Read Online My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking by Carol Wellman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carol Wellman
Tags: sport
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hiked quickly ahead to avoid the 4th of July-No-Post-Office at Echo Lake on this long weekend. It seemed that all the thru-hikers had disappeared. So, all alone, and trying to relax, I slept late, cooked oatmeal for breakfast, and piddled around to my heart’s content. However, I still was on the trail by 7:30. That inner drive that plagues me fought this slower pace. The next day, I only hiked about 10 miles and buried my food again. That was a big job since my food filled two stuff sacks.
I forded several wide streams that were very low for this time of year. The climb up Benson Pass was ambiguous. If it hadn’t been for the rock ducks (ingeniously piled rocks, used as trail markers), I don’t think I could have found the way. One important note; don’t ever cut switchbacks in a multi-use area, you could very easily end up on a spur trail, and not realize it for several miles.
Later, I crossed Kerrick Canyon Creek and cooked supper. Maybe it was the appetizer of double hot chocolate or the black liquorish sticks, but somehow the Ramen and Cheese delight didn’t go down very well. Or perhaps it was the dried apricots? Anyway, I felt ill. I didn’t want to camp where I’d cooked, but my stomach hurt. Slowly I stood up and contemplated the situation. It was already after 5:00 with a 900-foot climb ahead and a steep descent on the other side. Suddenly, off to my left walked a beautiful black bear. I don’t believe he saw me, or perhaps he was just being nonchalant. Decision made; guess I can hike some more tonight. I put on my pack while watching the bushes where the bear had disappeared and saw him cross the creek using rocks like a human would do, and then dash off. Either he had caught my scent or saw me at that point. I hiked another 3 miles and camped among some boulders, forgetting to pick up water at the last mosquito infested stream crossing. A dry camp, indeed. That was a 19-mile day.
On June 27 th , the next day, I did an unbelievable 25 miles. It was windy, cloudy and cold, and not a soul to be seen all day. Very lonely for a face; I just would have liked to see another human being. Finally, in the distance, two people were fishing at Dorothy Lake. They watched me the entire time I skirted the east side of the lake. Greeting them when I drew near, they completely ignored me. A bit later, I met a park ranger on horseback, and talked his ear off for a while, begging him to check my permit, Whitney stamp and all. He finally relented, while reminding me we could have snow that night, any night, in the Sierras.
The last 13 miles to Sonora Pass are narrow, very windy, and at times snow covered. I stopped, put on my silnylon rain suit and later negotiated an ice slope using my ax. If one ever intends to slide down an ice slope, or glissade, it is not recommendable when wearing only shorts. From experience, I found it is quite rough on the skin, and can shred the only pair of shorts you have. My silnylon rain pants were very useful at these times. Rainmaker later told me he used a large garbage bag for his slides.
Early that afternoon, I reached Sonora Pass, and ate lunch. To my delight, Becky hiked in. We stealth camped in the same spot Rainmaker spent his last night, camped in 1999, and the exact spot he and I camped together our first night last year in 2000. It was time for connection. A special reverence for this place made me defy the perceived threat of a stranger who lurked, binoculars focused on the tables where we had supper. Becky had met him earlier when getting water, he with the duct-taped vest, who asked too many questions and refused to look her in the face. But, didn’t I carry my ice ax? Just let him come and threaten us. It’s a fool who tries to move a wild animal from its lair.
I had lightened my pack by throwing out some food and the Z- rest, giving Becky food and an extra shirt. Everything possible went in the garbage cans at Sonora Pass. I was tired of
I forded several wide streams that were very low for this time of year. The climb up Benson Pass was ambiguous. If it hadn’t been for the rock ducks (ingeniously piled rocks, used as trail markers), I don’t think I could have found the way. One important note; don’t ever cut switchbacks in a multi-use area, you could very easily end up on a spur trail, and not realize it for several miles.
Later, I crossed Kerrick Canyon Creek and cooked supper. Maybe it was the appetizer of double hot chocolate or the black liquorish sticks, but somehow the Ramen and Cheese delight didn’t go down very well. Or perhaps it was the dried apricots? Anyway, I felt ill. I didn’t want to camp where I’d cooked, but my stomach hurt. Slowly I stood up and contemplated the situation. It was already after 5:00 with a 900-foot climb ahead and a steep descent on the other side. Suddenly, off to my left walked a beautiful black bear. I don’t believe he saw me, or perhaps he was just being nonchalant. Decision made; guess I can hike some more tonight. I put on my pack while watching the bushes where the bear had disappeared and saw him cross the creek using rocks like a human would do, and then dash off. Either he had caught my scent or saw me at that point. I hiked another 3 miles and camped among some boulders, forgetting to pick up water at the last mosquito infested stream crossing. A dry camp, indeed. That was a 19-mile day.
On June 27 th , the next day, I did an unbelievable 25 miles. It was windy, cloudy and cold, and not a soul to be seen all day. Very lonely for a face; I just would have liked to see another human being. Finally, in the distance, two people were fishing at Dorothy Lake. They watched me the entire time I skirted the east side of the lake. Greeting them when I drew near, they completely ignored me. A bit later, I met a park ranger on horseback, and talked his ear off for a while, begging him to check my permit, Whitney stamp and all. He finally relented, while reminding me we could have snow that night, any night, in the Sierras.
The last 13 miles to Sonora Pass are narrow, very windy, and at times snow covered. I stopped, put on my silnylon rain suit and later negotiated an ice slope using my ax. If one ever intends to slide down an ice slope, or glissade, it is not recommendable when wearing only shorts. From experience, I found it is quite rough on the skin, and can shred the only pair of shorts you have. My silnylon rain pants were very useful at these times. Rainmaker later told me he used a large garbage bag for his slides.
Early that afternoon, I reached Sonora Pass, and ate lunch. To my delight, Becky hiked in. We stealth camped in the same spot Rainmaker spent his last night, camped in 1999, and the exact spot he and I camped together our first night last year in 2000. It was time for connection. A special reverence for this place made me defy the perceived threat of a stranger who lurked, binoculars focused on the tables where we had supper. Becky had met him earlier when getting water, he with the duct-taped vest, who asked too many questions and refused to look her in the face. But, didn’t I carry my ice ax? Just let him come and threaten us. It’s a fool who tries to move a wild animal from its lair.
I had lightened my pack by throwing out some food and the Z- rest, giving Becky food and an extra shirt. Everything possible went in the garbage cans at Sonora Pass. I was tired of
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