Read Online My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking by Carol Wellman - Free Book Online Page A

word here. One must not stop to consider.
      Early one morning, I had already committed myself to such a hop.  Seeing the next one an impossible 5 feet away, I stopped. This necessity was the mother of the invention I called the “Sacrifice the Queen” maneuver. In chess, the dumbest move apparently is to lose one’s queen, the most powerful piece. However, it may save the whole game. That’s the term I used for putting my foot on a slightly submerged rock, allowing that shoe to momentarily taste water, and then using it to complete the ford. It appeared unskillful, but to any sneer of laughter, I lifted my head with haughty eyes and simply stated, “I sacrificed the queen.” That usually shut them up with a look of complete confusion.
      Sometimes a creek crossing looks like a barefoot necessity. Nothing immediate presents itself. Then running up and downstream to find an easier place ensues, perhaps a partial log, met by a boulder, a point peeking out. That’s all one needs.
      Ice may be present. The logs may be unstable. Hiking poles definitely help for balancing, touching points on either side of logs, and for checking water depth. When all else fails, off come shoes and perhaps socks. Laces are tied in a knot and shoes slung around the neck. A crossing is slowly made diagonally, wading down stream, allowing the current to bring you and the thousand feasting mosquitoes ashore. No grimace or groaning is permitted for a Classy Crossing. This barefoot crossing has the benefit of some thorough cleansing action for feet as well as socks.
      And always, of paramount concern is the pack. Sleeping bag and food must not fall in. Feet and legs may need to suffer to insure such, with slow, sure steps in icy cold water.
      The whole procedure is an art form.
     
      Tuolumne Meadows has a post office, café and store, joined together in one long building. Outside there are many picnic tables and two pay phones. The tourist crowds were not easy to maneuver around, and we long distance hikers stood out like wild animals. I didn’t spend any time in Yosemite Valley, but simply hiked down in a day, completing the JMT, and was back in time to stealth camp. Most hikers sent their ice axes, surplus supplies and winter gear home. I sent my Army blanket bag liner home but elected to keep my ax until I got to Echo Lake out of respect for Rainmaker’s and Cindy Ross’ near death experiences at Sonora Pass. And, too, in defiance of a local weekender who told me to mail it home. I might have been the only hiker that year to carry an ice ax through this section, but it had a dual purpose. It was a good weapon.  
  The trail has been great, and challenging, but the time had come to shift gears. I had to slow down because my rendezvous with Rainmaker in Reno, Nevada was still over two weeks away.  I would miss seeing my thru-hiking friends, especially Ben and Becky. Those behind me would catch up and pass. Trail friendships are just that, and seldom continue into the other world. We love what we have when we have it; we let go of what we must when it’s time.
 
    Tuolumne to Echo Lake
      These last 156 miles of my solo adventure, I planned to hike slowly. Nearly three weeks remained before Rainmaker flew in to join me. I carried an estimated eleven days of food, in two stuff sacks. Only the campsite at Glen Aulin had a bear box. It also had some bears known to harass hikers in their tents. So, that first night out I continued another 12 miles to McCabe Lake Trail junction, buried my food under rocks between large boulders and gathered some smaller rocks to place in the vestibule for ammunition, should the need arise. No sign of a human camp nearby, no fire rings, no human footprints or trash. This was definitely a stealth campsite. To maintain a low profile, all my gear was kept inside my gray Cherokee tent.
      Many hikers spent extra time in Yosemite Valley visiting relatives, climbing cliffs and just relaxing. Others had