make sure I got on the right one. I spent 20 minutes looking around for the correct trail – or even an area where the trail might be likely to go – but couldn’t find anything. Finally I gave up and just started heading cross country via map and compass along the route that the trail should have gone. About a mile further I had lost enough elevation for the snow to disappear and I found the trail again. I was only off by about 10 feet in my route calculations.
Just after noon the sky started to fill up with clouds again and darken. “More rain!” I thought. Then I heard a rumble. And another. And another. The storm was just northwest of me and heading in my direction. Once again I was up on top of an exposed ridge, the highest thing all around. I dropped off the trail and heading down to the tree line. Picking up my pace a bit, I paralleled the trail and kept my eyes open to see what would happen. I hadn’t seen any lightning yet, but the thunder was getting nasty.
Originally my plan had been to spend the night at Dunlap Spring again and then head out back to the trailhead the next morning. If the storm kept up though, I didn’t want to spend the night that high. I reached the meadow above the spring at 3PM. Just as I came out of the trees it started to hail. The thunder sounded like it was right on top of me at this point and I saw a flash or two of lightning. I decided I needed to get down. I started to half walk, half run toward the Panjab Trail that heads down into the trees toward the trailhead. Just before I reached the meadow I encountered another bear. This one was about 50 feet away, oblivious to my presence. I yelled at him. He didn’t budge. I was anxious to get down, but this guy was standing right where I wanted to go. Yelling at him again, he looked up at me and shook his coat, throwing water all over. “Yeah,” I yelled “it sure is wet up here, isn’t it? I bet it would be nice and dry in those trees down there! Wink wink nudge nudge.” Apparently bears don’t understand winks because he didn’t take my hints. He just kept doing what he was doing. More yelling and waving my arms around finally got him to look at me again. He cocked his head as if to express his displeasure at this disruption of his schedule and slowly turned around and waddled off into the trees.
I reached the trees myself soon thereafter. Just as I left the meadow the hail stopped and the storm passed on further east. The clouds hung around and only allowed a few sun breaks the rest of the afternoon, but I was able to dry out. I continued down the trail to just a bit northeast of the trailhead and found a good spot to camp for the night. That evening the sky cleared and I was allowed a view of the awe-some golden sunset in the Tucannon Canyon.
Beyond a critical point within a finite space, freedom diminishes as numbers increase. This is as true of humans in the finite space of a planetary ecosystem as it is of gas molecules in a sealed flask. The human question is now how many can possibly survive within the system, but what kind of existence is possible for those who do survive.
- Frank Herbert, Dune
