tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77630752232550035622024-03-17T18:14:28.413-06:00LB HikesAmblings and Ramblings in the American WestLarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.comBlogger137125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-86236197645220045982024-02-29T09:06:00.001-07:002024-02-29T09:06:48.695-07:00Desert Winter Thru-Hike: Advice to Future Hikers<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0g1pDgb9y2EKLa_9w-L_mOSDFPcZtbym_ISd_7MXncGVCbbX3ITQX26_8E6apgaZOBx_enNFzFa1UYYQw_7TALkY2RpJkcXpLMTX4LhwGck37_SimFVWPt1EvqfoJMBpjuT2Sdf5yHQNXqeJEt23vr5t3YvKo3NMP8f3egJyDgG9sSCyEXlRA9GEbxTOQ/s4032/20240101_071945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0g1pDgb9y2EKLa_9w-L_mOSDFPcZtbym_ISd_7MXncGVCbbX3ITQX26_8E6apgaZOBx_enNFzFa1UYYQw_7TALkY2RpJkcXpLMTX4LhwGck37_SimFVWPt1EvqfoJMBpjuT2Sdf5yHQNXqeJEt23vr5t3YvKo3NMP8f3egJyDgG9sSCyEXlRA9GEbxTOQ/w640-h480/20240101_071945.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>The Desert Winter Thru-Hike occupies a special place in my heart. I hiked all of it in 2024, and half of it in 2021. Here are a laundry list of opinions and considerations for the prospective WTH thru-hiker. <br /></p><p><b>Fast Facts:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Name: </b>Desert Winter Thru-Hike </li><li><b>Creators:</b> Brett "Blisterfree" Tucker and Melissa "Treehugger" Spencer <br /></li><li><b>Length:</b> ~784 miles</li><li><b>Eastern Terminus:</b> Saguaro National Park, near Tucson, AZ</li><li><b>Western Terminus:</b> Joshua Tree National Park, near Palm Springs, CA</li><li><b>Season:</b> December-March </li><li><b>Experience Level:</b> Expert</li><li><b>Physical Difficulty:</b> Moderate</li></ul><p>If you have not already <a href="https://blisterfree.wordpress.com/category/desert-wth-winter-thru-hike/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">read</span></a> everything Brett has written on the WTH, stop now and go read it. The rest of this guide assumes you've already done so, and won't rehash things already covered elsewhere in the WTH corpus. </p><p><b>Seasons and Timing:<br /></b></p><p>Brett covers the ideal start date pretty well in the literature - mid-January, hiking westbound. It's best to wait until much of the winter rain has already fallen and recharged the water sources along the route.<br /></p><p>That's all good in theory, but there's clearly a temptation in the hiking world to start the route earlier. I suppose it's natural to try to squeeze a winter hike around one's existing plans, even if it means the weather window is a bit sub-optimal. Following a couple unusually wet monsoon seasons, a few hikers have successfully hiked the WTH in late fall (late October, November, and December). </p><p>Judging from the few years of water data exist for the WTH, I think it's fair to conclude that <i>most </i>of the sources along the WTH (specifically the guzzlers) are less seasonally-variable than one might assume. Off-hand, I can recall only a handful of guzzlers noted in the water chart as completely dry. That said, <i>most</i> isn't really a useful standard. Averages are cold comfort if you were banking on this source that turned out to be dry, and the next potential source is 20 miles away. Depending on the weather, your hydration, and how far the next source is, a dry source can be anything between annoying and fatal. If you choose to hike the route before Brett's mid-January recommendation, be prepared for a few of those unpleasant surprises along the way. In particular, you'll probably have to carry <b>50 miles of water</b> with 6-7 days of food on your back, up and over some of the WTH's hardest terrain in Section 6. It's tough stuff. </p><p>The other reason to wait until mid-January is perhaps a bit more straightforward: it's cold in the Mojave! The last few sections of the WTH in California have a lot more "high" (3,000-4,000') terrain than does Arizona. A mid-January start allows the Mojave to emerge from the dregs of winter before you arrive, potentially minimizing the storm systems and brutally cold wind. </p><p><b>Expert-level Backpacking:</b></p><p>The WTH is a route. As such, there's no trail tread; you have to navigate. There are no trail angels; you have to be self-sufficient. There's enough water, but only <i>just</i> enough. Climate factors are tough, even in the middle of the winter. And you're entirely alone out there.</p><p>None of this should be a surprise to WTH hikers; they've all done other Brett Tucker routes, after all. But even for experienced hikers, it's easy to get lulled into a false sense of complacency. If you're looking for a relaxed, wintertime trail to chill out on, go hike the Florida Trail. While parts of the WTH are pretty cruisey, you still need to bring your A-game, particularly when storms blow through.<br /></p><p></p><p><b>Pace:</b></p><p>All previous WTH finishers have taken between 40 and 50 days to complete the route. It could certainly be done faster by the hundred-day-CDT crowd, but keep in mind that daylight is very limited during the depths of winter. Night-hiking is not always possible, particularly in areas of complex navigation or trail-less terrain. I budgeted 40 days for my 2024 thru-hike, and would have greatly appreciated another few days to wait out storms, lessen the amount of night hiking, and take more detours to check out off-route water sources. </p><p>Don't be fooled by the amount of "road" on this route. While there's certainly plenty of 3-mph terrain, not all road is fast walking. Many of the roads are nothing more than ancient, abandoned mining tracks. They may provide a convenient handrail for navigation, but often the travel is not any faster than pure cross-country is. </p><p>All of this suggests that a 20-mpd pace is probably right for most folks (adjust for your own pace as necessary). Add in some extra time for towns too, since several of them require significant bonus miles to access. The route definitely gets harder as you progress west, though that may be offset by more daylight hours as spring approaches.<br /></p><p><b>Vertical Gain:</b></p><p>The WTH is pretty mild in terms of vert. Remember, it stays rather low for climatic reasons. Some of the uphills can be short-but-steep, a few hundred feet perhaps. There's some occasional scrambling, usually a class II. There's maybe one spot of brief class III in the Turtle Mountains, but it's no biggee; if you've done the northern half of the AT, you're fine.</p><p>The only huge climb on the WTH is up and over the Harquahalas. It's steep, long, and unrelenting. It follows what used to be a jeep road a million years ago, but now is mostly just a rocky ditch with occasional catclaw to dodge. It'll slow you down. Other than that, most climbs on the WTH are either short or gradual. <br /></p><p><b>Underfoot: </b></p><p>The walking surface contributes to the WTH's difficulty far more than vert does. It's often hard to predict how easy progress will be. Surface type (road vs. trail vs. cross-country) tells you almost nothing. Remember, most of the roads the WTH follows are unimproved, and thus are no easier or harder walking than the adjacent terrain. Similarly, cross-country can range from 3mph on the delightful desert pavement west of the Turtles to a rocky hellscape in the Woolsey Peak Wilderness. Brett sometimes warns you about tough terrain that may not be obvious from looking at the map; other times, it's a surprise. <br /></p><p>In general, it all kind of evens out. Buck-30 has lodged some pretty bitter complaints about the WTH's rocks. I share his opinion only partially. True, the rocks were horrifically bad at times (especially in the Woolsey Peak Wilderness, the Turtle Mountains, and the Pintos), but the agony was usually short-lived. Many more miles were kinda rocky, but not twist-your-ankle-and-scream-at-the-sky rocky. I say that as someone with a surgically-reconstructed foot and a well-known loathing of rocks.<br /></p><p><b>Night-hiking:</b></p><p>With as few as 10 hours of daylight during the depths of winter, it's tempting to assume you'll do a bunch of night-hiking on the WTH. Sometimes, night-hiking is peaceful and pleasant on the WTH. Particularly when crossing unremarkable desert basins, it's useful to do those easy road miles in the dark.</p><p>But here's the thing - navigation on the WTH often entails following subtle washes, faint mining tracks, or ephemeral burro trails. Or you might follow nothing but a compass heading. That stuff is just plain hard at night. There were definitely times on the WTH where I wished I could night-hike, but it just wasn't practical. My advice: if you need to night-hike (say, to get to the Wenden Post Office before it closes), plan ahead, so you can do easy road miles in the dark, not complex navigational problems.</p><p>One fringe benefit of the WTH is the sunrises and sunsets. I generally hiked an hour before dawn until sunset most days, so I saw every single desert sunrise and sunset. And magical they are! Savor this unique aspect of winter hiking.<br /></p><p></p><p><b>Water:</b></p><p>On one hand, the WTH crosses the lowest, driest, hottest deserts in North America. On the other hand, it's a Brett Tucker route. If you hike during the <i>recommended </i>season, you'll probably never have to carry more than about 30 miles of water. I consistently found myself carrying 15-20 miles of water, and sometimes more than that. </p><p>As far as quality goes... it's the desert. You will only encounter 1 or 2 naturally-flowing sources on the entire 800 miles. The rest are cattle wells, potholes, and wildlife guzzlers. With stagnant water comes the potential for truly nasty water, of course. You'll almost certainly have to drink out of a source that has a dead animal floating in it. Your water will very often be noticeably green and have a funky taste. If you're not OK with this, the WTH is not for you. On the other hand, not <i>all</i> of the water is nasty. I carry Fruit Punch flavor packets in the desert, reserving them to mask the taste of only the most vile sources. Over the course of 40 days, I think I used 4 or 5 of them in total.</p><p>One benefit of hiking in the winter is that you don't need to drink nearly as much as in the summer. Everyone's water needs are different of course, but I frequently found myself drinking only a single liter over the course of a day. Even though 20-30 mile carries were common, I rarely found myself toting a heavy water load.</p><p></p><p><b>Navigation:</b></p><p>One key benefit of hiking a Brett Tucker route is the top-notch quality of navigational resources. WTH hikers will already be familiar with his conventions from other Tucker routes. I prefer to navigate primarily by paper maps. I found this a challenge on the WTH for the following reasons:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Sometimes the base maps (USGS quads) just didn't have enough detail on them. The contours were illegibly faint, or inappropriately-sized for the terrain (e.g. 40-footers, obscuring a delta of 20-foot-deep washes). </li><li>Sometimes Caltopo likes to put labels directly on top of the route, obscuring valuable topographic data underneath</li><li>Often, the route is a maze of faint vehicle travel corridors. What counts as a road/two-track/vehicle-accessible-wash is entirely subjective. The USGS base maps will say one thing, the OpenStreetMap layer will say another, Brett's waypoints will say a third thing, and your own observations will say a fourth. In short, it's an undefinable anarchy.</li></ul><p>None of this is really Brett's fault; it's just the nature of hiking in an environment of braided washes and vehicle mayhem. I've provided all this feedback to Brett already, and I have no doubt he'll continue to refine the mapset in future iterations of the WTH resources. But there will <i>always </i>a degree of unavoidable "What the heck??" inherent in hiking a route like this. And for that, it's imperative to make sure the digital resources are teed up.</p><p>Now, perhaps you read the previous paragraphs and shrugged it off since you don't carry paper maps anyhow. In that case - yikes. I won't go off on a rant here, as I'm clearly on the losing side of the Great Paper Maps Debate. I'll just note that my battery pack shorted out in the Sheephole Mountains, and with it my phone. Had I not carried <i>and used</i> my paper maps daily, I would have been utterly lost, in exposed terrain with a massive storm approaching. GPS is a useful supplement, but cannot and should not abrogate the hard work of understanding your surroundings with the paper mapset.</p><p>On the topic of GPS: </p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Avenza Maps works just fine for the majority of the route. It still suffers from text-atop-the-data issue, but usually you can muddle your way through just fine.<br /></li><li>Occasionally, Avenza just isn't zoomed-in enough to really understand what's happening. In such cases, satellite imagery is really helpful. Download it before you leave home. Sometimes there's no substitute for a photo from space when trying to make sense of a maze of faint roads, washes, or burro trails.</li></ul><p><b>Gear:</b></p><p>The WTH is murder on inflatable pads. I think Recon managed not to pop his, but he might be alone in that regard. After the WTH put15 holes in my pad in 2021, I opted for a foam pad in 2024 - even though I hate foam pads and sleep poorly on them. This was a prudent choice. The only downside to a foam pad is that I had to strap it to the outside of my pack, so my load was a bit bulkier when pushing through catclaw and other nasty desert plants. The pad got pretty beat up. Whatever, it's a foam pad. </p><p>The WTH is an extremely windy trail. It's strong, it's relentless, and it's freezing cold. I wore my windshirt nearly every day until I lost it in the middle of Section 6, and I wished for it every day thereafter. Yes, windshirts are delicate. Yes, you will certainly tear it up on catclaw. Yes, it's still worth it.</p><p>I recommend some form of mild bug protection on the WTH. On both my 2021 and 2024 hikes, I had a couple nights of annoying bugs in the lower elevations (near Parker and Amboy, to be specific). Anything will do - a fully-enclosed shelter, or even just a headnet to wear while sleeping. I only used my headnet maybe three times, but it was sure better than waking up to a dozen mosquito bites on my forehead! As long as you're not completely defenseless, you're fine. <br /></p><p>Just because the WTH is a desert trail doesn't mean it's hot. Temperatures regularly dip down into the 20's on the WTH. As a cold sleeper, I carried a 10-degree bag in 2021 and 2024. Given the length of winter nights, I appreciated the extra few degrees (and ounces) of fluffy downy goodness. </p><p>There are enough rocks on the WTH that it really makes sense to replace your shoes a little earlier than normal. I generally get 500-700 miles out of a pair. On the WTH, I found that they were pretty much done after 400. I endured a couple weeks of tired and achey feet on the WTH until I replaced my shoes.<br /></p><p><b>Town:</b></p><p>On the whole, the towns on the WTH are pretty bad. A solid half of the resupply stops are nothing more than a remote station and maybe a post office. Parker is a good town and makes for an excellent place to take a celebratory halfway-there zero. Buckeye's alright. The rest are pretty primitive. A typical resupply plan:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Arizona City: Buy (Dollar General)</li><li>Buckeye: Buy (Dollar General)</li><li>Tonopah: Skip. Carry from Buckeye to Wenden (120 miles total)<br /></li><li>Wenden: Maildrop (PO, though note the limited hours) OR buy in Salome</li><li>Parker: Buy (Walmart or Safeway)</li><li>Fenner: No great solutions. Maybe bribe a driver going to Needles to take you. </li><li>Amboy: Maildrop (Roy's) <br /></li></ul><p><b>Red Tape:</b><br /></p><p>There's basically zero red tape on the route, and none that's particularly burdensome. In brief:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Joshua Tree National Park requires non-quota <a href="https://www.nps.gov/jotr/planyourvisit/backpacking.htm"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">backcountry permits</span></a>. If you're already in the town of Twentynine Palms, you can get one in person. If not, you'll have to pay your blood money to Wreck-Dot-Gov. </li><li>There's no camping in the western unit of Saguaro National Park, which really isn't a problem as you're only in the park for a few miles. It's easy enough to just keep hiking until you get outside the park boundary</li></ul><p><b>Termini:</b></p><p>The WTH is designed as a stand-alone route, and its termini in the two National Parks are certainly worthy objectives. They also provide easy access to other long-distance trails - the AZT and PCT on the east and west ends, respectively. In both cases, Blisterfree has mapped short connectors to those trails. The WTH therefore plays the role of the PNT in its ecosystem, facilitating all sorts of exciting journeys. Want to hike from the Divide to the Pacific Ocean? A combo of the GET, AZT, WTH, PCT, and SDTCT is your ticket. <br /></p><p><b>Limited Circulation:</b></p><p>The WTH is amazing, but it's not for everyone. Buck-30 covers this very well in the "Should I Hike This Route" section of his <a href="https://www.postholer.com/user/buck30/3496"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">WTH overview post</span></a>,
and I'd encourage you to really read and consider whether the WTH is
for you. In my opinion, there are a couple factors that contraindicate broad popularity with the hiking masses:<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Inaccessibility.
The WTH is beautiful, but not in the classical sense of green trees,
snowcapped peaks, and sparkling lakes. The route is remote, stark, and
forbidding, and yet those precise qualities lend the WTH its beauty. The
towns suck, the water sucks, the wind never stops blowing. But it's
enormously rewarding, in large part because you're scraping together an
existence - however meager - in a most hostile environments. Not everyone's a dyed-in-the-wool desert rat, a prerequisite trait on the WTH. <br /></li><li>Fragility.
Footprints last forever in the desert. Potholes and guzzlers only
collect a finite amount of water, and a large crop of hikers could
easily drink them dry. Gates, wells, and fences are decades-old, and
might break if not treated with extreme care. The Wenden Post Office is
roughly the size of my tent, and cannot handle a flood of resupply
packages. In short, the WTH is a particularly fragile route. <br /></li></ul><p>I
think of the WTH as a delicate manuscript in a library's rare book
collection. Unlike an ordinary paperback (the AT, PNT or whatever), it
can't be circulated in an unrestricted fashion, as it'd quickly suffer
an ignominious fate. On the other hand, it does no good to lock it away
entirely and prevent all access - what would be the point in even having
it?</p><p>Of course, libraries have already <a href="https://library.louisiana.edu/collections/rare-book-collection/policies-procedures"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">solved</span></a> this dilemma already. They generally limit:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li> <i>Who</i>
can access the rare book collection (researchers with a demonstrated
need of the materials and with experience handling them properly)<br /></li><li><i>Under what conditions </i>they can access the collection (on-site in a special reading room; no checkout available). </li></ul>Brett's
solution for the WTH is similar. The WTH resources are available only
to veterans of at least one of his other routes (400 mile minimum),
under the condition that they not share those resources with others. You
can find more details on his site. I think of the WTH as a nice little
treat available to those who have already proved their desert
route-hiking chops, and who've demonstrated their ability to be
exemplary citizens of the route-hiking community by giving back
(particularly in the form of water information).<p></p><p><b>Resources:</b></p><p>Brett's stuff is required reading, and I'd recommend reading Buck-30's summary post at the end of his journal. If you want to dive deeper, you can also peruse Buck 30's daily entries, as well as Recon's. <br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><a href="https://blisterfree.wordpress.com/category/desert-wth-winter-thru-hike/" style="color: #2b00fe;">Brett's official WTH info (start here)</a></li><li><a href="https://www.postholer.com/user/buck30/3496" style="color: #2b00fe;">Buck-30's journal</a></li><li><a href="https://ramblinrecon.com/hikes/desert-winter-thru-hike-2023/" style="color: #2b00fe;">Recon's journal</a></li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJoEXVSQLEakK3ve95QkC8UJSUeNGWO4rIswNMKsiR4eH0L88774sBQhLBxc7qFgqO5vUfOgsR-xWFPtvLJiuo6nGGWsyOB5Y-dz_0lOQy4ZP4FPMbDQjpszUeYVcs0GVd3ezZJIue9vC9jlx4G1caae5ou0LnvcET8rXZdN7JnvmgOUVu4DzA-4tXgeA/s4032/20240104_091703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJoEXVSQLEakK3ve95QkC8UJSUeNGWO4rIswNMKsiR4eH0L88774sBQhLBxc7qFgqO5vUfOgsR-xWFPtvLJiuo6nGGWsyOB5Y-dz_0lOQy4ZP4FPMbDQjpszUeYVcs0GVd3ezZJIue9vC9jlx4G1caae5ou0LnvcET8rXZdN7JnvmgOUVu4DzA-4tXgeA/w640-h480/20240104_091703.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-81335963610431845502024-02-27T08:07:00.003-07:002024-02-27T08:07:49.907-07:00Forty Days and Forty Nights<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KVJy4bAX0GAbwTxR4DBBTDVx1LlvtolxX89w9ld1cV86GGvfWY_XL4odZX27o1CUkfp6qpmGhCjjJ_JusNS_DegAhQ43P4wCZSN1hz8aJWWrbmLxeu1bSBiqP4F3ZuISF4-NCNioX-oESM3jiWqo8Jp2vAVkr3U4V_Pd1yOq13e9o2le-mfS_Rysbu2E/s4032/20240129_112043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KVJy4bAX0GAbwTxR4DBBTDVx1LlvtolxX89w9ld1cV86GGvfWY_XL4odZX27o1CUkfp6qpmGhCjjJ_JusNS_DegAhQ43P4wCZSN1hz8aJWWrbmLxeu1bSBiqP4F3ZuISF4-NCNioX-oESM3jiWqo8Jp2vAVkr3U4V_Pd1yOq13e9o2le-mfS_Rysbu2E/w640-h480/20240129_112043.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Certain landscapes seem quintessentially “Southwest”: a sea of Joshua trees, punctuated by granite boulders and a handful of precious oases. A jolly saguaro, wearing a cowboy hat, of course. Mirages seething above a low desert bajada, forever just barely out-of-reach reach. Low, rugged mountains full of hideouts and abandoned mines. <br /><br />These deserts - the lowest, driest, and hottest in North America - are the domain of the 800-mile Desert Winter Thru-Hike (WTH). The WTH isn’t a “trail” per se. Indeed, actual hiking trails are a rare treat in this hardscrabble country. Instead, it mostly follows jeep tracks, ancient mining roads, dry washes, jagged ridgelines, and the occasional utility corridor from Tucson, AZ to Palm Springs, CA. A pair of National Parks - Saguaro and Joshua Tree - bookend the route. Some of the most desolate, lonesome, and rewarding miles of my hiking career lie in between.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8AWJm5lwVF3kVsySR8Tok5SfN7c_kBFInerpOKMskaNyt4hHhgjCbjuOcODGAxNnFGHb-k6ySvHWBOqz6kixXMDxcc72muuMl7ZdqB26yxhcPnbwzkvDrtZENqoANvat-mn93n7IgjcCbsxwflgv9le4Cp-WSdvnooeiR8-pGXmV5vYxstDK66EoOW1HQ/s1011/Screenshot%202024-02-22%20114410.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="1011" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8AWJm5lwVF3kVsySR8Tok5SfN7c_kBFInerpOKMskaNyt4hHhgjCbjuOcODGAxNnFGHb-k6ySvHWBOqz6kixXMDxcc72muuMl7ZdqB26yxhcPnbwzkvDrtZENqoANvat-mn93n7IgjcCbsxwflgv9le4Cp-WSdvnooeiR8-pGXmV5vYxstDK66EoOW1HQ/w640-h440/Screenshot%202024-02-22%20114410.png" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Map courtesy of <a href="https://blisterfree.wordpress.com/2022/12/03/desert-wth-winter-22-23-update/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Blisterfree</span></a></i><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I flew to Tucson the day before New Years Eve and spent the night with friends Ralph and Sue. It was an evening full delicious food and delightful conversation on topics ranging from faith and worldview, to baseball, to small-town childhood shenanigans. Ralph and Sue dropped me at the trailhead in Saguaro National Park the next day. I couldn’t imagine a better way to begin a long hike. <br /><br />That evening at Ralph and Sue’s was the last vestige of true civilization I’d encounter for many weeks. Like any trail, the WTH featured “towns” every week or so. But I use that term loosely, because of the seven resupply points on the WTH, three of them are mere gas stations, in the middle of nowhere. This route is not exactly plush. And that’s exactly the way I like it. <br /><b><br />Something Old, Something New</b><br /><br />The terrain was not entirely unknown to me, however. I walked the Arizona half of the WTH in 2021 while waiting to clear a work-mandated background check. You might wonder why I opted to hike the whole WTH in 2024 rather than just resuming at the California border where I left off in 2021. I suppose there are a couple reasons:<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Re-hiking a trail is like reconnecting with an old friend. Sure, there’s less novelty the second time, but that’s offset by a deeper understanding of the landscape and a host of good memories from the first go-around.</li><li>The route was in its very early stages of development in 2021. Blisterfree, the route’s creator, constantly tweaks and refines it. Therefore, even though I had in theory hiked the route before, there was still plenty of terrain that was new to me in 2024.</li><li>As a route creator, I enjoy seeing hiking routes evolve. I ground-truthed some of the segments in 2021 and have kept fairly close tabs on the WTH over the years. Blisterfree is, without exaggeration, the best in the world at what he does, and it’s fascinating to watch a master craftsman at work. In 2024, I was gratified to hike the (mostly) finished product.</li></ul><p>I don’t regret my choice. I enjoyed Arizona just as much the second time, and the much-anticipated California section lived up to my lofty expectations.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEeQ39SGxwO_AZCetn8607lmkYxcEQsTRgkXgoMDRecEpSToCOmFhv50B5oeYrmlh92MuhLKFQwic0w9qoNEP35XQZlUNMvhRue4oZVIL67JTWYKqW39BikxmyyDEEztChLU7Qrl3HKs652_tKxnkXBh6V0LKozQmLvhY4WHivXaLPbLZ0a9MbfmOXMlR/s4032/20240123_154255.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEeQ39SGxwO_AZCetn8607lmkYxcEQsTRgkXgoMDRecEpSToCOmFhv50B5oeYrmlh92MuhLKFQwic0w9qoNEP35XQZlUNMvhRue4oZVIL67JTWYKqW39BikxmyyDEEztChLU7Qrl3HKs652_tKxnkXBh6V0LKozQmLvhY4WHivXaLPbLZ0a9MbfmOXMlR/w640-h480/20240123_154255.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>Low Desert Wandering</b><p></p><p>Among thru-hikes in the Southwest, only the WTH is suitable - and in fact designed - for the dead of winter. Unlike other routes, it spends no meaningful time at high elevations. Instead, it oscillates between broad desert basins and low, rugged mountain ranges.</p><p>Such is the rhythm of the WTH: I'd cross an expansive desert basin on a two-track, or perhaps just by line-of-sight navigation through the sparse vegetation. Most basin water sources were of the windmill or solar-well variety. Even in this arid country, a few hardy and/or sickly cows subsisted on a meager diet of scrubby thorns. Travel through the basins was generally easy, and often provided opportunities for night-hiking.<br /></p><p>Sooner or later though, I'd climb out of the basin into a low, craggy mountain range. I'd often encounter a wildlife guzzler at the periphery of the range, just before crossing into a designated Wilderness area. Once inside the Wilderness, I'd follow ridgelines, dry washes, and burro trails. Travel was much slower in these rugged mountains, as rocks, cacti, and pour-offs slowed my progress. But the scenery was often jawdropping, and the sense of isolation was sublime. These were the miles that made the WTH truly special. Ever heard of the Old Woman or Harcuvar ranges? I hadn't either, and probably never would, had it not been for the WTH.</p><p>After crossing the mountains, I'd descend into another basin, and the cycle would repeat. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXU2n-f7uBOYTT6mDsyOXqtkS1m7HSw4XsdYAkO-NPx5zQGPowasIAKNVNF0GrfiImxJvSvuHCMC0idMc3O0PcMh9R35NLgDB-lx-JpU_b-wblBGncXM3y4z_T_hb6REulav8d6ZCZQqaeADKS3at216pZU4w4oKx4iqRHzK0_Gb2P5yny1wZDh7eTxVh/s4032/20240104_113341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXU2n-f7uBOYTT6mDsyOXqtkS1m7HSw4XsdYAkO-NPx5zQGPowasIAKNVNF0GrfiImxJvSvuHCMC0idMc3O0PcMh9R35NLgDB-lx-JpU_b-wblBGncXM3y4z_T_hb6REulav8d6ZCZQqaeADKS3at216pZU4w4oKx4iqRHzK0_Gb2P5yny1wZDh7eTxVh/w640-h480/20240104_113341.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Though <i>everything </i>in the desert wants to make you bleed to some extent, I discovered that not all plants are equally sinister. On one end of the spectrum is creosote, the kindest and gentlest of all desert plants. It's a little grabby, but unless you crash into it headlong, it won't ensnare you too badly. On the other end are the twin terrors of cholla and catclaw. Tangle with these guys at your own risk! Cholla is the villain of more open desert terrain. It doesn't actually 'jump' of course, but it falls to the ground in pieces, which stick to your shoes and calves on the way by. Catclaw tends to grow near washes and other sheltered/brushy areas. Slaloming around it can be an absolute pain, but not nearly as painful as getting hopelessly tangled in it. My clothes didn't get too shredded by catclaw on the WTH, but only because I was exceptionally careful. My foam sleeping pad, which protruded from the top and sides of my pack, wasn't so lucky.<br /></p><p>There wasn't too much out-and-out bushwhacking on the WTH, but even a small amount of occasional overgrowth was enough to give me a nice set of desert pinstripes. <br /></p><p><b>Dihydrogen Monoxide and other Toxins<br /></b><br />It's impossible to overstate the importance of water on an austere desert trek like the WTH. Sources in the desert are infrequent and incredibly precious. Even when water was present, some of it was of dubious quality. Nearly all of the sources were stagnant - either cattle troughs, wildlife cachements, or potholes in the bedrock. Some of my water came in exciting hues - green, brown, or yellow. Sometimes it tasted a little funky. And once, it was a radioactive-green algae sludge so noxious that it stained my hands and my water bottle. On that occasion, I suddenly decided I wasn't thirsty after all!</p><p></p><p>I encountered the pièce de résistance just west of the California state line, at one of only three naturally-flowing sources on the entire WTH. It had just rained the day before, and I was more than a little jazzed to find a brief flow of cold, clear water in the sculpted narrows of a deep canyon. After filling all my water containers, I continued upstream, humming a jaunty little ditty. Then, around a corner, I stumbled upon a rotting burro corpse, lying right in the middle of my cheery stream. Yuck. </p><p>I drank the water anyway.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVuw96_MJMp43UCX9H9bIbSqrbQG0dJuhkN5fwSyODRziUwdmlOmvWk-ulUHEaAYYgz8ph1q7ixqRNo-ckjmay_eBUUKCuzgDcxDyKSGWUFbvTbY3kjTRU-GgXyd6xX8ztxEHCxe6ooM1gqpbmFM9BFM_skZxnMafaNw1LJlQXv1JFJUkHS22gNgXMvcX/s4032/20240203_070220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVuw96_MJMp43UCX9H9bIbSqrbQG0dJuhkN5fwSyODRziUwdmlOmvWk-ulUHEaAYYgz8ph1q7ixqRNo-ckjmay_eBUUKCuzgDcxDyKSGWUFbvTbY3kjTRU-GgXyd6xX8ztxEHCxe6ooM1gqpbmFM9BFM_skZxnMafaNw1LJlQXv1JFJUkHS22gNgXMvcX/w640-h480/20240203_070220.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>A Big Mistake</b></p><p>I didn't really plan to hike the WTH this winter. But when the holidays rolled around and I found myself with a little extra time, I made a somewhat last-minute decision to squeeze in a WTH hike. I had firm commitments on both ends - Christmas on the front end, and a February family shindig on the back end. I intended to fly the day after Christmas, but the cheapest airfare I could find wasn't until December 30th, so I opted to fly cheap and hike fast.<br /></p><p>This decision left me with only 40 days to complete the route, a relentless 20 mile-per-day pace. I knew this was a risky plan, but to start any earlier would have cost me another couple hundred bucks in airfare. I figured that I could make up a day or two along the way, even if it meant a little night-hiking. This was, of course, penny-wise and pound-foolish. A forty-day itinerary gave me zero wiggle room, which I sorely missed when <span><span>El Niño dumped his entirely-foreseeable torrent of rain on the desert Southwest.</span></span></p><p><span><span>If there's one guarantee on a thru-hike, it's that <i>something</i> will go wrong. The trail quickly reminded me of this lesson. My bad ankle did Bad Ankle Things my first week on the trail, and I lost about half a day babying it. Then my poncho-tarp abruptly announced its retirement, and I lost another day waiting for its replacement to show up. Do a 19-mile day over tough, rocky terrain? Congratulations, you just fell further off the pace. I was behind the eight-ball from the very beginning.</span></span></p><p><span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ON4BqJrXDRXA-9S49xbucCndlwe55r3vM5u0ZRpQQ32AHYuAX_UO8bPdIm77eXEyqTxEiBAA91ipTefsve-FFhtT39i1uwD2clXcEXlyfzWPdENQIz9NT_HQa5ZBmfnOH1BJAxrlMgRaYaOAme7x6bgeMwXOguYc7e0YSJmzixKTa1QN_ysvHfm4r9s7/s4032/20240103_173834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ON4BqJrXDRXA-9S49xbucCndlwe55r3vM5u0ZRpQQ32AHYuAX_UO8bPdIm77eXEyqTxEiBAA91ipTefsve-FFhtT39i1uwD2clXcEXlyfzWPdENQIz9NT_HQa5ZBmfnOH1BJAxrlMgRaYaOAme7x6bgeMwXOguYc7e0YSJmzixKTa1QN_ysvHfm4r9s7/w640-h480/20240103_173834.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>RIP Original "Moak Cloak", 2014-2023</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span>I ended up doing a lot of night-hiking on the WTH. Sometimes this wasn't a problem - a few mindless miles along a jeep road in the dead of night is no big deal. But often, the terrain precluded the possibility of night-hiking. The WTH darts in and out of many minor washes and subtle terrain features. It sometimes heads cross-country for a few miles. These navigational problems are a cinch during the day, but they become nearly impossible on a cloudy or moonless night. I spent an annoying amount of mental energy timing my days so that the post-sunset miles were easy ones.</span></span></p><p><span><span><b>The Fury of the Child</b></span></span></p><p><span><span>WTH hikers have a complicated relationship with the weather. And boy oh boy, did I ever ride the roller coaster on this trip. <br /></span></span></p><p><span><span>On one hand, most of the water on the route is a direct result of recent runoff. In the Sonoran and Mojave deserts, much of the year's rain falls in the winter. I therefore <i>needed</i> the rain to recharge all the potholes and wildlife guzzlers on the route. Other hikers had reported the aforementioned dead-burro water source as "dry" a month before, leaving me with a potential 50-mile water carry. Only because of the previous day's rainstorm did I have anything to drink.</span></span></p><p><span><span>On the other hand, storms on the WTH are a special kind of miserable. Usually, terrain features squeeze most of the moisture out of the clouds before they reach the low deserts the WTH frequents. But even so, desert storms bring copious wind, which howls across the open landscape. The temperature crashes into the 40s, and suddenly it's you're in Hypothermia City once the rain starts.</span></span></p><p><span><span>This year was an </span></span><span><span>El Niño winter. Warm waters off South America's west coast trigger a chain reaction across the Pacific Rim. </span></span><span><span>El Niño's effects aren't uniform or always predictable, but one thing's certain: in an </span></span><span><span>El Niño winter, there will be fireworks.</span></span></p><p><span><span>In this case, "fireworks" meant weeks of unrelenting, bone-chilling wind and a trio of drenching Atmospheric River events. I increased my pace still further as I neared the end of the trail, trying to buy myself a little flexibility to sit out the truly horrendous weather. And it almost worked.</span></span></p><p>At 4,500' in the Mojave National Preserve, the weather is raw indeed. I'd been keeping an eye on the weather for a week already, and knew that a significant storm was on the way. I put the pedal to the metal, trying to drop a few thousand feet before the storm hit. The day before the storm, I hiked until 9:30pm. I caught a few hours of shuteye, then got up at 3am and did ten miles before sunup </p><p>Around mid-morning, it started to rain. I'd already decided I was just going to wait out this storm in my tent. Even the best raingear can't eliminate the misery when it's 35 degrees and raining sideways. So, before long, I set up my tarp and got comfy. I put on my fluffy sleep socks, ate an enormous meal, listened to podcasts, and read scripture while the rain and wind buffeted my tarp. Thunder boomed overhead. Life was good indeed.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3aXzqRvFAkTFN-IODxjA8EA-JjK8XJ9PWym4Ffnevlv0ekbCBBnip2mxTTIMMazcz-9tWa-p56_djhw8No55cwJNXNAtCCb9a154o7IKVj1tlErzMMFgq1IKLRodEUVnNOPeyRxuzlwjPhlSflT1hWWdJPngrKL5anVN7dUeuRb2hMHW2pNF2jlhuzBt/s4032/20240201_063600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3aXzqRvFAkTFN-IODxjA8EA-JjK8XJ9PWym4Ffnevlv0ekbCBBnip2mxTTIMMazcz-9tWa-p56_djhw8No55cwJNXNAtCCb9a154o7IKVj1tlErzMMFgq1IKLRodEUVnNOPeyRxuzlwjPhlSflT1hWWdJPngrKL5anVN7dUeuRb2hMHW2pNF2jlhuzBt/w640-h480/20240201_063600.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Red sky in the morning...</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />And then from nowhere, <i>vwooooooooom</i>. An enormous gust of wind, perhaps a thunderstorm downburst, slammed into my tent. I never even heard the tent stakes let loose. Instantly though, I was staring directly into the sky as heavy rain poured down on me. There was no time to think. I yelped, threw my shoes on, and chased after my tarp as it hurdled downwind in true prairie-schooner form. After about a hundred yards, a corner caught in a creosote bush. The tarp stood straight out like a flag, flapping in the wind. I grabbed it and raced back to my campsite. Everything I owned was saturated, and getting wetter by the second.</p><p>I had to make a decision, and fast. I was wet. My sleeping bag was wet. The temperature was forecast to crash overnight. Not great. Pell-mell, I jammed everything into my backpack and dialed Rascal.</p><p><b>Phone-a-Friend</b></p><p>An auxiliary benefit of spending a decade in the long-distance hiking community is that you make friends in really weird places. Such is the case with a couple I met in 2023 near Eagle Rock on the PCT. Rascal works as a field biologist in the Mojave National Preserve, and Ripper's a ranger in Joshua Tree. So when my tent turned into a sail in the middle of nowhere, Rascal was just around the corner. Due to roadway flooding concerns, she'd just left work for the day.</p><p>The long and the short of it: half an hour after getting my stuff drenched, I was sitting in Rascal's car with the heater cranked on our way to town. When we got there, I threw everything in the dryer as the rain continued to come down in torrents. Rarely have I been so grateful to be warm and dry.<br /></p><p>But wait, there's more! After Rascal dropped me back off at the trail the next morning, I hiked for a few days before yet <i>another </i>atmospheric river arrived. The forecast for this one was truly apocalyptic, so I hitched to town and hung out with Rascal and Ripper again. And when I finished - you guessed it - Rascal was there to pick me up and deposit me at the airport.</p><p>Usually, "I couldn't do it without them" is nothing more than a trite platitude. As humans, we're pretty good at adapting and make-do. Perhaps it would cost a little more, or be less convenient, but we find a way. In this case however, the sentiment is sincere and literal. If not for Rascal and Ripper, I'm not sure I would have finished the WTH successfully. I owe them an enormous debt of gratitude.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKz2M7I9k15jcL8whWb0ICQ_rZS8wQRzDZPjYow27PUHgXLYqVgdXlPmPrGgCWDOnkS6j0_dfrCYYqGgWNbqpoP_PlmWANim8tVnBSGqlmwQyWo2YJ__-oO0y6nn0tlWjNxCZEauIgChbcmYsxv_Ey1nONubw2rInEcCcQcrYQer-57Jcqff226ntHVQUa/s4032/20240201_134814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKz2M7I9k15jcL8whWb0ICQ_rZS8wQRzDZPjYow27PUHgXLYqVgdXlPmPrGgCWDOnkS6j0_dfrCYYqGgWNbqpoP_PlmWANim8tVnBSGqlmwQyWo2YJ__-oO0y6nn0tlWjNxCZEauIgChbcmYsxv_Ey1nONubw2rInEcCcQcrYQer-57Jcqff226ntHVQUa/w640-h480/20240201_134814.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>If you're into Weird Desert Crap, the Mojave is the place for you.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b>A Slog to the Finish</b><br /></p><p>By now, you might be getting the impression that my final few weeks on the WTH were a dumpster fire. And in that assessment, you'd be entirely correct. </p><p>Of all the things you wouldn't want to lose in the middle of the Mojave desert, a windshirt would rank pretty high on the list. Let me paint you a picture.<br /></p><p>Somewhere after leaving the amazing Turtle Mountains, I came across a 4-foot-long Super Mario Bros Mylar balloon. All wilderness travelers eventually grow to despise Mylar balloons: they're eyesores, never decompose, and drift for miles before settling down into otherwise remote and untouched landscapes. I sighed, bundled up the enormous piece of litter and crammed it in the back pocket of my pack.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOpdVePqfEP0e0YpwJ5L-autvG7ZiH32dT_RMyo4ApNQVSqTl6Orxn76-inMbWFtd4OV5lPcYVtXA6JSXLbNKk8Ws1a0-JGq_fcu8YuUNO-yXUn-ORJ5W4mDXJinY5Ay73t3_dOFC2KVc5PGkWqZ44TCnJAI7CzKnesNI6V5vOs6oV11PwMl2OEsRePO7M/s4032/20240126_104422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOpdVePqfEP0e0YpwJ5L-autvG7ZiH32dT_RMyo4ApNQVSqTl6Orxn76-inMbWFtd4OV5lPcYVtXA6JSXLbNKk8Ws1a0-JGq_fcu8YuUNO-yXUn-ORJ5W4mDXJinY5Ay73t3_dOFC2KVc5PGkWqZ44TCnJAI7CzKnesNI6V5vOs6oV11PwMl2OEsRePO7M/w640-h480/20240126_104422.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Apparently though, that pocket was <i>too</i> full. Somewhere in the next ten miles, my windshirt must have popped out while I was wandering through the creosote in a low desert basin. By time I realized it was missing, I had zero chance of finding it again. Oh well, I only had a couple weeks left on the WTH. I'd just tough it out.<p></p><p>It should therefore go without saying that the wind <i>never</i> stopped blowing for the last two weeks of the WTH, and there wasn't a half hour that went by that I didn't chide myself for losing the windshirt. Things came to a head on my penultimate day. Winds increased throughout the day, and by evening were absolutely screaming. The prospect of sleeping with my tarp flapping furiously eight inches from my face was... unappealing. </p><p>As the sun set, I found a mining adit, an exploratory horizontal shaft maybe 30 feet long. Its tailings pile protected the entrance from the howling winds. The floor wasn't entirely flat, but good enough for the night. When I emerged to pee in the middle of the night, it was snowing sideways. I crawled back into my cozy, quiet cave and fell back asleep. </p><p>I ventured out in the morning to cranking winds and fresh snow. Said snow had blanketed the windward side of the Joshua trees' trunks at the upper elevations. In the delightful Wonderland of Rocks area, a normally-dry stream flowed for several miles, and dry feet were a fool's errand. The WTH clearly wanted to give me a fitting send-off!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4fVppks3Ns9W2t1FQAQ5slZ0Tz3tVzO5jYbOJXpLZWVhJOgRWJcK18CxEPMggK2fplgIQsjoywol3LRen0GKNcU7VyKWURmuSeCcVrX_bitEdReAr6Ia5JZjdekbCSk5CTvzkTxouhI7dG8j_EFxuEgTZkhUsVAOLm39qljNl3GZcLbEapS76xycSNDH/s4032/20240208_093438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4fVppks3Ns9W2t1FQAQ5slZ0Tz3tVzO5jYbOJXpLZWVhJOgRWJcK18CxEPMggK2fplgIQsjoywol3LRen0GKNcU7VyKWURmuSeCcVrX_bitEdReAr6Ia5JZjdekbCSk5CTvzkTxouhI7dG8j_EFxuEgTZkhUsVAOLm39qljNl3GZcLbEapS76xycSNDH/w640-h480/20240208_093438.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>Splendid Isolation</b></p><p>I've complained enough, don't you think? Let me circle back to the delights of the WTH. I saw a handful of day-hikers in Saguaro National Park on my first day on trail (a beautiful New Years Eve afternoon). I bumped into one group of day-hikers in Joshua Tree National Park on my last day on trail. In the intervening 750+ miles, I saw zero hikers. I only saw a tiny handful of vehicles on the primitive 'roads' that the WTH follows at times. Nearly every day featured a mountain range protected by Wilderness designation. In short, hiking this route felt like true exploration.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBC8XneLE8lKjddVUz1vxzp1eB5-ArdaHCQu-7tZmB5RF42yYQUlBvQf3JCnWQ7nRTxIRltfoePaigNFFlmcn9De7MSrCDuj8iExEQdLW4TEYyTHztMNwKCT5Mynl_YshF6vGIWjxPN0NoEZL40CMfZm8Gb32zybBAujbXTX0vukagRIYoIyhIHQg9aJ-R/s4032/20240104_094043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBC8XneLE8lKjddVUz1vxzp1eB5-ArdaHCQu-7tZmB5RF42yYQUlBvQf3JCnWQ7nRTxIRltfoePaigNFFlmcn9De7MSrCDuj8iExEQdLW4TEYyTHztMNwKCT5Mynl_YshF6vGIWjxPN0NoEZL40CMfZm8Gb32zybBAujbXTX0vukagRIYoIyhIHQg9aJ-R/w640-h480/20240104_094043.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Of the route's seven towns, three of them were mere gas stations. One of them didn't even have water; two of them didn't have indoor plumbing. Civilization was but a thin strand out there. And unlike my 2021 WTH hike, fighter jets from nearby Luke AFB were only an occasional annoyance, not a continuous roar. Of course, there was one night near the end of the trail where bombing at a nearby Marine base kept me awake for hours! <br /><p></p><p><b>Theological Ruminations</b><br /><br />By happenstance, I spent exactly forty days in the desert. During my desert sojourn, I focused my Scripture reading on episodes where God’s people spent forty days - or forty years - in the desert. As I read, I realized that God often uses the rigors of desert life to prepare his people for what’s next. Examples!<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>God calls the descendants of Jacob out of Egypt “so that they may worship Me in the desert” (Exodus 7:16). After a miraculous deliverance, he establishes a covenant with them at Mt. Sinai. God uses Israel’s desert wanderings to transform them from a rag-tag band of slaves into God's special possession, by whom he would bring blessing to the entire world.</li><li>Elijah despairs at Israel’s recalcitrant idolatry even after God demonstrates his absolute superiority over all pretenders. Fleeing persecution, Elijah high-tails it to Mt. Sinai, back to the same mountain where God originally established his covenant with Israel. There, God assures Elijah that despite Israel’s apostasy, God is still working out his purposes, even using godless foreign kings at times. And God hints at the next development in his redemptive plan - to preserve a remnant for himself even as the majority of the nation backslides into idolatry and unbelief. This remnant will eventually find its focus in a single man - the God-man - Jesus of Nazareth.</li><li>Jesus spends forty days in the wilderness where he faces an onslaught of temptation. Unlike Israel’s misadventures with idolatry, Jesus remains faithful, succeeding where Israel failed. This, the first event following Jesus’ baptism, prepares him for his public ministry.</li></ul><p>There are plenty of other examples, but we’d be here all day and your supper is getting cold. To be brief: on this hike, I was struck by the way in which Jesus ties all the Old Testament threads together. His 40 days in the desert don't just use convenient Biblical <i>imagery</i>, but rather are intended as a specific <i>counterpoint </i>to various Old Testament 40's. They illustrate how Jesus, a specific Israelite, embodies and fulfills Old Testament Israel's God-given vocation.<br /></p><p>To wit: I’d always been a bit troubled by how the New Testament authors seemed to ignore the original context when applying Old Testament prophecies to Jesus. The original context often referred to events already in the past, or to more proximate future events surrounding Judah’s exile and subsequent return. For example, when Jesus was a toddler, he and his parents fled to Egypt as refugees. Upon their return, Matthew cites a passage from the prophet Hosea, “Out of Egypt I called my son”. Matthew employs this quotation to illustrate how Jesus fulfilled Old Testament prophecies. But in the original prophetic context, it’s clearly a <i>backward</i>-looking passage describing what God already did centuries ago: calling Israel, his metaphorical “son”, out of Egypt. There’s no indication that the prophet is anticipating a future event, much less that the “son” would refer to the incarnate Son himself, e.g. the second person of the Trinity.<br /><br />Akin to real estate, the first three principles of Biblical interpretation are context, context, and context. Yet here we see Matthew ostensibly ignoring the original context. Is he just plucking a convenient turn-of-phrase out of the Old Testament to serve as a shoddy proof-text? For a long time I couldn’t make sense of this puzzle - how the New Testament could repeatedly apply Old Testament prophecies to Jesus, even when the original meaning obviously referred to something else, usually Israel itself.</p><p>During this hike though, something clicked. I finally understood that these passages rightfully apply to Jesus not <i>despite </i>the fact that they originally applied to Israel, but <i>because </i>they originally applied to Israel. A main point of Jesus’s messiahship is that he lives and embodies the story of Israel. Where Israel failed in proclaiming God’s kingship on Earth, Jesus succeeds - not only in proclaiming the kingdom, but in being the King himself. Because Jesus is living out Israel’s story, the motifs and prophecies that originally applied to Israel apply to Jesus too. In fact, these passages find their fullest flowering not in the proximate fulfillment of exile and return, but in Jesus’ messiahship. <br /><br />Anyway, that's your dose of theology for the day. Thanks for coming to my TED talk 🙂<br /><br /><b>What’s Next:</b></p><p>The WTH is a nascent route and information is scarce, aside from Blisterfree's foundational writings. In an upcoming post, I hope to contribute to the corpus of WTH literature with some advice for future hikers. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5PgCE6yOpWa8Q9HqGSQ0_2fTrIhtkkM9_fZ-2MgbZJ26zSWms5X_w6y-O7v0kdoH_ooNi8020iMj1a5lXkS9HmPnxHxnoyqK93Up4KTfCNiephclL451bfP7eug0xci54mfcNuYGiOCvZHYnwjyhGaXydXN6LC_3de-PntVJ40GXhKVw7l6kaGmi8R4b/s4032/20240114_173615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5PgCE6yOpWa8Q9HqGSQ0_2fTrIhtkkM9_fZ-2MgbZJ26zSWms5X_w6y-O7v0kdoH_ooNi8020iMj1a5lXkS9HmPnxHxnoyqK93Up4KTfCNiephclL451bfP7eug0xci54mfcNuYGiOCvZHYnwjyhGaXydXN6LC_3de-PntVJ40GXhKVw7l6kaGmi8R4b/w640-h480/20240114_173615.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyRR3WzJA8hE0gVzSeC-SLg5_-6rc516Z7a9biOGUQ5mORM25wvJm7JIKn5f_wv_exNyC6WRci92nn6mvCwJyC3_Ml7VhaBIe10rL2o8HixZ-68QSuzVrAORcMLnSY_KAFs6Wll4w4hMG-HoCG9vBkK8oPd2lhOfZgilW53HSxS9ievOYDF0GM8EBvQa7/s4032/20240119_151631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyRR3WzJA8hE0gVzSeC-SLg5_-6rc516Z7a9biOGUQ5mORM25wvJm7JIKn5f_wv_exNyC6WRci92nn6mvCwJyC3_Ml7VhaBIe10rL2o8HixZ-68QSuzVrAORcMLnSY_KAFs6Wll4w4hMG-HoCG9vBkK8oPd2lhOfZgilW53HSxS9ievOYDF0GM8EBvQa7/w640-h480/20240119_151631.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcz-Y04ikNUX8D9C2mppYDdcOiUVpfmglpvQEK3ee2wzqnzv-vLpT-a7P_m7s77Mm8y7hAJLusASBVGdFkIAKewrqeEL_ECmKSUwuy4H-Oh-Vjeh-NyYz4J9dDudI1THapYUaFRtWiZfzQ6E-uE4gBll3m3m1L3JXUff0cegR66DRbFbz3H7qT-riQuhNx/s4032/20240208_122452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcz-Y04ikNUX8D9C2mppYDdcOiUVpfmglpvQEK3ee2wzqnzv-vLpT-a7P_m7s77Mm8y7hAJLusASBVGdFkIAKewrqeEL_ECmKSUwuy4H-Oh-Vjeh-NyYz4J9dDudI1THapYUaFRtWiZfzQ6E-uE4gBll3m3m1L3JXUff0cegR66DRbFbz3H7qT-riQuhNx/w640-h480/20240208_122452.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5D9Y39vuZ5nZPmXxrDdGtSHRVeQ1u-Xk28AWW25caD25aJFCJW-On53n7tbbGcfsmDh4TE0Q1COt-Ho7IV7hRKWa_W9tCw_9jlX0ADzDL5W3HviTjCPZ6C3kmxLUvX9QA6g7zRVrw1suzohWV4hqIikhtjcYmJwCIbmbGIGmvPjxnMrnUi-4sfgXQRVb/s4032/20240126_122452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5D9Y39vuZ5nZPmXxrDdGtSHRVeQ1u-Xk28AWW25caD25aJFCJW-On53n7tbbGcfsmDh4TE0Q1COt-Ho7IV7hRKWa_W9tCw_9jlX0ADzDL5W3HviTjCPZ6C3kmxLUvX9QA6g7zRVrw1suzohWV4hqIikhtjcYmJwCIbmbGIGmvPjxnMrnUi-4sfgXQRVb/w640-h480/20240126_122452.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-3398023261326054662023-12-14T14:08:00.000-07:002023-12-14T14:08:24.601-07:002023 - In Review<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhv2y5I0-ApPcjBCjZJAb-3-6JOX88AwI96qEhgxQeDRny9uG3nOYkrhaaLlKRQPTQaYCtMUonC2rYY7AqnjB3EFIDZTKnxJOqQL7d1v-TboH7z52lCV6wZMBi3Bwus8t_T7TxH4mk-mX6vmuZz9Bk9gj_Eb53lc-ZSIBdqu18ikGXAkl6WxTNZio-ICB/s4032/20230709_104153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhv2y5I0-ApPcjBCjZJAb-3-6JOX88AwI96qEhgxQeDRny9uG3nOYkrhaaLlKRQPTQaYCtMUonC2rYY7AqnjB3EFIDZTKnxJOqQL7d1v-TboH7z52lCV6wZMBi3Bwus8t_T7TxH4mk-mX6vmuZz9Bk9gj_Eb53lc-ZSIBdqu18ikGXAkl6WxTNZio-ICB/w640-h480/20230709_104153.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In the winter of 2019-2020, I ordered my parents a wall map depicting the upcoming year's objective: a thru-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail. True to maternal instinct, my armchair-adventurer mom promptly dropped fifty bucks to frame that simple fifteen-dollar map. Its place of honor? The kitchen, positioned prominently on the wall behind the breakfast island.<p></p><p></p><p>Of course, the pandemic scuttled everyone's 2020 plans. For the past three years that map has stood sentinel on the wall. Each time I visited their home, the map taunted me, a silent monument to dreams deferred. </p><p>I once heard an old wives' tale: to obtain compliance from an unruly dog, you need only grab its jawbone. Dogs instinctively recognize the mouth as their meal ticket. To control a dog's mouth is to control the dog. To quote the great philosopher Yukon Cornelius, "<a href="https://youtu.be/f1u7lHSMoIU?si=DWR74HtJrw7Jzehl&t=2502"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">he's nothing without his choppers</span></a>!"<br /></p><p>The veracity of that folklore is quite beside the point. The (figurative) truth: I've got a jawbone in my foot. When a debilitating injury in early 2021 imperiled my ability to hike, I was cast adrift. The injury didn't merely hinder one of my hobbies; it threatened one of the primary ways I bring glory to God and find joy in his creation. The story of the past three years has therefore been one of halting progress and general malaise. Any success had to be couched in provisos, qualifiers, and caveats<i>: </i>It was <i>only a couple miles</i>, but I still enjoyed it. My <i>inability to handle rough terrain</i> heightened my appreciation of frontcountry trails. You get the picture.</p><p>Torpor no more! This year, 2023, was an unequivocal success. My foot held up for the entire Pacific Crest Trail. Moreover, it held up alright on half the Arizona Trail and a section of the Appalachian Trail, both far tougher arthritic joints than is the manicured PCT. I've written and re-written this section about five times now, and I still haven't captured the depth of my gratitude to God. You might say this year was on par with some of the other all-timer years I've had - the Continental Divide Trail in 2018, or the Route In Between in 2019 - but after a couple years of malaise, 2023 tasted <i>particularly </i>sweet. Thank you, Lord. <br /></p>As always, let's start the review with a few contrived stats and cheap jokes:<br /><p></p><p><b>Gear:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Pairs of shoes: 6</li><li>Toenails that succumbed to said shoes: 2</li><li>Ingrown toenails (not really the shoes' fault): 1</li><li>Bottles of DEET: 3 <br /></li><li>Tents: 3</li><li>Leaky tents: 1</li><li>Leaky tents I've complained about for four consecutive years-in-review, and <i>finally </i>(!!!)<i> </i>replaced: 1</li><li>Umbrellas: 2</li><li>Respectable silver backpacking umbrellas: 1 <br /></li><li>Polka-dotted umbrellas panic-purchased at Dollar General: 1</li><li>Down sleeping bags: 1</li><li>Down quilts: 1</li><li>Down quilts regretted: 0 (I was nervous about it though!)</li><li>Packrafts purchased: 1</li><li>Packrafts my sister teases me about because I won't stop yapping about it: 1</li><li>Massive gear overhauls, for the first time in a decade: 1</li><li>Bear canisters: 1</li><li>Bear canisters resented with every fiber of my being: 1</li><li>Miles carrying an ice axe through the desert: 300</li><li>Times I actually used the ice axe: 0</li><li>Miles carrying microspikes: 800 </li></ul><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-LgFcax-jK2bNGMDkN4ilWj-kAfEr_bwTjw6qMJaTldkUEPjm3e0VB4W9jUVNoYtm8LpmPlpA4uf9MnZ74NcCxQf1FLzkHWKm8L6x9oKM5LaeAAlaxLi2IwEziURBiFxrV5zVNU85fm_lFqZBRtXshEul1eDvT9UQDZQUjOSAxgtS-OK6SVOwM6giae-u/s4032/20231114_151106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-LgFcax-jK2bNGMDkN4ilWj-kAfEr_bwTjw6qMJaTldkUEPjm3e0VB4W9jUVNoYtm8LpmPlpA4uf9MnZ74NcCxQf1FLzkHWKm8L6x9oKM5LaeAAlaxLi2IwEziURBiFxrV5zVNU85fm_lFqZBRtXshEul1eDvT9UQDZQUjOSAxgtS-OK6SVOwM6giae-u/w640-h480/20231114_151106.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>Trips:</b><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Thru-hikes: 1</li><li>Section hikes along National Scenic Trails: 3</li><li>Weekend backpacking trips: 3</li><li>Trips with friends: 3</li><li>Solo trips: 4<br /></li><li>Packrafting trips: 2</li><li>Packrafting trips where my wet feet got so numb I couldn't feel them for three hours afterward: 1<br /> </li></ul><p><b>Highest/Lowest/Fastest/Slowest:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Miles hiked: 3,100</li><li>Miles packrafted: 31</li><li>Highest point (literal): Forester Pass, 13,200'</li><li>Lowest point (literal): Columbia River, 20'</li><li>Highest point (metaphorical): Walking the sky-piercing Goat Rocks ridgeline in Washington<br /></li><li>Lowest point (metaphorical): The three-day Labor Day Weekend rainstorm extravaganza<br /></li><li>Shortest full day: 13 miles</li><li>Longest full day: 36 miles</li><li>Most miles hiked in a 24-hour period: 42 miles <br /></li></ul><p><b>Experiences:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Hitchhiked: 11<br /></li><li>Perched precariously on a child's car seat in the back of an ATV for fifteen torturous, bumpy miles: 1<br /></li><li>Sore butts afterward: 1<br /></li><li>Bummed a ride with friends/family: 10<br /></li><li>Played rummy on trail: 24</li><li>Played rummy sitting in the middle of the trail: 1</li><li>Favorite rummy spot: A mine shaft</li><li>Winter Storm Warnings: 1</li><li>Tornado Warnings: 1</li><li>Fresh inches of snow: 5 <br /></li><li>Tornadoes: 0 </li><li>Bears: 3</li><li>Bears that sprinted away from me at top speed: 2<br /></li><li>Bears that just kinda looked at me and sniffed dismissively: 1</li><li>Bobcats: 1</li><li>Deer: infinite</li><li>Rattlesnakes: 3</li><li>Rattlesnakes I very, very nearly stepped on: 1 <br /></li><li>Blowdowns cleared: 57 <br /></li></ul><p><b>Camping:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>In a sleeping bag: Too many to count</li><li>Under a tent/tarp: 60%</li><li>Cowboy camped: 40% </li><li>In a motel room: 5</li><li>At friend/family's house: 8</li><li>At a trail angel's home: 1</li><li>At a church: 1 <br /></li><li>On top of a picnic table: 1</li><li>In a bathroom: 1</li><li>In a creepy rural cemetery: 1 <br /></li><li>On a playground: 1</li><li>In a ditch: 2 <br /></li></ul><p></p><p></p><p><i>Previous years in review: <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2022/12/2022-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2022,</span></a> </i><i><a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2021/12/2021-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2021</span></a></i><i>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/12/2020-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2020</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2019/12/2019-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2019</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2018/12/2018-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2018</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2017/12/2017-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2017</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2016/12/2016-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2016</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2015/01/2014-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2014</span></a><span style="color: #2b00fe;">.</span></i></p><p><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"></span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7ZgNfqm_nBX5QmQEivkkDWDH6g-9xfHLbniVvyzp2s7HJfTtAmTum5spnlQx_TTBqS1HD7rU6iYIJxNXed55Gt39PJiB8YixJ8k9IKMNrSyHC4GM7geoYeNY80CW3VKUoumvefio4YjAp_IxQkHbMWzVzkJEFrE1iMZn4Jlyd4eTe_f638kc9GSFVi8d/s4032/20230426_185417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7ZgNfqm_nBX5QmQEivkkDWDH6g-9xfHLbniVvyzp2s7HJfTtAmTum5spnlQx_TTBqS1HD7rU6iYIJxNXed55Gt39PJiB8YixJ8k9IKMNrSyHC4GM7geoYeNY80CW3VKUoumvefio4YjAp_IxQkHbMWzVzkJEFrE1iMZn4Jlyd4eTe_f638kc9GSFVi8d/w640-h480/20230426_185417.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></i></div><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></i>I spent the first couple months of the year packing my life into a dozen Rubbermaid totes and stashing them in my friend Elizabeth's basement. On the last day of <b>February</b>, I set out for a week on the Appalachian Trail with my pal Blue Moon, celebrating the ten year anniversary of our 2013 AT journeys.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUR5dmFhOwi75Wyeb4V7H8SrNgvGocUWyGfn3IZwuNNabyQ31UsoiW0NAIYveU7l1pL0ZBKEEds63GpzjtRkqDeEzDuBNanz6_zV7SHGEpqVNb4Gr7oSrhT00m2FFcMmuqZAlkvd6yDFOAehbMPs-Bcw0WEd8Ot43-UHTYmOgXqid0fWj2OZrOhz7Lpv8K/s4032/20230301_140708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUR5dmFhOwi75Wyeb4V7H8SrNgvGocUWyGfn3IZwuNNabyQ31UsoiW0NAIYveU7l1pL0ZBKEEds63GpzjtRkqDeEzDuBNanz6_zV7SHGEpqVNb4Gr7oSrhT00m2FFcMmuqZAlkvd6yDFOAehbMPs-Bcw0WEd8Ot43-UHTYmOgXqid0fWj2OZrOhz7Lpv8K/w640-h480/20230301_140708.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In <b>March</b>, I teamed up with Blue Moon to tackle the southern half of the Arizona Trail. As in 2019, I hiked through the midst of a spectacular wildflower bloom. The AZT remains one of my favorite trails.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNW4_ejM0k0w9qRNQzMY2ldxJqudgugXbAlLedKS5uEHrSD5EIylUf46PrPCqzFNzeLYp6XuJTaJBbRSOt94FP_kleSYvZeinL-nbCMZzcnEziut0zosmBj9xjNzaoVsBfKxRIqJasat9dlgzp3ODZ5CV6cnMDjzgnw426bMsQ55BrcQ1aVys9XGGHJYO/s4032/20230331_081014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNW4_ejM0k0w9qRNQzMY2ldxJqudgugXbAlLedKS5uEHrSD5EIylUf46PrPCqzFNzeLYp6XuJTaJBbRSOt94FP_kleSYvZeinL-nbCMZzcnEziut0zosmBj9xjNzaoVsBfKxRIqJasat9dlgzp3ODZ5CV6cnMDjzgnw426bMsQ55BrcQ1aVys9XGGHJYO/w640-h480/20230331_081014.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In <b>April</b>, I hiked in Capitol Reef National Park with my good friends Max and Lara...<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthhpEpIzEFhtPpZRHKk3KEgwW6-fxSXXDPmd0uSbKaehyphenhyphenf8ILirFrI3pAYkKTlWxj6WgsW-PXq996flT8iVILoHmR3VQEj-ZGNugdN34KFJWKLPPRN0WJQqGF0gKm3klhbxFnufeF25GS_lzmLcFxFf3fD8PW21ri9F5z4Ac2DeELlRJlzI8gsRBaUxL0/s4032/20230405_121030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthhpEpIzEFhtPpZRHKk3KEgwW6-fxSXXDPmd0uSbKaehyphenhyphenf8ILirFrI3pAYkKTlWxj6WgsW-PXq996flT8iVILoHmR3VQEj-ZGNugdN34KFJWKLPPRN0WJQqGF0gKm3klhbxFnufeF25GS_lzmLcFxFf3fD8PW21ri9F5z4Ac2DeELlRJlzI8gsRBaUxL0/w640-h480/20230405_121030.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />...and then headed out to California to start the PCT at the Mexican border.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6yW6YAqnVn7bBKUj3SQRbR3Caz1VM0X_l2zSCQmnvmGLf89Bmkr1IFWZ0TUgqjZ5EYY5aXFdHPkaIUeM61kMPmfJdS3QfK7rj3y0Z6XbyCWKTH-YrBfVM-L-mZRqn66DN6qX8APy0L41vlZGsEBqi340M7LSZwPRUs5SDnnTxytlEVs_8KBfbLNPZn9H/s4032/20230425_060623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6yW6YAqnVn7bBKUj3SQRbR3Caz1VM0X_l2zSCQmnvmGLf89Bmkr1IFWZ0TUgqjZ5EYY5aXFdHPkaIUeM61kMPmfJdS3QfK7rj3y0Z6XbyCWKTH-YrBfVM-L-mZRqn66DN6qX8APy0L41vlZGsEBqi340M7LSZwPRUs5SDnnTxytlEVs_8KBfbLNPZn9H/w640-h480/20230425_060623.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I continued northward through hottest, driest section of the PCT as the calendar turned to <b>May</b>. When I got to the end of the desert, I headed to Michigan to wait out the historic melt.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fKME8SJy2EsJvyNGjQ7hG3uvb20vJDflTkzjA4VjeGUozEui_GhePZi7q8gWEiBW01hAsF30eQfULn1MFH6_VAF8d2LfKtmFJHUu0qVVrK-jroC7Pf0UWUwq_W5BHn6_joHa2Ma4QZdkXGzkI13bVgVnd5qq_qkazp7GRZLK9EyGnbXkRp5I4ZCZfM2D/s4032/20230521_133801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fKME8SJy2EsJvyNGjQ7hG3uvb20vJDflTkzjA4VjeGUozEui_GhePZi7q8gWEiBW01hAsF30eQfULn1MFH6_VAF8d2LfKtmFJHUu0qVVrK-jroC7Pf0UWUwq_W5BHn6_joHa2Ma4QZdkXGzkI13bVgVnd5qq_qkazp7GRZLK9EyGnbXkRp5I4ZCZfM2D/w640-h480/20230521_133801.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In <b>June</b>, I did a brief section of the North Country Trail in Michigan.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS1JdAMZmr5oyks2M06svlq_QpRQ28ba9JjYAb10f-R05ISYqgghAe1wGzVqEc4kdxyuOnIxNK-Ew073K8Sxgy61M4KDgNnnqgN1nS24UPN6qUQzFkpEWwLQaW49JsrplCsAvay-s-mERtxivqkN03F8efy6Jjg1SyswBF436eVVudvJEKrXW5cANiGsO5/s4032/20230602_103836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS1JdAMZmr5oyks2M06svlq_QpRQ28ba9JjYAb10f-R05ISYqgghAe1wGzVqEc4kdxyuOnIxNK-Ew073K8Sxgy61M4KDgNnnqgN1nS24UPN6qUQzFkpEWwLQaW49JsrplCsAvay-s-mERtxivqkN03F8efy6Jjg1SyswBF436eVVudvJEKrXW5cANiGsO5/w640-h480/20230602_103836.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I got back on the PCT in <b>July</b>, heading southbound from the Canadian border. I finished the state of Washington on the last day of the month.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32_MIuFQwPTec5ZRYz_7ab9HArOe0EOhDGra4c97ISH7FT4GVDFNB1mfp6t-i78IyizMKvyHZtukhcCj2GOAZqaqmyEojau_kewehEVSvfbOLYF0gL6xviODlGL_1E7VtbPTo5OzCwgllP6y9ZeWJjW2oC3fnSykmIqTsp4fn2lZQFiRGR14HPMTtXCYm/s4032/20230714_163809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32_MIuFQwPTec5ZRYz_7ab9HArOe0EOhDGra4c97ISH7FT4GVDFNB1mfp6t-i78IyizMKvyHZtukhcCj2GOAZqaqmyEojau_kewehEVSvfbOLYF0gL6xviODlGL_1E7VtbPTo5OzCwgllP6y9ZeWJjW2oC3fnSykmIqTsp4fn2lZQFiRGR14HPMTtXCYm/w640-h480/20230714_163809.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Oregon and northern California consumed the month of <b>August</b>. A fire near the state line forced me onto a 100+ mile re-route. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kMu0p4Z7bN0ijEXQo2VPPZB0gSVfuHUV6Y0RgcVX_Hvjz7RtNnTFITfdTgPj1tihR9kUfr9rJHdLgerZ4b1c2qOJVtZp1N2Xiw_cwRI6Oyh1OLj25W9Bk3X-09fvQWJ4aVMBqAJBu6oIXUZm-7tlOvJh8wNtNqDI1xmHZTjRY6K1rdWirAe_dbqx0uf1/s4032/20230802_131754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kMu0p4Z7bN0ijEXQo2VPPZB0gSVfuHUV6Y0RgcVX_Hvjz7RtNnTFITfdTgPj1tihR9kUfr9rJHdLgerZ4b1c2qOJVtZp1N2Xiw_cwRI6Oyh1OLj25W9Bk3X-09fvQWJ4aVMBqAJBu6oIXUZm-7tlOvJh8wNtNqDI1xmHZTjRY6K1rdWirAe_dbqx0uf1/w640-h480/20230802_131754.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In <b>September</b>, I entered the Sierra Nevada, the home stretch of the PCT.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacHkRBjhmSawCMCAgCDDGQQSvwLrcv1IbTTCyE0Dhbg82YsO8jnKK923NDO9WuQzgniL1X2OwBe59Ftgv1dTbecHX0sz9Jl2W3jFb0Y8jIS94XI_VcrkX_ZYRZADHA-AdprAD6Y749AaVpPQymPpJZpChiR1pBT9HHYUhC5EjoXL5bPn6yHeuptmkeNXk/s4032/20230926_184213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacHkRBjhmSawCMCAgCDDGQQSvwLrcv1IbTTCyE0Dhbg82YsO8jnKK923NDO9WuQzgniL1X2OwBe59Ftgv1dTbecHX0sz9Jl2W3jFb0Y8jIS94XI_VcrkX_ZYRZADHA-AdprAD6Y749AaVpPQymPpJZpChiR1pBT9HHYUhC5EjoXL5bPn6yHeuptmkeNXk/w640-h480/20230926_184213.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>October brought the year's first snowstorm and the successful conclusion of my PCT journey.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_bym8bAU_37qWE7MHPEIGugSaktm56dTq_j1tzMHW071419434Y___8zvX_RL87c1eFvgd74x6D3BFz3GsJmg0_aBW1XDy1c0K7_rd62qMN8XrzsjDH0KonEo56cHg4krPVjbvMxRtmuKOv0f-hLUek0LmTAXloopFIv4Uj4SF61xj3j8TV4WarR36sg/s4032/20231002_093716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_bym8bAU_37qWE7MHPEIGugSaktm56dTq_j1tzMHW071419434Y___8zvX_RL87c1eFvgd74x6D3BFz3GsJmg0_aBW1XDy1c0K7_rd62qMN8XrzsjDH0KonEo56cHg4krPVjbvMxRtmuKOv0f-hLUek0LmTAXloopFIv4Uj4SF61xj3j8TV4WarR36sg/w640-h480/20231002_093716.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>In <b>November</b>, I took a pair of packrafting trips, one to southern Indiana...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLNBpMCTUcaK3sOdtvhGpAO_Q1iF649j6ppCkpMI9g_RMouArE5n0kkRmJVP55itDzQkLyb9eqSdnYTWsYi3yqbCHyoXhJ31t1Cq1khnHc2X_E-8Wtt7DK968u9-JOIhoCgYgS3ZnmOzG517Ts5S_ObOkGzM_idZULfo0hvmDxBxUs7ww_dnlqfk6da2G/s4032/20231105_175217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLNBpMCTUcaK3sOdtvhGpAO_Q1iF649j6ppCkpMI9g_RMouArE5n0kkRmJVP55itDzQkLyb9eqSdnYTWsYi3yqbCHyoXhJ31t1Cq1khnHc2X_E-8Wtt7DK968u9-JOIhoCgYgS3ZnmOzG517Ts5S_ObOkGzM_idZULfo0hvmDxBxUs7ww_dnlqfk6da2G/w640-h480/20231105_175217.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> ..and one to Northern Michigan.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOrxFW3bpwSuzQqK7MjD-pbu54Z5nwLsZi-N9QUby5zdMA1NxetjX7m7LLxheuP-YJrlFXCp0oP5CCSsOUuRfibHHRKX6LlmM4fGgEhYJ6dOMQJCWuffUTPiBaiwd7dHsSsOKU7Ob1NrrGuZA-K1LLHo-Sxqj1WVXk_XEbsmgkkB3f4KoLnE1XlQDW0qM/s4032/20231114_153506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOrxFW3bpwSuzQqK7MjD-pbu54Z5nwLsZi-N9QUby5zdMA1NxetjX7m7LLxheuP-YJrlFXCp0oP5CCSsOUuRfibHHRKX6LlmM4fGgEhYJ6dOMQJCWuffUTPiBaiwd7dHsSsOKU7Ob1NrrGuZA-K1LLHo-Sxqj1WVXk_XEbsmgkkB3f4KoLnE1XlQDW0qM/w640-h480/20231114_153506.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />For the first time ever (?), I took a <b>December </b>backpacking trip along the Lake Michigan shoreline.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2TTn5xvMij3tmbH53H89RBHJuICl5lePOiAQanIYiNC845tZ9wfYkco_y_i0rKwWZKkmybezua-UbW8mhJsLgQo-B6WZnuTRXkj5-rMC_6Wf7Zdz6a1Me32j6eZVNGtGudAm2HfslNWC164jK5OsCvza2pK6to-3PssmDktkuuSLJSYR-NgH-No-eV-v/s4032/20231207_142157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2TTn5xvMij3tmbH53H89RBHJuICl5lePOiAQanIYiNC845tZ9wfYkco_y_i0rKwWZKkmybezua-UbW8mhJsLgQo-B6WZnuTRXkj5-rMC_6Wf7Zdz6a1Me32j6eZVNGtGudAm2HfslNWC164jK5OsCvza2pK6to-3PssmDktkuuSLJSYR-NgH-No-eV-v/w640-h480/20231207_142157.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <b>What's next:</b><p></p><p>This wrap-up notwithstanding, the book isn't quite closed on 2023 yet. I plan to start the 800-mile <a href="https://blisterfree.wordpress.com/category/desert-wth-winter-thru-hike/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Desert Winter Thru-Hike</span></a> on New Years Eve. The WTH meanders its way from Saguaro National Park to Joshua Tree National Park, traversing low terrain suitable for exploration in the dead of winter. The WTH is another gem from renown route creator Brett Tucker. I hiked the Arizona half of the WTH a few years ago. Since then, the California half has gnawed at my craw, and since I've got some free time at the moment, I plan to take full advantage. Lord willing, I plan to do the full route. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ac5swVBKa3NmLansanH-6n_d7cv6CT0ALFhCiezc7mTLatA62BYC-fKHPwtfr_eT9DDH7RZ0aAtegNAe1pcyK-7bwz5lpQWY_UdHF2b7wqbgPlxlsEB3_rXgWnkQXJPUVLcVzm9a6PJ5m4NZFS4IByl78ANrFYL8KUT5xxk2FdgImVJnjNpT7WIWoStW/s4032/20230810_123452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ac5swVBKa3NmLansanH-6n_d7cv6CT0ALFhCiezc7mTLatA62BYC-fKHPwtfr_eT9DDH7RZ0aAtegNAe1pcyK-7bwz5lpQWY_UdHF2b7wqbgPlxlsEB3_rXgWnkQXJPUVLcVzm9a6PJ5m4NZFS4IByl78ANrFYL8KUT5xxk2FdgImVJnjNpT7WIWoStW/w640-h480/20230810_123452.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6Wi6cnhtS4k4cTGACYha4DwDCx6M3D52obEccawF0wXW80tyMZSaJdhkwaxiMBgSCFt0_O3PjYRcZmVBmD2nO4Bri1XeUyQOf95KPTx9-o-bRoOBg-HyeW6wNuMiQWulmNivlUGbqfZEduENfyi_iiGbWZwrqC_rXR_LBM5V7Bb8qxssUvE50RWfzhYw/s4032/20230329_163428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6Wi6cnhtS4k4cTGACYha4DwDCx6M3D52obEccawF0wXW80tyMZSaJdhkwaxiMBgSCFt0_O3PjYRcZmVBmD2nO4Bri1XeUyQOf95KPTx9-o-bRoOBg-HyeW6wNuMiQWulmNivlUGbqfZEduENfyi_iiGbWZwrqC_rXR_LBM5V7Bb8qxssUvE50RWfzhYw/w640-h480/20230329_163428.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__GTiy3EmSwlQ8_PZZlcPiwqGrxTUCUNQv7h-0PThVUVHux5IainFBJRGchs4UGD4_SElLsuPTlyU2vUcRGnDezquQ29kAGiTTkBKMjA9QSQGfM0ofgwzu2_8xjz0w1v0r10vXt72mWZAGyBBs5jAv61xqZB1Xpfss0pRkh6ISrnNM9Ufq19o6o9U0f2j/s4032/20230924_110012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__GTiy3EmSwlQ8_PZZlcPiwqGrxTUCUNQv7h-0PThVUVHux5IainFBJRGchs4UGD4_SElLsuPTlyU2vUcRGnDezquQ29kAGiTTkBKMjA9QSQGfM0ofgwzu2_8xjz0w1v0r10vXt72mWZAGyBBs5jAv61xqZB1Xpfss0pRkh6ISrnNM9Ufq19o6o9U0f2j/w640-h480/20230924_110012.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhNFqR0ROkDwbUaUpdspQi7orTveM8xE3V8bG7fu31ZfRrO-AfCu5A4c_N3lQmsQHk9RhFAxjYErjSvr34JDKYO0j35qapfxTNP368E71D5BgeTSj698MQfR6cODA8NqPgZi88DqEVExkffN7rrLhBYJhJqNw8Bn_LIs1-APWd9K9qX5ZPauWe8-kZBJL/s4032/20230807_175004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhNFqR0ROkDwbUaUpdspQi7orTveM8xE3V8bG7fu31ZfRrO-AfCu5A4c_N3lQmsQHk9RhFAxjYErjSvr34JDKYO0j35qapfxTNP368E71D5BgeTSj698MQfR6cODA8NqPgZi88DqEVExkffN7rrLhBYJhJqNw8Bn_LIs1-APWd9K9qX5ZPauWe8-kZBJL/w640-h480/20230807_175004.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72nhPrLAAR-Qb5KS6HWXSsO5gAjlwSo0bYupvP3kBh2TdyacL_7gZgnin3U5roY4rl9_idYB1lCJ294w1aZ9M815Jkb8x1O0ZNr_KTOlsNmRkqu4LCnJ3Ah3q3xQh9Up_2kk_0snQO8SBSDHV6lfsxR5mEuCU0rDc_CqJuiSUNAT1KOWBDxKpAtykwmnT/s4032/20230324_130843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72nhPrLAAR-Qb5KS6HWXSsO5gAjlwSo0bYupvP3kBh2TdyacL_7gZgnin3U5roY4rl9_idYB1lCJ294w1aZ9M815Jkb8x1O0ZNr_KTOlsNmRkqu4LCnJ3Ah3q3xQh9Up_2kk_0snQO8SBSDHV6lfsxR5mEuCU0rDc_CqJuiSUNAT1KOWBDxKpAtykwmnT/w640-h480/20230324_130843.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-52112641968599462932023-11-21T15:20:00.002-07:002023-11-21T15:20:35.593-07:00PCT & Triple Crown Wrap-up<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqdmwC3k94VpnqwRWYgKOS5347DWTktlM1Rh7g9rs4Jpo26IGZPOYiZArfr4imumPpxPCCCx2-QDgzIFL58Oqyf_yPQhuvQJMW66oJ0OD-pFBQYep49UOEGCnuR1AD6R7KnXx9iYIzec0RA0HSuZdfUGkVuYjgdHRfes1nHJ-DN6VrFp5bK6UD4rsD41d/s4032/20230726_102204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqdmwC3k94VpnqwRWYgKOS5347DWTktlM1Rh7g9rs4Jpo26IGZPOYiZArfr4imumPpxPCCCx2-QDgzIFL58Oqyf_yPQhuvQJMW66oJ0OD-pFBQYep49UOEGCnuR1AD6R7KnXx9iYIzec0RA0HSuZdfUGkVuYjgdHRfes1nHJ-DN6VrFp5bK6UD4rsD41d/w640-h480/20230726_102204.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />It seemed that Mt. Rainier might reach out and grab me. The hulking, glaciated beast loomed impressively to my north, magmatic pressure silently building deep below the snow and rock. From my perch atop Old Snowy, I also spied Mt. St. Helens, a visceral reminder of what happens when a volcano gets a tummy ache. To the south lay stately Mt. Adams. Once I rounded Adams a few days later, the cycle repeated itself, with Mt. Hood visible to the south. In all, I spent more than 1,200 miles navigating from one giant snowy volcano to the next, pulled inexorably southward by the stately peaks.<p></p><p>On weekend backpacking trips, we may visit a beautiful place - the Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood, or Mt. Rainier National Park, say. But unless we know the surrounding area well, these beautiful places lack context. They're mere eye candy in a terra incognita. On a long-distance hike by contrast, we see both the crown jewels and all the places in between. We see the scenery change slowly over the course of 2,000+ miles. Each geographic feature blends into one cohesive tapestry. </p><p>In case it's not already clear: I love long-distance hiking.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpucfJAwbouNk4YQE9iptJfBRwUkCCiE8mRF06joetNkVklM29Pxg_UUpt4dXuQzf8zifAzSZ3NlP3TISfAp114IwqbUCnAMJCpas6HvTULwB494A4JAtL2v3whj36KltnoDgdEjkSLPcXMR5vFwii_uECGyLt-1jvVCLLbJ1pe4r2CQ6pUG1QqBjkMucH/s4032/20230802_131754.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpucfJAwbouNk4YQE9iptJfBRwUkCCiE8mRF06joetNkVklM29Pxg_UUpt4dXuQzf8zifAzSZ3NlP3TISfAp114IwqbUCnAMJCpas6HvTULwB494A4JAtL2v3whj36KltnoDgdEjkSLPcXMR5vFwii_uECGyLt-1jvVCLLbJ1pe4r2CQ6pUG1QqBjkMucH/w640-h480/20230802_131754.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>PCT: Overall Thoughts</b></p><p>I apologize in advance that this section won't live up to your expectations. There's a lot of platitudes I ought to repeat about the PCT, like "it changed my life", or "it's all about the people". But to be honest, none of them really apply. The truth is more prosaic: it was an amazing dessert. </p><p>Yes, dessert, with two S's. A sweet course after the main meal. <br /></p><p>My path to the Triple Crown (AT, CDT, then PCT) is perhaps the most unusual of the six possible permutations. Most people do the PCT fairly early in their hiking careers, whereas I was ten years deep before I ever got around to walking the PCT. It therefore stands to reason that my experience on the PCT would be a bit offbeat as well. I'm not here to drone about how difficult the PCT was, or how much it changed my life. Such things were true about my first long-distance hike, the AT. But after a decade of long trails, the PCT's appeal to me was perhaps more banal, yet no less delightful.<br /></p><p>The PCT was all sweet. The miles came easy, the weather remained cooperative, and it was more consistently beautiful than either the CDT or AT. The PCT is perhaps the best trail for thru-hikers who want to turn their brain off, let their legs churn miles, and enjoy the beautiful scenery. I certainly wouldn't want all my trail experiences to be PCT-like, just as I wouldn't want to eat a diet solely of marshmallows and ice cream. In general, I prefer trails with a few more rough edges. But as a dessert - as a well-earned, pleasant reward for many other miles of eating my vegetables, I certainly enjoyed it.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-EgApMimaFcTR7g0G2V5G_UifgFlsaH7oZZFGHLZtFl-YqYyNM1zDm2GhmrM57EJxwcPmulYBrN2jBiRozAx8ibNWq8o_Jyo6whw1CQ7J5laPf2Y6E4jloI67TxlZRs-rwrJZhSvpUT0bXIZ_TlEeb1p2oq87rk48jYbppkBdNktG1xO5d87u7-xvhEjm/s4032/20230924_112301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-EgApMimaFcTR7g0G2V5G_UifgFlsaH7oZZFGHLZtFl-YqYyNM1zDm2GhmrM57EJxwcPmulYBrN2jBiRozAx8ibNWq8o_Jyo6whw1CQ7J5laPf2Y6E4jloI67TxlZRs-rwrJZhSvpUT0bXIZ_TlEeb1p2oq87rk48jYbppkBdNktG1xO5d87u7-xvhEjm/w640-h480/20230924_112301.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>In particular, my aim on the PCT was to experience the grandeur of the Cascades and Sierra Nevada, two ranges I hadn't previously spent any meaningful time in. I enjoyed the Sierra, which was no surprise. The Sierra reminded me of other granitic ranges, such as the Wind River Range or Little Cottonwood Canyon in my Utah backyard. Beauty is of course subjective, but I reckon most hikers regard the Sierra as the most scenic section of the PCT, and I can't really disagree. </p><p>But the Cascades blew me away, far exceeding my modest expectations. I had perfect weather for almost all of Washington and Oregon. A perfect amount of decorative snow lingered. Mosquitoes were annoying in spots, but overall not as consistently bad as I'd anticipated. Vis a vis expectations, the Cascades were my favorite section. In fact, Washington in particular was so scenic that I perhaps unfairly turned up my nose at Oregon, which held far more beauty than I gave it credit for.</p><p>So that's the grand conclusion - the PCT was beautiful and pleasant. It was dessert. And sometimes, that's enough.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOJHm8WQ3tOosaUBRNbgUAb27wRG1OQnGVHGgYMFtAnkBqH1tHg3dKfMlrL2K3jiK_atB45fIZcWGeJZjJg_mPNAknZjmZ3xB3d6nuz_iPzCNIQYWC1G3RHEeqd_jN_G4cIZP3iaTUtUVrC7N9S1OAOOkMlc1oFmO1T8voIidGGJsh6mXchOtYNFqRgMe/s4032/20230807_175016.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOJHm8WQ3tOosaUBRNbgUAb27wRG1OQnGVHGgYMFtAnkBqH1tHg3dKfMlrL2K3jiK_atB45fIZcWGeJZjJg_mPNAknZjmZ3xB3d6nuz_iPzCNIQYWC1G3RHEeqd_jN_G4cIZP3iaTUtUVrC7N9S1OAOOkMlc1oFmO1T8voIidGGJsh6mXchOtYNFqRgMe/w640-h480/20230807_175016.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>"It's all about the people" </b><p></p><p>Ask hikers what their favorite part of a thru-hike is, and many will repeat the above platitude about "the people". I'm not entirely sure if most people actually believe it, or if they're just afraid of being labeled as misanthropic grumps. As a 22-year-old fresh off the Appalachian Trail, I certainly would have dutifully recited "the people" as the trail's top highlight. But over the course of my long-distance hiking career, my style has evolved toward something a bit more solitary. If you want a highly rewarding interpersonal experience, join the Lions Club or something. For me, thru-hikes aren't a particularly social experience.<br /></p><p>To be clear, I've made amazing friends on long trails and in the hiking community over the years. I'm still in regular contact with many of them. I treasure those friendships. <br /></p><p>But though it was my most social thru-hike, I still spent most of the AT hiking alone or in loose affiliation with others. Likewise, on the CDT, I made some good friends, but only camped with another person once on the entire second half of the trail. And even on the crowded PCT, I camped alone at least 90% of the time. Prior to the PCT, I was a bit concerned that I'd be stuck in a fishbowl and not cope well with the crowded nature of the trail. My concerns turn out to be unfounded though; I found that by minimizing town time and dry camping, I found enough peace and quiet. <br /></p><p><b>Speaking of People...</b></p><p>When it comes to professional networking, I'm a complete zero. But in the outdoors, it's different. The thru-hiking world is a small town, and there are never more than two degrees of separation between any pair of hikers. If I don't know you, I almost certainly know somebody who knows you. After 10 years and more than a few long-distance hikes, I've made a good number of friends. On the northern half of the PCT, I took the opportunity to visit several hiker friends. I realize that listing the friends I stayed with isn't exactly riveting journalism, but to gloss over anyone seems almost criminally inappropriate. </p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Mike & Naomi (Winthrop, WA)</li><li>Tree & Free (Sisters, OR)</li><li>Cruise & Shine (Ashland, OR)</li><li>Blue Moon (Reno, NV)</li></ul><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfv6g4kWkUpPqrICIKfGcKjEp9wiWYVyKpIfjtMmAJ0VWKPs68DChudefNsnIe8RUVr3ex11GBYljCgcUfOAmam4jmHF9xzdCW8wdmWMEYvhe06ppvDNWdFcgVGCq_r3anfYekknDkjgBNy8_RgDdQG0d9C_pzyqm14eMzrhJZBRfAslkM0VZbari2hyd/s4032/20230414_144951.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfv6g4kWkUpPqrICIKfGcKjEp9wiWYVyKpIfjtMmAJ0VWKPs68DChudefNsnIe8RUVr3ex11GBYljCgcUfOAmam4jmHF9xzdCW8wdmWMEYvhe06ppvDNWdFcgVGCq_r3anfYekknDkjgBNy8_RgDdQG0d9C_pzyqm14eMzrhJZBRfAslkM0VZbari2hyd/w640-h480/20230414_144951.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cruise and Shine - hiking partners in the desert, hosts in Ashland<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />In fact, on the entire PCT, I only stayed in a motel room or other commercial lodging three times. The rest of my stays were with friends. I was able to sample a little bit of their lives. And because they're all hikers, they were prepared for my stinky gear and impolite appetite. Salt Lake City is perhaps the most central crossroads in the West, and I host hiker friends pretty routinely. It was a treat to have the shoe on the other foot and enjoy some hospitality. A sincere thanks to all of them.<p></p><p>And those are just the people who I stayed with <i>during </i>the actual PCT. I'd be remiss not to mention the other delightful visits this year as part of my hiking adventures:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>My uncle Steve and aunt Karin before and after the PCT</li><li>My uncle Marc and aunt Paula before and after my AT adventure</li><li>Ralph and Sue Pugliese in the middle of the AZT. </li></ul><p>I realize this is just a list of names to most folks, but each represents memories I'll smile about for a long time.<br /></p><p><b>Pedal to the Metal</b><br /></p><p>When I made the decision to flip up to the Canadian border, I knew I'd be on a tight timeline. I had to attend a wedding on the 4th of July, and wanted to be done by early October to maximize my chances of beating any early-season snowstorms. I had to hike 2,000 miles in less than three months - a pace right at the limit of my capabilities.</p><p>To be honest though, I was looking forward to that pace. All of my hiking adventures for the past two years had involved training wheels - a gradual process of regaining function and fitness after a pretty devastating injury. I was ready to pull off the training wheels and see what would happen. I couldn't stand the thought of being <a href="https://youtu.be/abBK49gll94?si=7hrDIG-Vd2mWJR3I">Uncle Rico</a>, longing in vain for bygone days and wondering "what if". </p><p>I don't believe in giving 100% effort on any one individual day, because then tomorrow's performance suffers. Instead, by putting in a level of effort that's sustainable day-over-day, I perform at my long-term peak for weeks or months. There's not much more I could have done to go faster - I was giving it all I had. <br /></p><p>I only hiked about a dozen 30-mile days on the PCT, and those only by walking from dawn to dusk. Mostly, I achieved the pace by keeping town stops short. I tried to walk at least 20 miles on town days, and 25+ on non-town days. As the autumn equinox drew near, I found myself doing a couple miles before sunrise each day. Hikers often repeat the axiom "It's about the smiles, not the miles", but in pushing myself on the PCT, I found a lot to smile about. I'm not usually focused on pace on a thru-hike, but on this dessert-hike, it added an interesting challenge.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_Es4Z3-OZK4_XioYs3NtfzRFH1NOeeND8ENVQcGRnS0wgEJkOFsdqivqvCzOByauQIXhaCRFj-aJYvqTkd1NPi5wANrausdM394sIZ9SHDK7lbAXdrnXm8WQju9SQrXqa8oKfye0P-n_7_RrlNUn0A6kcvoCYNt9yn4pDJHStCUgBSSNpXhzFs8YfKAX/s4032/20230815_063033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_Es4Z3-OZK4_XioYs3NtfzRFH1NOeeND8ENVQcGRnS0wgEJkOFsdqivqvCzOByauQIXhaCRFj-aJYvqTkd1NPi5wANrausdM394sIZ9SHDK7lbAXdrnXm8WQju9SQrXqa8oKfye0P-n_7_RrlNUn0A6kcvoCYNt9yn4pDJHStCUgBSSNpXhzFs8YfKAX/w640-h480/20230815_063033.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><b>Losing a Lodestar</b><br /></p><p></p><p>For the past ten years, the Triple Crown has served as an life-organizing principle. Even though the accomplishment of Triple Crowning was never particularly meaningful to me, I dreamed of doing each of the individual trails - embracing the challenge of the CDT, the beauty of the PCT, or the lore of the AT. Moreover, the Triple Crown trails have a certain cultural cache. Family and friends understood what I was doing, and could at least imagine why such a journey might be personally meaningful. By contrast, DIY routes with arbitrary endpoints tend to draw blank looks of confusion.<br /></p><p>With the completion of the Triple Crown, I've lost that lodestar. Unless I aim to finish all 11 National Scenic Trails (which is currently <i>not</i> on the menu), any future thru-hikes won't fit into any overarching meta-narrative of working toward a long-term goal; they'll just be something I want to do. This doesn't bother me, but it does color how friends, family and employers perceive these journeys. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EJ9bC7AAoly0lVn1SzspnE_ycaFRf_CWgMGqpkEhJ3YajQMiHWUY00_1RzF-fciV2Gc2PVZ-a0-RVBYyVf2Ms6XWSylJvt-7esdAV6dSxD-V4_o_t_lyXHobu9XNTqiwRHbCI5l3tSUG24yTpOuAq8GEwOYZKdOp4QbyIQeASE0iBTMHX73dsUGELq8z/s4032/20230707_124636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EJ9bC7AAoly0lVn1SzspnE_ycaFRf_CWgMGqpkEhJ3YajQMiHWUY00_1RzF-fciV2Gc2PVZ-a0-RVBYyVf2Ms6XWSylJvt-7esdAV6dSxD-V4_o_t_lyXHobu9XNTqiwRHbCI5l3tSUG24yTpOuAq8GEwOYZKdOp4QbyIQeASE0iBTMHX73dsUGELq8z/w640-h480/20230707_124636.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My rain gear is super attractive, y'all</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b>Superficial Superlatives<br /></b></p><p>Each trail of the Triple had its own personality, and comparison is mostly a pointless exercise. But hey, you already made it this far in this quasi-iconoclastic screed, so clearly you can't object too much to my bloviating.</p><p>For me, the <b>Appalachian Trail</b> (2013) was the most transformative of my Triple Crown hikes. The AT tipped over a whole bunch of other dominoes in my life. My decisions to move to Utah - to work in the financial services industry, to live life out of a car or a backpack for a while - all these are interwoven with my 2013 Appalachian Trail hike. On the AT, God showed me <i>where </i>he wanted me - in the outdoors, marveling in his creation.<br /></p><p>The <b>Continental Divide Trail</b> (2018) was my favorite Triple Crown hike. It was the wildest and most roughly-defined of the three trails. On it, I developed my preferred hiking style - a solo, off-the-beaten-path, immersive wilderness experience. The CDT was a remarkably smooth hike; while I hit four fire closures, they were all fairly minor. Given the chance to do one of these trails again, I'd choose the CDT in a heartbeat. On the CDT, God showed me <i>what to do</i> in the outdoors - to be a visible representative of Jesus in the hiking world, where the good news of salvation is desperately needed and rarely heard. <br /></p><p>The <b>Pacific Crest Trail</b> (2023) has been discussed at length already, so just to summarize - it was the most "fun" trail, in the traditional sense. It was stunningly beautiful, and offered me an opportunity to re-engage with the outdoors after a bumpy and difficult couple of years. On the PCT, God showed me <i>how</i> to exist in the outdoors - aware of my utter dependence on him, and in constant prayer and conversation with him.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK_uMD8BGv_aaWRcMXRErnVEWMcA3wNaniKtxD0FoObFBRBp4Hree5WHfyytS8rIhyphenhyphennalIB7-fHIg_KLr-vRKLeBUFAjAXZXwlsD8SZb3AXkMIBg9HDUNXucQOFAkN63zEbk4tArxKlO3hJbjVIXUCYaNvWMpaycLorCycyFrhxfokwxFDHTicOD96nwg/s4032/20230813_102454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK_uMD8BGv_aaWRcMXRErnVEWMcA3wNaniKtxD0FoObFBRBp4Hree5WHfyytS8rIhyphenhyphennalIB7-fHIg_KLr-vRKLeBUFAjAXZXwlsD8SZb3AXkMIBg9HDUNXucQOFAkN63zEbk4tArxKlO3hJbjVIXUCYaNvWMpaycLorCycyFrhxfokwxFDHTicOD96nwg/w640-h480/20230813_102454.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>What's Next</b><p></p><p>I'd like to formally announce a retirement from long-distance hiking... of my boonie hat. My hat has accompanied me on every trip for the past seven years, and was, starting to show its age. It survived a nighttime rodent encounter (fixed with dental floss) and a bear attack (fixed with dorky green thread). I abused it countless times pushing headfirst through tamarisk and all sorts of nasty desert spikey plants. The sun literally wore holes in the top. When I patched the holes, new holes developed around the perimeter of the patches. It's threadbare to the extreme.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-t1Mx5FY9FEbvZ1tRBa1EiAsETIpcB-Z14nDHQkiIuLRqLzmLchlCRvGJTLWjsufo7mE7w38-JS48b5mz48IUoVftOXca5sRiwmD6saNrhujLb5VvDT-Ebtn317pK9fsLKSJoBwzZQyNgLfEWW5Jjk4etfu-ZhNnwCd8vDlONRJqf4xGH30loAF7PkBwQ/s4032/20231107_144656.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-t1Mx5FY9FEbvZ1tRBa1EiAsETIpcB-Z14nDHQkiIuLRqLzmLchlCRvGJTLWjsufo7mE7w38-JS48b5mz48IUoVftOXca5sRiwmD6saNrhujLb5VvDT-Ebtn317pK9fsLKSJoBwzZQyNgLfEWW5Jjk4etfu-ZhNnwCd8vDlONRJqf4xGH30loAF7PkBwQ/w640-h480/20231107_144656.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>So after at least 12,000 miles, it's time for a new hat. The new one's identical to the old one, of course, and with it I plan to embark on plenty of new adventures. I don't have anything planned in specific, but there's always a trip or two in the works. For the foreseeable future, I expect those trips to be vacation-length. I'm applying for jobs at the moment. I'm not exactly sure what the next chapter looks like, but the lesson I learned from the PCT is that God always has another trick up his sleeve, and I can have confidence in him. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-MPeeChtd9VJIN370r6dUMhZXryW3T5wnNyvwXy_SDTXcMvCKTG6UOtFFbQddUSXKRR4X3QimbWtxTe-ZcXkZwi52TQMQZxVEIfAPjNj_i6aDjOs4FlC12vhPqAknrxmP88XXALzuBfRUG_QJPPH9MyS7x98tQRBDVZwgO84O3uoHlmwKNkmuhhn9Ldr/s4032/20230715_100102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-MPeeChtd9VJIN370r6dUMhZXryW3T5wnNyvwXy_SDTXcMvCKTG6UOtFFbQddUSXKRR4X3QimbWtxTe-ZcXkZwi52TQMQZxVEIfAPjNj_i6aDjOs4FlC12vhPqAknrxmP88XXALzuBfRUG_QJPPH9MyS7x98tQRBDVZwgO84O3uoHlmwKNkmuhhn9Ldr/w640-h480/20230715_100102.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NXy-mZY2TF7yEuzjaHDpsN6cvDiY2GUJD_iXghv4eQpQSBJfMjcgBm9Fa8J6rRD0ypiPctRDuXI7xAzLe5_-JNlFpzVotCDYG88U-aqOrEvlPKcmsyM2bldbwENHb2uV_jpKgeqlQa7IKoHxaxO5JpIRhhm9t3BncG30-Vu8gMAncDTIL7gBAPDTyi-s/s4032/20230718_084951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NXy-mZY2TF7yEuzjaHDpsN6cvDiY2GUJD_iXghv4eQpQSBJfMjcgBm9Fa8J6rRD0ypiPctRDuXI7xAzLe5_-JNlFpzVotCDYG88U-aqOrEvlPKcmsyM2bldbwENHb2uV_jpKgeqlQa7IKoHxaxO5JpIRhhm9t3BncG30-Vu8gMAncDTIL7gBAPDTyi-s/w640-h480/20230718_084951.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsm9NtHFKVPrmUYLgeZBu4lngaNlBa_-KJGa7KrFl_-TijAoY6KXZZvYkENPD6oRH_D3ocsTY-PfvUALodcSjh3HoMiIlI016Fves0SG5QKHx_fViLFzWAjveGJSm2JnZBFXC7OXURiF6mrfwg-dQQh_-m-x1X9EMsXozSWlgayqWMbsVw1_T_jILl4R7l/s4032/20230917_111250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsm9NtHFKVPrmUYLgeZBu4lngaNlBa_-KJGa7KrFl_-TijAoY6KXZZvYkENPD6oRH_D3ocsTY-PfvUALodcSjh3HoMiIlI016Fves0SG5QKHx_fViLFzWAjveGJSm2JnZBFXC7OXURiF6mrfwg-dQQh_-m-x1X9EMsXozSWlgayqWMbsVw1_T_jILl4R7l/w640-h480/20230917_111250.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-11306725110955221512023-11-07T10:00:00.001-07:002023-11-07T10:21:07.977-07:00Confessions of an Novice Packrafter<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TPI_SKGpCCAgBoJ6-KkvHpjSDWAxkWrOsYaYbHqR1XgIW4kfFwSaBjB0VtjxD0eQJQf2r6as_TgsuE4QEY9NK8p5Xl-yvuSH6C0GM03yWa-voZrT6hNr50n2FNcbVFZIvr8niqcL_KaqweBhZZnGICn15Y2pTUT-s7ET2nX8GnIR40oP9sgdNV4B_hN4/s4032/20231105_101953.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TPI_SKGpCCAgBoJ6-KkvHpjSDWAxkWrOsYaYbHqR1XgIW4kfFwSaBjB0VtjxD0eQJQf2r6as_TgsuE4QEY9NK8p5Xl-yvuSH6C0GM03yWa-voZrT6hNr50n2FNcbVFZIvr8niqcL_KaqweBhZZnGICn15Y2pTUT-s7ET2nX8GnIR40oP9sgdNV4B_hN4/w640-h480/20231105_101953.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Of the four seasons, fall is perhaps the most transitory. Sure, nausea-inducing Pumpkin Spice Season drags on forever, but the actual epoch of colorful leaves only lasts a couple weeks. Two weeks ago, the colors were at their peak in Michigan. One week later, all those leaves had fallen, whereupon I spent some quality time bonding with the leaf blower. So when a beautiful weather window presented itself this weekend, I knew I'd have to head south to catch the last vestiges of color. <br /><p></p><p>Indiana has exactly one Wilderness area, the <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/Internet/FSE_DOCUMENTS/fsbdev3_017286.pdf"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Charles C. Deam Wilderness</span></a> near Bloomington. A series of steep hills and incised ravines cut through the landscape, all bordered to the north by a large reservoir. Speaking of water though, I found relatively little of it. Every time I dipped down into a hollow, I'd find a mostly-dry stream bed, sometimes punctuated by a couple pools of tannic water. Spelunkers love the Swiss cheese limestone bedrock of Kentucky and southern Indiana. But for backpackers, it's a bit annoying that streams appear and disappear seemingly at random. Karst topography makes for an unpredictable water situation.</p><p></p><p>At any rate, the Deam features a well-developed trail network. I strung together several of these trails into a 30-mile loop. Given that a couple of the trails dead-ended at different points along the Lake Monroe shoreline, I couldn't resist the opportunity to take my new packraft out for a spin.</p><p>Packraft? Yes indeed. A compact, inflatable boat designed to be carried in a backpack. Including a paddle and life jacket, the whole kit weighs about 6 pounds. I primarily plan to use it in order to explore tough-to-access landscapes. Oftentimes in southern Utah, I hike from the top of a canyon down to where it empties into one of the Colorado Plateau's major rivers. Without a packraft, I have no choice but to return the way I came. With a packraft however, I can float down the river and the journey can continue. Rivers and lakes, once obstacles to forward progress, suddenly become conduits. </p><p>The packraft wasn't the only nicety that I brought on this trip. I toted an isobutane stove, and my trusty pair of $4.36 knockoff Crocs purchased four years ago from Walmart in Las Cruces, NM. I typically forego the stove and camp shoes, but given the long November nights, it made sense to carry a couple extra pounds to be more comfortable in camp.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEn9enyLjes52f_lgLMjpupEptYvsgeDA_JVXykstt7g76kKKclcKOBzd7fDxEAQRjin79fKfRuitWKFVq5sHJN-AL5dIIKM5aRE69rGafb1uCGWT5wSc0uIVG6ZpMK4hMv_CMjgcJ-FNEr_9y8pVE15CuxZevVAo4sLyXpYSW_3nbz-31Mbbxp68wVXoH/s4032/20231104_143421.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEn9enyLjes52f_lgLMjpupEptYvsgeDA_JVXykstt7g76kKKclcKOBzd7fDxEAQRjin79fKfRuitWKFVq5sHJN-AL5dIIKM5aRE69rGafb1uCGWT5wSc0uIVG6ZpMK4hMv_CMjgcJ-FNEr_9y8pVE15CuxZevVAo4sLyXpYSW_3nbz-31Mbbxp68wVXoH/w480-h640/20231104_143421.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><b>Day One</b> <br /><p></p><p>The first day dawned bright and sunny, albeit a bit chilly. I was feeling cozy, and it wasn't until the sun was fully up that I reluctantly emerged from the cocoon in the back of my car. It wasn't entirely clear whether I was actually parked in a designated area or not, and trailhead fee verbiage was unclear, so I chucked a long-expired America The Beautiful pass on my dashboard and hoped for the best. </p><p>I crunched my way through the forest as sun began to filter through the oaks and sycamores. Oak has a tendency to underwhelm; its leaves often go directly from green to brown, or at best sport a sickly maroon twinge for a few days. The sycamores were a bit more impressive. Several were yellow - perhaps not the brilliant yellow of an aspen or cottonwood, but delightful all the same. A couple trees stood out with a bit more orangey coloration. There would be crimson maples on this trip, sadly. </p><p>I did appreciate, however, the sounds of fall. Either the region has been quite dry recently, or else someone's been curating the forest floor for maximal crunchiness. Even while walking right on the trail, I was trudging through several inches of freshly fallen, crispy leaves in a delightful cacophany that practically screams "autumn". I pitied the deer around here; there'd be no sneaking away from hunters. On the other hand, neither could the hunters move without themselves creating a racket. <i>Mutually Assured Decibels</i>, I grinned to myself. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4ehf30bYPUqIUPhkayLP_eGk5NG_mv-kHe1HlGIdUSiOJkUwGLDB06YCltkP24r2Tep2fQZb36KGCEqvT37U-m42My5YRR2eM5PqcDbOL04huDmmVT5IEDiFf11sAZI66F3FKQGDin7JQTnDVmHMjOC1HX2im1uOciPFgA-ZPNnQcqoiJoQGV6kaD-GK/s4032/20231104_102157.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4ehf30bYPUqIUPhkayLP_eGk5NG_mv-kHe1HlGIdUSiOJkUwGLDB06YCltkP24r2Tep2fQZb36KGCEqvT37U-m42My5YRR2eM5PqcDbOL04huDmmVT5IEDiFf11sAZI66F3FKQGDin7JQTnDVmHMjOC1HX2im1uOciPFgA-ZPNnQcqoiJoQGV6kaD-GK/w640-h480/20231104_102157.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I wound my way down a series of switchbacks into a ravine. To my surprise, I found no flowing water, just a small puddle. I wouldn't find any flow in the next hollow either. In fact, I didn't see any flowing streams for the entirety of my three days in the Deam. Karst strikes again! I found puddles in several ravines, but much of the water has been discolored by tannins. It looked like iced tea, but generally tasted fine. After years of drinking from desert cow-poop sources, my "acceptable water" standard is pretty low, but pickier backpackers might have grimaced. <p></p><p>The little-used trail wound its way over a series of ridges. I gained and lost a surprising amount of elevation. Though the hills weren't huge, the trail always seemed to be climbing or descending. It was well-graded and pleasant though, with a few switchbacks when the terrain demanded it. I met a couple horsepackers and fellow weekend backpackers along the way, but the trail was mostly quiet until I reached the fire tower.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOq2937djsZ9Dkj1hABwEcPbv7qGDAFj8279tvIwF35FqGn0lEGW30qKVtggTw18jjLGTe-m3s5GLsi_bXLQeIG6mjF3iPP3AZUwXK7c5KeVZM2zwvSk9RJ_4EXrwATrtBeLvucjsat1fIt_Xd_hQi4aCCXpQC9OtC9ID6_Xg7FxszXVBLAOpXzGTAg6d0/s4032/20231104_142653.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOq2937djsZ9Dkj1hABwEcPbv7qGDAFj8279tvIwF35FqGn0lEGW30qKVtggTw18jjLGTe-m3s5GLsi_bXLQeIG6mjF3iPP3AZUwXK7c5KeVZM2zwvSk9RJ_4EXrwATrtBeLvucjsat1fIt_Xd_hQi4aCCXpQC9OtC9ID6_Xg7FxszXVBLAOpXzGTAg6d0/w640-h480/20231104_142653.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Fire towers are always a crowd-pleaser, particularly when they're easily accessible. A dirt road bisects the Wilderness to allow access to the fire tower. When I got there, the parking lot was full, yet I had a few quiet minutes between groups at the top of the tower. It's the only remaining fire tower left in the Hoosier National Forest. Nationally, the few that still exist are often locked and sealed with barbed wire, so getting to look out over the forest on a sunny day was a real treat.</p><p>Eventually, it was time to leave the crowds and return to the comfort of the woods. I dropped down a series of switchbacks on a hiking-only trail. I paused to water up in a random puddle before making the climb back up to the ridgetop where I made camp.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRctP-o6AHMPyQRbGh7nUzVdpHV2XWfQjB40IoDXGT9ajhtqPH2eHmdoqJaejlhgc0lbEtCFRZgg-r-aEAaUOIPOEnFcWUk4zTlU6UsOrfzZpAZNaNEW57vZLVqgwhBqmoVD9uy3dRfTJcX6qog_l9uzCaIRsnuyHv7R2TP9LD-bt5pQ-Q000ZnBdeA9g/s4032/20231104_172204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRctP-o6AHMPyQRbGh7nUzVdpHV2XWfQjB40IoDXGT9ajhtqPH2eHmdoqJaejlhgc0lbEtCFRZgg-r-aEAaUOIPOEnFcWUk4zTlU6UsOrfzZpAZNaNEW57vZLVqgwhBqmoVD9uy3dRfTJcX6qog_l9uzCaIRsnuyHv7R2TP9LD-bt5pQ-Q000ZnBdeA9g/w640-h480/20231104_172204.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>Day Two</b><p></p><p>I woke up almost giddy. After a pot of hot chocolate, I made quick work of the few miles down a spur trail that led to the shoreline of Lake Monroe. There, I inflated my packraft and tiptoed around the deep, gloppy muck that rings the reservoir. I flopped into my boat with all the grace and dignity of a beached seal and paddled out a few hundred yards into the lake... and only then realized I'd left my trekking poles on shore. Sigh. Time to retrace my steps.<br /></p><p>To make matters worse, I couldn't find the exact path that I'd used to avoid the calf-sucking mud the first time around, and got deeply, hilariously mired as soon as I got out of the raft. I hoped there was nobody watching from shore, as I was train-wrecking real hard. Each footstep was followed by thirty seconds of squelching as I attempted to extract my Croc from the mud. I had to retreat to the boat and paddle up and down the shoreline, probing different spots, before I finally found one that wasn't too squishy. Chastened, I grabbed the poles, slunk back to my packraft and set sail again. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZ8KyA05riSqRCUCRcZ_HEvmuH-3lLLVNHtWHHgrztXXuGA-SZEArNEawjbSbkS_Izm28dJcyuwoljYL_E9WumHfwMWO_DfS3HHy-8I231rddUGEL9yDRYDbcN3X_EBIslOPaUZsj52J0GS8HCQMAKGyofOmi8pCmTh7CwH4ayYP9Vja9IwQ_i2j2VLCu/s4032/20231105_120404.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZ8KyA05riSqRCUCRcZ_HEvmuH-3lLLVNHtWHHgrztXXuGA-SZEArNEawjbSbkS_Izm28dJcyuwoljYL_E9WumHfwMWO_DfS3HHy-8I231rddUGEL9yDRYDbcN3X_EBIslOPaUZsj52J0GS8HCQMAKGyofOmi8pCmTh7CwH4ayYP9Vja9IwQ_i2j2VLCu/w640-h480/20231105_120404.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The rest of the rafting segment involved a lot more beauty and a lot less drama. I paddled about 4 miles of flat water across the open lake. Conditions were perfect - glassy-calm, not even the slightest breeze, beautiful sunshine, and no bugs at this time of year. I stopped for a littoral lunch on a convenient piece of driftwood, and continued a short distance to my destination, the end of a prominent peninsula that juts out into the reservoir. The peninsula is the most popular area in the Wilderness, and accessing it via the water, rather than the trail felt sneaky and fun. I set up an early camp on the tip of the peninsula, surrounded by cypress knees. I paddled around the shoreline for a while, experimenting with my boat to see how it handles, and generally romped around. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8Gr8bHPEx1u7PciwvSkO6auafcgknKVJ2TZSXwWNNW9lKetwikrLBfOhnzUODwSkQfkTuIxYDIpUPdOWpzyUC02b2CA6ahtBiAhBRkDkK-dovFrAZby2L71JSxsv7Q-RSF9PUGW5b5Or3v4Ly6IylUvfALm2B_prjO95E3DCuNOpsmxke6PSQ_IWhyV2/s4032/20231105_171457.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8Gr8bHPEx1u7PciwvSkO6auafcgknKVJ2TZSXwWNNW9lKetwikrLBfOhnzUODwSkQfkTuIxYDIpUPdOWpzyUC02b2CA6ahtBiAhBRkDkK-dovFrAZby2L71JSxsv7Q-RSF9PUGW5b5Or3v4Ly6IylUvfALm2B_prjO95E3DCuNOpsmxke6PSQ_IWhyV2/w640-h480/20231105_171457.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I quit a bit early that day. I'd managed to drip quite a bit of water on everything (a consequence of splashy, inefficient paddle strokes) and I wanted to dry everything off before the sun got too low in the western horizon. I practiced deploying and stowing my boat a few times to work out the kinks and build muscle memory. <br /><p></p><p>Dinner that evening was another stove affair - coucous with tuna, if you care to know. The wind was still calm and I caught a decent sunrise over the lake. Today was the first day of Standard Time, and sunset at 5:30pm reminded me of the doldrums to come. I gulped hot chocolate and nestled into my quilt for the night. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpAy7P92yoEr8SdkMzdEUt6jnCuk_m-391qVYUkTWNATaVRhoiIMDpq60n0hPM80FjrM38R97OsbRr-cw3SWYmmtLxkBJASiB-qfyGegF3Ew5O3sCTJxtx7ZtQrmwatg1iqveF9Rhy_HUFNkubtvOee9W78UNzFa-bvK22Ys-uJ_sK93kmk7Bm81W_Nyx2/s4032/20231105_174853.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpAy7P92yoEr8SdkMzdEUt6jnCuk_m-391qVYUkTWNATaVRhoiIMDpq60n0hPM80FjrM38R97OsbRr-cw3SWYmmtLxkBJASiB-qfyGegF3Ew5O3sCTJxtx7ZtQrmwatg1iqveF9Rhy_HUFNkubtvOee9W78UNzFa-bvK22Ys-uJ_sK93kmk7Bm81W_Nyx2/w640-h480/20231105_174853.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><b>Day Three<br /></b></p><p>The slightest of breezes was beginning to kick up when I awoke. I knew a front was moving in later in the day, so I got up early and kept moving to stay ahead of it. I followed the famous Peninsula Trail to where it connected with the rest of the trail network, then turned off on a seldom-used, quasi-abandoned trail back to my car. A couple nice ridgetop views, a few dozen blowdowns, and one particularly brilliant sycamore later, I found myself at my car - thankfully not towed, ticketed, or totaled. Small victories, right?<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTug7q6_O40IOa5pgZcFrv7436XKsU9cZ7AQ9Je_FNLNYKPqQKLZtrKymDPR-zpUYMCDr4Z6dTXsAlbgA0C_W0ygMWpKg85kQ1kNnJ8wKFpoiBzHKFg6MxQERGukRwXT2jxATMp6QeOHsuKXVuhyHx9_jSnW3DEW89YedhhDZUaREY715BduWe1sRgKTjM/s4032/20231106_101023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTug7q6_O40IOa5pgZcFrv7436XKsU9cZ7AQ9Je_FNLNYKPqQKLZtrKymDPR-zpUYMCDr4Z6dTXsAlbgA0C_W0ygMWpKg85kQ1kNnJ8wKFpoiBzHKFg6MxQERGukRwXT2jxATMp6QeOHsuKXVuhyHx9_jSnW3DEW89YedhhDZUaREY715BduWe1sRgKTjM/w640-h480/20231106_101023.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>Overall</b><p></p><p>I'm far from an expert on Indiana, but there seems to be a consensus that the Deam Wilderness is some of the best backpacking in the state, perhaps <i>the</i> best. I understand why. There's some interesting topography, a fire tower, a lake, even a few geodes to be found. Using a packraft really jazzed up the trip. I'm solidly in the "bumbling idiot" phase of the learning curve, but truth be told, I'm enjoying the process. I'm having fun picking up a new skill, especially one that will help expand my range of future trip possibilities.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjla8pKD6HZBK27SmTfVj4L85dxQ2NRh3PXBQ254mNtyoxCHMDhIDPmsmFROHAU2eGg-HeUuD4WiOSIJj2SCPsb-zUrQU84yr8UHw8pScZaPvvkM5RZtqWlGRFHkMTApMhwgYH4i-keAxoJYQoGKl9PAPr3gEPtuD4_CyyioUlLOeZGQBBvOaLGll57nhk5/s4032/20231104_142529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjla8pKD6HZBK27SmTfVj4L85dxQ2NRh3PXBQ254mNtyoxCHMDhIDPmsmFROHAU2eGg-HeUuD4WiOSIJj2SCPsb-zUrQU84yr8UHw8pScZaPvvkM5RZtqWlGRFHkMTApMhwgYH4i-keAxoJYQoGKl9PAPr3gEPtuD4_CyyioUlLOeZGQBBvOaLGll57nhk5/w640-h480/20231104_142529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yXwhRGkBT4tqD8LNigilRym7_AkObSTEUrHMzF7Il351wGIPVu5ridNC8QWB6fL2RICfHERWTaBJicEaW7IP_3Z46eHZkYLZ22Vp8lCUmhYez_gpsw-f01_bGkVsmbT2G2eS8hccxGuT_fawp_uJ02OFb57LO1XqATsTlhyphenhyphenfp8iTVLzCinmRtwnjZUcF/s4032/20231104_114308.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yXwhRGkBT4tqD8LNigilRym7_AkObSTEUrHMzF7Il351wGIPVu5ridNC8QWB6fL2RICfHERWTaBJicEaW7IP_3Z46eHZkYLZ22Vp8lCUmhYez_gpsw-f01_bGkVsmbT2G2eS8hccxGuT_fawp_uJ02OFb57LO1XqATsTlhyphenhyphenfp8iTVLzCinmRtwnjZUcF/w640-h480/20231104_114308.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJrhq-89iaSd2J1fTSlhhSsaNOi_PJjVAM535FbnxgI0dRMoFUyC-zlU9iBTyn8Zvy0RAVXjMeNH6QlWdF0YYcbufbyc7hQDtfrNwjmnTNY7C6M3RGFuQ9B0ped5nAsAOrsVjd9XHXMakTPxpOGc4QPFlt5IdJa1KMrKM0BLK1LEfFHlmbQyk1999UN_1/s4032/20231105_134527.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJrhq-89iaSd2J1fTSlhhSsaNOi_PJjVAM535FbnxgI0dRMoFUyC-zlU9iBTyn8Zvy0RAVXjMeNH6QlWdF0YYcbufbyc7hQDtfrNwjmnTNY7C6M3RGFuQ9B0ped5nAsAOrsVjd9XHXMakTPxpOGc4QPFlt5IdJa1KMrKM0BLK1LEfFHlmbQyk1999UN_1/w640-h480/20231105_134527.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-42531280704217462642023-10-14T08:20:00.000-06:002023-10-14T08:20:46.504-06:00PCT Part 4: Mt Shasta to Kennedy Meadows<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFaMY1TQ8rf1RM251zPZTrBd6zfTOc5gc7ZeKXUbji6SsDk-DyQnFb38J4AEeSxcV7r8Tw0FLOYyB9jmrkM_oJ30LThzIvM3chi_ShFfqWZD0UTC98UHVIxYQuA4UBSe0TFiEBRdubQC9gtf31PwhRXIs9xjyphfrVlUCfjmGFNVF2e9p5sHNaxveWOPS/s4032/20230926_175945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFaMY1TQ8rf1RM251zPZTrBd6zfTOc5gc7ZeKXUbji6SsDk-DyQnFb38J4AEeSxcV7r8Tw0FLOYyB9jmrkM_oJ30LThzIvM3chi_ShFfqWZD0UTC98UHVIxYQuA4UBSe0TFiEBRdubQC9gtf31PwhRXIs9xjyphfrVlUCfjmGFNVF2e9p5sHNaxveWOPS/w640-h480/20230926_175945.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />For ten years, the Pacific Crest Trail seemed to be a sort <span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u><a href="https://iep.utm.edu/zenos-paradoxes/#:~:text=Zeno%27s%20paradoxes%20of%20motion%20are,on%20all%20kinds%20of%20plurality.">Zeno's Paradox</a></u></span>. It was something to look at from afar, or to tease on my blog, or to approach asymptotically. Actually <i>hiking </i>it seemed always slightly beyond the horizon. Apparently though, change is not an illusion, because I've completed the Pacific Crest Trail. Enough philosophical rumination though; let's get into the guts of the thing.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7nKWcccOJ2ktD2fLOF5Y-r3j77LZbZO-gcTVoD_dvX309-TFsyQQD8c152tIVeJF4BrYgqZGTbsx9ZGItPaQLoDFewjPxwxIaQDqyL42LWXJuMYgQQdx7ADUMsZFUEKZ2DBEyQiKmP756tvZYkThYOHWeajd_rKQqcy_PTMU7jmNQsD85RG97MpPAlOk/s4032/20230826_074741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7nKWcccOJ2ktD2fLOF5Y-r3j77LZbZO-gcTVoD_dvX309-TFsyQQD8c152tIVeJF4BrYgqZGTbsx9ZGItPaQLoDFewjPxwxIaQDqyL42LWXJuMYgQQdx7ADUMsZFUEKZ2DBEyQiKmP756tvZYkThYOHWeajd_rKQqcy_PTMU7jmNQsD85RG97MpPAlOk/w640-h480/20230826_074741.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>Merely Treading Water</b><br /><p></p><p>On any long hike, there's a period of.. I dunno, let's call it malaise. Such was my experience through much of north-central California. It wasn't one thing in particular, but rather a confluence of factors. For starters, I walked through hundreds of miles of burn area. The entire PCT through Lassen National Park was a smoking crater of charcoal and despair. I hitchhiked into Quincy with a formerly-retired gentleman who'd lost <i>everything</i> - all his earthly possessions - in 2021's disastrous Dixie Fire. He's now back to work at a local campground, trying to make ends meet. I suspect his heartbreaking story will repeat itself more and more as the West gets warmer and drier.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFKPj8eHScjZ2bw4hbl2RDvd4DtYi9YiVtNLqaLq7Tz5vmpxYZxfPnKydvB_auA5f6In34R4zIAgYlu9xkDxb2a0l1ZNWV0ipQZQGX9MsAoPG7Y2GguRZrMcGhgBDqTHlH1nDmPd581usNZFSvnqDLHCLuN6VfhUpjLEUraAGZShM5O17K-MXBaUAIYW1/s4032/20230829_083507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFKPj8eHScjZ2bw4hbl2RDvd4DtYi9YiVtNLqaLq7Tz5vmpxYZxfPnKydvB_auA5f6In34R4zIAgYlu9xkDxb2a0l1ZNWV0ipQZQGX9MsAoPG7Y2GguRZrMcGhgBDqTHlH1nDmPd581usNZFSvnqDLHCLuN6VfhUpjLEUraAGZShM5O17K-MXBaUAIYW1/w640-h480/20230829_083507.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />After the burn areas came the rain. A couple weeks earlier, I
had jettisoned my tent and rain gear in favor of my lighter poncho-tarp.
This decision was based on research into seasonal climate averages,
and was in fact a sound decision. Unfortunately, the weather around the
end of August was unseasonably cold and wet. A hypothermia-inducing three day rainstorm took its toll on my morale. I
picked up a shoddy polka-dotted umbrella for eight dollars
at a Dollar General, which gave me an additional layer of protection from the deluge. Still, there are few things in the world more viscerally unpleasant than walking through 38-degree rain - fingers numb blocks of concrete - for hours on end. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr4FuRqWsx59JGB1bA1Fw60w4qJm35nYmq9pNRXTSUC1UqHKuH415L2uGAHwCVWRV926sxnhSxBuDoHeXxVZKgxutHtZhXHjcwUAtGRUi7ZEitbfXIKfA4VkrgDnIK9AmfklsHbG9br68e6P1dL438Xsg7TjHH4jNqeEn84Wi4osWd-KFb-y3ILOoX0hyphenhyphent/s4032/20230903_190132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr4FuRqWsx59JGB1bA1Fw60w4qJm35nYmq9pNRXTSUC1UqHKuH415L2uGAHwCVWRV926sxnhSxBuDoHeXxVZKgxutHtZhXHjcwUAtGRUi7ZEitbfXIKfA4VkrgDnIK9AmfklsHbG9br68e6P1dL438Xsg7TjHH4jNqeEn84Wi4osWd-KFb-y3ILOoX0hyphenhyphent/w640-h480/20230903_190132.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>After the rain came the postal misadventures. I bought a bunch of food in Chester, CA and mailed it ahead to the thinly-stocked town of Sierra City. Imagine my surprise, then, when the box showed up not at the Sierra City post office, but at my return-address in Michigan! I ended up cobbling a meager and pricey resupply in Sierra City, consisting mostly of peanut butter and potato chips. </p><p></p><p>After the postal misadventures came the Toe Thing. My left big toe started complaining. This isn't unusual on a thru-hike; generally there's at least one painful/annoying/freaky thing happening with my feet at any given time. Turns out the Lord doesn't warranty us for 15,000+ miles of backcountry hiking! Usually I just power through, and it goes away on its own after a couple days/weeks. But this Toe Thing just kept getting worse, despite diligent daily applications of Neosporin and chutzpah. Finally, I caved and visited a clinic in the Lake Tahoe area, where I was diagnosed with an infected, ingrown toenail. A photo appears below.</p><p>Nah, just kidding. </p><p>Anyhoo, the doctor sliced and diced my toenail, and told me to stay off it for a <i>week </i>while things healed up. Ha! Fat chance. But I did phone my good pal Blue Moon, who lives in Reno. He graciously accommodated my stinky self at his house for four days. It wasn't a full week, but I was getting antsy. I also swapped out my fast-and-light Northern California gear for more burly cold-weather gear as I prepared to enter the final stage of my journey, the Sierra Nevada.</p><p>Refreshed after after my time off, but still missing my mojo, I headed south from Tahoe toward my next stop at Sonora Pass.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGU2WTA8kn63ihfybT9x2BYf1hx-p1xs0c4KVyzigXegfMtBCLHcD4ifoLtlx97E1LE_aPuw9IKxDuIYdIFuWkVa63iUYhW1_BBhBMC2o1p2Kvu0SWCh9ZVpXGHDIFFduQV_ZqEdRbJQBxpUUOL7ObBnz62NlDogIBKY7R8paPAoAFPFx1OvbE0zXDjriY/s4032/20230919_103018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGU2WTA8kn63ihfybT9x2BYf1hx-p1xs0c4KVyzigXegfMtBCLHcD4ifoLtlx97E1LE_aPuw9IKxDuIYdIFuWkVa63iUYhW1_BBhBMC2o1p2Kvu0SWCh9ZVpXGHDIFFduQV_ZqEdRbJQBxpUUOL7ObBnz62NlDogIBKY7R8paPAoAFPFx1OvbE0zXDjriY/w640-h480/20230919_103018.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>A Turning Point</b><br /><p></p><p>A few weeks earlier, I'd chatted with my older sister on the phone. Off-hand, I mentioned how much I was missing certain tastes of home - chief among them, steaks from the world's foremost grillmaster, my brother-in-law Josh.</p><p>Remember that Sierra City box that ended up in the wrong state? Well, I asked my family to forward it to me at Sonora Pass instead. And when it showed up, it contained not just my usual Teddy Grahams, crushed Doritos, and Peanut M&Ms, but a gallon Zip-lok full of Josh's grilled steaks. The admittedly risky food-storage practices amused and/or horrified all the hikers around me at the time (bets were placed on the odds of me puking my brains out), but I can testify that <i>nothing </i>in the world has ever tasted better than room-temperature meat out of a plastic bag. And I didn't puke my brains out, so that's a plus. <br /></p><p>It's funny how something as simple as a steak can completely change the course of an entire month. Coming into Sonora Pass, something seemed... off. The hike over the last couple weeks had proven itself to be a slog. But by time I left Sonora Pass, the script had flipped completely. A taste of home and a little dose of family had re-energized me for the final stretch. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8wOaSfYbNGqplOPA16Iaau8aKNDFzMk5R5hyphenhyphen-IwnpAOUUKccCSkI13KE7SlDGPjsKau8cgG3V3xo57H7mr7wDS2T6OeZaHqFKMo5wJkvgZx8656RC4O8Ym62elKZN5WPKvV_krsVPhwCAo3CkubiC_r7ghJ1TEJ8IvPaxI0DWIePmCew3ufdBhlhEssi/s4032/20230918_161100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8wOaSfYbNGqplOPA16Iaau8aKNDFzMk5R5hyphenhyphen-IwnpAOUUKccCSkI13KE7SlDGPjsKau8cgG3V3xo57H7mr7wDS2T6OeZaHqFKMo5wJkvgZx8656RC4O8Ym62elKZN5WPKvV_krsVPhwCAo3CkubiC_r7ghJ1TEJ8IvPaxI0DWIePmCew3ufdBhlhEssi/w480-h640/20230918_161100.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p><b>The Sierra Immersion Project</b></p><p>I'd saved the best for last. One key benefit of a flip-flop itinerary was finishing the Triple Crown with the crown jewel of the PCT - the Sierra Nevada.</p><p>From the moment we set foot on trail, PCT southbounders race winter. I started my southbound leg on July 7, and had less than three months to hike nearly 2,000 miles. Once October rolls around, the probability of a season-ending snowstorm in the Sierra increases dramatically. I resolved to get through the Sierra by the end of September.</p><p>My Sierra strategy, therefore, was based on three key considerations:</p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>The inexorable march of the seasons. Winter was already on its way.<br /></li><li>Logistical concerns. Most key resupply points in the Sierra had already shut down for the season.<br /></li><li>Aesthetic preferences. I wanted the culmination of my PCT and Triple Crown experience to be a true wilderness immersion. <br /></li></ol><p>In the final 320 miles of my PCT journey, I crossed only one road (in Yosemite National Park), and the final 240 miles were entirely roadless - a contiguous bloc of designated Wilderness almost unrivaled in the lower 48. Although the Sierra is at best Wilderness Lite (I saw multiple groups of people every day because it's California), the unspoiled terrain brought back fond memories of some of my other favorite wild places - the Greater Yellowstone, central Idaho, the Escalante, etc. </p><p>In this spirit of wilderness immersion, I opted to do a pair of long food carries - 6 and 8 days respectively - and resupplied by boat ferry at an isolated, off-grid lake resort in the mountains. As much as I enjoy plentiful town food and broadband, dipping back into the city wasn't how I wanted to finish my Triple Crown. Normally the length of those food carries wouldn't be notable, but I had to cram all my food into a bear canister, which is required equipment in the Sierra. I ended up packing and repacking that bear can endlessly, trying to be as efficient as possible with the space. Finally, I ended up doing CPR on my food, smashing everything to smithereens in order to wedge a few more Kit-Kat bars in the top. Altogether, the full bear can weighed at least 20 pounds. To make matters worse, the bear can didn't really fit comfortably inside my pack without awkwardly pressing on my spine, so I had to strap it to the top of my pack. I spent the next several days teetering with that inverted pendulum knocking me off-balance with irritating regularity. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOBGj4mtYtE8vnOx-xvBqzGxOXbRRkFu-CR3AxogJnINfxccxekIYI7YKI7fwhyphenhyphenCR8386BfTXA_4nb5qM-dkK5el6fTig379qdOQ4imlPF8-JHLvJqwHHwBtbyLssuFLPqidXwXd6KS9EtlYIESPqy8OFM5s5mKJovI7ogfH4wZm2BACv25yiHUkYPhr7/s4032/20230924_165959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOBGj4mtYtE8vnOx-xvBqzGxOXbRRkFu-CR3AxogJnINfxccxekIYI7YKI7fwhyphenhyphenCR8386BfTXA_4nb5qM-dkK5el6fTig379qdOQ4imlPF8-JHLvJqwHHwBtbyLssuFLPqidXwXd6KS9EtlYIESPqy8OFM5s5mKJovI7ogfH4wZm2BACv25yiHUkYPhr7/w640-h480/20230924_165959.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>Coming Full-circle</b> <br /><p></p><p>In the core of the high Sierra, thru-hikers have eight major passes to climb, ranging from 11,000-13,000 feet in elevation. These passes are by far the most physically difficult feature on the PCT - especially with all that food weight on my back. But it was hard to complain too bitterly; this was the Platonic ideal of high country, with gorgeous blue lakes, granite walls, and even a few lingering wildflowers that hadn't gotten the autumn memo yet. During my week crossing these passes, I saw not a single cloud. Brilliant blue skies reigned. Although it was chilly (I wore everything I owned for about eighteen hours per day), the weather held up perfectly. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0bQJNCHXTbW6kjNXnsuvTX5lxrInO9FXsFhFw2ipiGkYfLydBVhaKnAHPQvf-O8PapJqPnmLfejuYY_3nAwxlJv6VTPbTjUB1yK868mz22sbYZM_B_TDGyf75ACVDyRavZLuT9wJ51WMDX2r3vK4VI9efyt7UjyB9TOgkiio-JIS-KdSZk4Bogx7fsB3/s4032/20230928_184704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0bQJNCHXTbW6kjNXnsuvTX5lxrInO9FXsFhFw2ipiGkYfLydBVhaKnAHPQvf-O8PapJqPnmLfejuYY_3nAwxlJv6VTPbTjUB1yK868mz22sbYZM_B_TDGyf75ACVDyRavZLuT9wJ51WMDX2r3vK4VI9efyt7UjyB9TOgkiio-JIS-KdSZk4Bogx7fsB3/w640-h480/20230928_184704.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Atop the last pass (Forester Pass, the PCT's highest point), I heard a rumor of an approaching snowstorm. A backcountry ranger corroborated the forecast a couple hours later, and it became clear that my extra day of food was going to be used for weather delays, rather than a side trip to Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48. On two consecutive days, I stopped early in order to camp as low as possible (just under 10,000 feet). At that elevation, about four inches of snow fell, though storm intensity certainly increased exponentially with elevation. <p></p><p>Truth be told, I rather enjoyed the snow. It was a perfect bookend to my AT hike ten years ago, where I dealt with seemingly-continuous snow and cold for the first month of the trail. A decade of experience hence, the weather gave me a chance to reflect on my growth as an outdoorsman and, more importantly, the faithfulness of God through the years.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYI3uA06bzr1zi9Zao5eGmzuUgt3rn2aMR3xDvGgIA3dsrJDxWrWxR__6Y9IyzzPUy6uRUqco5jKxUwZ4BNn5Z_vMeIrZbPEQdlDVmTlTUYSgPiV00wGRL6BX1C0AthF-7HsUD2jyMgwMJTd6BYWUz5FwhlYmAyUWIjdNquszsqhpPPr2MxUwX8uw9UW4h/s2160/20231002_103141%20crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1563" data-original-width="2160" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYI3uA06bzr1zi9Zao5eGmzuUgt3rn2aMR3xDvGgIA3dsrJDxWrWxR__6Y9IyzzPUy6uRUqco5jKxUwZ4BNn5Z_vMeIrZbPEQdlDVmTlTUYSgPiV00wGRL6BX1C0AthF-7HsUD2jyMgwMJTd6BYWUz5FwhlYmAyUWIjdNquszsqhpPPr2MxUwX8uw9UW4h/w640-h464/20231002_103141%20crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLc4bnCbRJY0l-eW_y6SxYpHquRduqg0Gc1ToTSLSfDHKRpZYpqFSr-jSAM-SgGpmoXd7gv9IQsN3Tg1gmrtrAKaZ27jAuJo8wL2ZvWmLASO3pvBmFJAXIpetJJgX-L4P4zxyR-5J1RKx8jhgt6PcOV1TIHXrFLdp6pTR7yqc0w0pZZ5vyo-T94r8s1u9k/s4032/20231002_093716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLc4bnCbRJY0l-eW_y6SxYpHquRduqg0Gc1ToTSLSfDHKRpZYpqFSr-jSAM-SgGpmoXd7gv9IQsN3Tg1gmrtrAKaZ27jAuJo8wL2ZvWmLASO3pvBmFJAXIpetJJgX-L4P4zxyR-5J1RKx8jhgt6PcOV1TIHXrFLdp6pTR7yqc0w0pZZ5vyo-T94r8s1u9k/w640-h480/20231002_093716.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I didn't set out to become a Triple Crowner. It just sort of happened. I wish I could say that finishing the PCT at a nondescript road crossing in the sagebrush near Kennedy Meadows was some sort of ecstatic epiphany, but that wouldn't be entirely accurate. In fact, the most remarkable aspect of my PCT finish was the sunshine. I've finished every other thru-hike (even the desert trails) in something between a mist and a deluge. The PCT was warm, sunny, and gave me a chance to savor the journey, if only for a moment.<p></p><p>We'll leave it here for now. I'll probably do a follow-up post about the PCT as a whole and the
Triple Crown; I've got a few themes to weave together still. In the meantime, enjoy the lovely Sierra landscape. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwPbhr9FSm8uKjMm8uvT8zfsqoBYjPe3sGaWTi76thpoIciCgGCui-VSAoaAsAPocJRsB5TsbmZQuwe3Vbk9VsFKbXPb4TKh4St42O_qtjjHsUjOIDMNRql5DUga57gmgT499tj8TYFEK2BHUtEseNPG07oIgrg5U2KY-Tl1NcdvoX4J6BUsae2MMdi0fg/s4032/20230928_092754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwPbhr9FSm8uKjMm8uvT8zfsqoBYjPe3sGaWTi76thpoIciCgGCui-VSAoaAsAPocJRsB5TsbmZQuwe3Vbk9VsFKbXPb4TKh4St42O_qtjjHsUjOIDMNRql5DUga57gmgT499tj8TYFEK2BHUtEseNPG07oIgrg5U2KY-Tl1NcdvoX4J6BUsae2MMdi0fg/w640-h480/20230928_092754.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZF1BdgQUALDkWMuEjluWOGYTcFVf2mT33CiDxYvp5QW2Gq3ltmj2ZkaowzBsh_cipeXPgSpDyyZYtRjUXldgPQXDLGVpBZdJ9F6UQ0bLt8-_Pe4mGa9NoN7FZt_P4t7kAVoDi1-CTU0D2p-SnTI4MibMOYXF7CdFh11p4_KLLM-hp1f5sd7SeWu0DNCHD/s4032/20230925_171305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZF1BdgQUALDkWMuEjluWOGYTcFVf2mT33CiDxYvp5QW2Gq3ltmj2ZkaowzBsh_cipeXPgSpDyyZYtRjUXldgPQXDLGVpBZdJ9F6UQ0bLt8-_Pe4mGa9NoN7FZt_P4t7kAVoDi1-CTU0D2p-SnTI4MibMOYXF7CdFh11p4_KLLM-hp1f5sd7SeWu0DNCHD/w640-h480/20230925_171305.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsccOMUzbl9CPs8g1RMsG7bVE7s59fmuzPqVd4QTmKDaNk09nRm4_INzqISgrnHf5l69XgpI5WT4TH4owxY1V2K77ITPD6R4ObaoU-Rvnq2J0tXwoX4ABCQHR5rHTngxsO30b6v1ISxBJK1P_qhwnTPIwn2qbKc5xnUYKDLXkRSt9gkI3dZqdx7ga6XqGy/s4032/20230924_112301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsccOMUzbl9CPs8g1RMsG7bVE7s59fmuzPqVd4QTmKDaNk09nRm4_INzqISgrnHf5l69XgpI5WT4TH4owxY1V2K77ITPD6R4ObaoU-Rvnq2J0tXwoX4ABCQHR5rHTngxsO30b6v1ISxBJK1P_qhwnTPIwn2qbKc5xnUYKDLXkRSt9gkI3dZqdx7ga6XqGy/w640-h480/20230924_112301.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxtYIm9b9HZnI5nEn0C50AMAsC1VQBp1q3fzMMLpJTYDpVVth-QtNrKBZg72Z4XoUA_1BV9BNAhleEFGth-m6s-FyHAsBmt4tJ9-AkYNXWTNr5xrFC7cXCDci9edaFeQRxYoDz0m6k2xmDg-U1czrdZbmtcfBflqGY6AffwdEij2Syqxdi-Lk3ujmiXkK/s4032/20230929_111250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxtYIm9b9HZnI5nEn0C50AMAsC1VQBp1q3fzMMLpJTYDpVVth-QtNrKBZg72Z4XoUA_1BV9BNAhleEFGth-m6s-FyHAsBmt4tJ9-AkYNXWTNr5xrFC7cXCDci9edaFeQRxYoDz0m6k2xmDg-U1czrdZbmtcfBflqGY6AffwdEij2Syqxdi-Lk3ujmiXkK/w640-h480/20230929_111250.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefrLDaorrFzCY9rDGSpDYk7vVKoDjR_EWpFb2zUAox4FvPla9Bst8J9N72Zz4bhO9g2_JEBF5O27xPSi26E9q8bBq1sv-deiI5v7R243LyXBjj4X3tzt6NkhkNz8CDARcFGfdCWSibYk_FlySz5_Y-JPk3j4z2S8GW7_8K1GLp5JfLbDswO-B3QRYzkw1/s4032/20230929_151246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefrLDaorrFzCY9rDGSpDYk7vVKoDjR_EWpFb2zUAox4FvPla9Bst8J9N72Zz4bhO9g2_JEBF5O27xPSi26E9q8bBq1sv-deiI5v7R243LyXBjj4X3tzt6NkhkNz8CDARcFGfdCWSibYk_FlySz5_Y-JPk3j4z2S8GW7_8K1GLp5JfLbDswO-B3QRYzkw1/w640-h480/20230929_151246.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-86916360867757885002023-08-23T15:34:00.000-06:002023-08-23T15:34:18.364-06:00PCT Part 3: Canada to Mt Shasta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ls5aOR1uWPqzsV9SNPhx3FYwr53pZfcpdBChxe3wnJ9721qAWvAmP2E7uwjeEaENXjFa4GgUCmScIBAbaEsJf-CO60jGzivyzsk0BFhTqB_WlX1KgUQ68orrGXlhhbc85080a-IXREZeby9CacDrfTJiyVQdvD6fqF9UhbWIWBMs4Aw4RzLCi6h2LEnd/s4032/20230726_142624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ls5aOR1uWPqzsV9SNPhx3FYwr53pZfcpdBChxe3wnJ9721qAWvAmP2E7uwjeEaENXjFa4GgUCmScIBAbaEsJf-CO60jGzivyzsk0BFhTqB_WlX1KgUQ68orrGXlhhbc85080a-IXREZeby9CacDrfTJiyVQdvD6fqF9UhbWIWBMs4Aw4RzLCi6h2LEnd/w640-h480/20230726_142624.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Yep, I've gone parts of three states and more than 1,000 miles without updating the blog. I'd apologize, but at this point it should be clear that I always do this on a long hike, and I'm only kind of sorry.</p><p>At any rate, I've still got 15 more miles to hike before dark tonight, so let's jump straight into the highlights:</p><p><b>Washington..</b>. was some of the most beautiful hiking I've ever done. Nearly every day held something particularly striking and beautiful. Lower elevation sections featured immense old-growth trees, the kind that you can only find in the northwest, and brilliant green ferns. Upper elevations held wildflowers and lingering snow patches. While I wouldn't necessarily like the Cascades to be my home base (thick vegetation makes off-trail exploration tedious), visiting the best of this wonderful range was a real treat.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-s3YsT97-Nseq_edfmpGLYfpbRncuabqHK5rGjhDn5Sxyn-rsiU_1KOaVvyIlh-Nw1XUQMMg26Zxx_WwtSXJdoja4xKU2fRu6X6IIjYs8G9HpX4Su--d6YQHhoQwISnQsvZYh8ekCSJNVM8dFOqU-6XETRN5Y1BuAP41LvZSCQ58Q6ZXuryFJbb4jIXO/s4032/20230726_101235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-s3YsT97-Nseq_edfmpGLYfpbRncuabqHK5rGjhDn5Sxyn-rsiU_1KOaVvyIlh-Nw1XUQMMg26Zxx_WwtSXJdoja4xKU2fRu6X6IIjYs8G9HpX4Su--d6YQHhoQwISnQsvZYh8ekCSJNVM8dFOqU-6XETRN5Y1BuAP41LvZSCQ58Q6ZXuryFJbb4jIXO/w640-h480/20230726_101235.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><b>Oregon... </b>was a mixed bag. Certain parts were magical: the Three Sisters Wilderness, the bizarre and amazing Tunnel Falls (reminiscent of the behind-the-waterfall shortcut in Mario Kart 64), and of course the incomparable Crater Lake. But in truth, I was a little underwhelmed by the PCT's routing through Oregon. It seemed like at least a quarter of the trail through the state was burn area - sometimes a fresh, lunar-surface char, sometimes a decades-old burn that now resembles a Christmas tree farm. Either way, those miles offered little in the way of shade or scenic value. A friend assures me that (much like the CDT through the Greater Yellowstone), Oregon holds lots of promise, and the PCT fails to visit most of the good stuff. Perhaps a third long hike in Oregon awaits me someday!</p><p>To keep my spirits up in Oregon, I did two things. First, I picked up a 7.5" lightweight folding saw and did some impromptu trail work. The PCT is generally pretty well-maintained, but after a few years of Covid and big snow years, there are some areas of annoying blowdowns, particularly in the burn areas. I had to start limiting myself to ten blowdowns a day, otherwise I'd just spend all my time cutting and never make my miles. The saw lasted all of a week before I tried cutting a tree that was right at the limit of the saw's capability... and pinched it, breaking the blade. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. At some point, I'll probably pick up another one. There's a certain degree of reward that comes with helping improve a trail, rather than being just a mere consumer.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFiPxo8j0GzfRFTPVVdFLtp2d4gp4Kfjetu3bAnjjxgNhUrBvu6CvBYLbmmKMqDnILMYe9zB2iEM94P2yq-meld-FK8dkACUEzE3ZeWRbhpxHEiA-Gs6YJ6Wc-K5vnZScPy-lyOTrClE9q39C3Emgx7Q7H06tHRfNku0kCigmMdqP1RA7e_q-hd3FTrMo/s4032/20230813_113356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFiPxo8j0GzfRFTPVVdFLtp2d4gp4Kfjetu3bAnjjxgNhUrBvu6CvBYLbmmKMqDnILMYe9zB2iEM94P2yq-meld-FK8dkACUEzE3ZeWRbhpxHEiA-Gs6YJ6Wc-K5vnZScPy-lyOTrClE9q39C3Emgx7Q7H06tHRfNku0kCigmMdqP1RA7e_q-hd3FTrMo/w640-h480/20230813_113356.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><b>Jinxed It:</b> Second, I made my own route. Congrats to everybody who saw <i>that</i> coming! A day before I reached Ashland, the Forest Service closed more than 100 miles of trail in northern California for fires. To date, I'd hit zero fire closures, which was certainly a rarity. While this closure was obviously a disappointment, it offered me the opportunity to engage the route-creator side of my brain. I mapped a 100+ mile re-route that avoided the fire closures and the worst of the downwind smoke areas. It went through a National Monument, two National Forests, and one BLM-managed Wilderness area. It was pretty quick-and-dirty, and at one point an unexpected private property issue forced me to do an additional 25 unpleasant miles on pavement. But overall, it was fun to escape the tyranny of the Red Line for a little bit. Plus, I connected my footsteps around the fires, which does remain strangely important to me. </p><p><b>Aesop's Thru-Hike: </b>On my first thru-hike, I watched older, more experienced hikers carefully. I found that they spent much less time in town than did the twenty-something crowd. They got up early, never did huge miles, but never took much time off either. Despite the fact that they didn't hike fast, they maintained a good pace over the course of weeks or months, because they were slow-and-steady... the tortoise, rather than the hare, in Aesop's fable.</p><p>I've never been a fast hiker. But I found that I too could maintain the pace necessary to complete a thru-hike if I minimized town time and maximized trail time. On the PCT, I've taken that strategy to its logical extreme. Since starting the southbound leg in early July, I have not taken any days off, and have only hiked fewer than 20 miles on four occasions. As a consequence, I'm on pace to complete the trail before winter hits the High Sierra in a little more than a month. Just as importantly, doing a trail-oriented hike (rather than a town-oriented hike) has offered me the kind of hiking experience I relish. I avoid the drama and chaos that swirls around trail towns, and spend time truly <i>outside. </i></p><p><b>Holding Serve: </b>The foot's been okay with this heavy workload, surprisingly. I ask every day for a fresh helping of God's grace (and sometimes for 'two scoops' on particularly painful mornings), and every day, he delivers. I'm getting a lot of 'yes' right now, and it's pretty clear that I'm supposed to be out here, serving him.</p><p><b>What's Next:</b> There are less than 1,000 miles left in my PCT hike. Already, I'm corresponding with friends and family about logistics for the Sierra, the grand finale of my PCT hike. Next update will hopefully come after I finish.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0BoPFGL8OUJpKYk_Lx2mI1pL8Blu_s9orNZNOfAvqpLmKQr6yCw0lEencp0E4liUmGPaPEGpNxKsQlhEDvU51dinPOagWW0zWKOuBRRM1Wa2kdCh5CWf1A32qPEyIXjuD6p69d8uUrn3x-fvb7J8XjgM4pOFQfHfRtnuyPPkqtJ8yG1-N8ESglJrHsP1/s4032/20230808_105114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0BoPFGL8OUJpKYk_Lx2mI1pL8Blu_s9orNZNOfAvqpLmKQr6yCw0lEencp0E4liUmGPaPEGpNxKsQlhEDvU51dinPOagWW0zWKOuBRRM1Wa2kdCh5CWf1A32qPEyIXjuD6p69d8uUrn3x-fvb7J8XjgM4pOFQfHfRtnuyPPkqtJ8yG1-N8ESglJrHsP1/w640-h480/20230808_105114.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2BA1f9XrXpC1s8x_UbEYDAGOgPId1s8oztar_KJ6vNzNZAv4I-D7o8wukzDtZl3qHW7nX6wlwgrpmLsj8pqcHhMdto5pheZ2Y0F8HIdARPrMlwmhBZGw_xDa6mDyZr7vdASr000WLCzRlUho71Zjm6zvtrjCheTYB0jXb2sb3SMavTXRFJY0A_ijBNB-/s4032/20230807_165853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozJlxj6k8kYnku6ypnbt36LVq08OdWouEp9zNmKldpqrVLJ08FSkgu22e15xKgccGXdpld9-kaSP6J-s7ZaiV7m0GRVHBmn6O6ut1yCi5Ujlw8wfkEJNAkKEOhF9M6fkl_2cq-6vVv0DMRPPdTdHgvHkKqjY0GeYabxzzF_PraOOQHqw7ts1Q9OZXKw/s4032/20230520_054940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozJlxj6k8kYnku6ypnbt36LVq08OdWouEp9zNmKldpqrVLJ08FSkgu22e15xKgccGXdpld9-kaSP6J-s7ZaiV7m0GRVHBmn6O6ut1yCi5Ujlw8wfkEJNAkKEOhF9M6fkl_2cq-6vVv0DMRPPdTdHgvHkKqjY0GeYabxzzF_PraOOQHqw7ts1Q9OZXKw/w640-h480/20230520_054940.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I must confess, I wasn't looking forward to the first 700 miles of the PCT. While I'm certainly a desert enthusiast, I've never been particularly taken with the arid landscapes that the PCT visits in southern California. To be blunt, if you're looking for a desert hike, you can do a lot better than hiking the southern PCT. Sure, it has its nice parts, but the PCT still doesn't hold a candle to desert classics like the Arizona Trail, Hayduke, or Desert Winter Thru-Hike.<br /></p><p>Despite the meh scenery, the first 700 miles of the PCT made for a delightful hiking experience. The trail was smooth and cruisey, the water carries were a snap in this very wet year, and logistics were easy. The trail was rarely resplendent, but I still relished it.</p><p>Adding to the interest this year were the extended sections of snow. San Jacinto was a snowy wonderland with great views and challenging snow conditions. The San Gabriels too were absolutely buried. I carried an ice axe for the majority (400 miles) of the so-called 'desert'. I truly enjoyed the snow miles, as a beautiful and interesting change-of-pace. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUeSVJ9o2-10dnmprLbl0o-HIEwBuEEwGMJlpkmv2UJfaU16QxuwBbdKcGwV59B5OCoh_svLbeaAWdojuBugjOf_UWTN1Z7zwh3J7GeUqXx5uCAJtVwPKMLfMv72YUASQnwqGR6WuB5_VLMG42-jldKX9EUgonCMqqxlQhLZsOBOfIsNsG8-ySxPkcg/s4032/20230427_142215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUeSVJ9o2-10dnmprLbl0o-HIEwBuEEwGMJlpkmv2UJfaU16QxuwBbdKcGwV59B5OCoh_svLbeaAWdojuBugjOf_UWTN1Z7zwh3J7GeUqXx5uCAJtVwPKMLfMv72YUASQnwqGR6WuB5_VLMG42-jldKX9EUgonCMqqxlQhLZsOBOfIsNsG8-ySxPkcg/w640-h480/20230427_142215.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>Adaptation</b><p></p><p>Funny enough, the weather really did not cooperate in the desert. It seemed like whenever I was at high elevation, we had unseasonable cold weather, including rain and snow. Every time I'd drop down to the desert floor, a heat wave would hit southern California. The mercury reached 105 degrees on one occasion. Thankfully, I crossed Mission Creek 31 times that day, constantly wetting my shirt in order to stay cool. </p><p>When I came to the infamous LA Aqueduct section, another heat wave arrived. Nearly everyone opted to hike this section at night, and I was no exception. I teamed up with pals Cruise and Shine to do 19 miles starting at 5pm, following the aqueduct across the Mojave desert floor as the sun set. Around 12:30am, I crawled into a ditch and instantly fell fast asleep. But I was hiking by 5am the next day in order to beat the heat. We did 23 miles by 4pm, having hiked 42 miles in 24 hot and exhausting hours. We caught a great ride into town and made a beeline for the swimming pool. Needless to say, the next day was a well-earned zero day.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMJSt28uOWKFUhyVE8Vx8BwkhasBPAuYPiOGQe8kT9zwH8b7DFs3Kz3DHdN3BKn5q3VBQIZKAEvCaeVk0E9fZdUSMhIoP_-adWaH2eAOTExaT_x-JzS8EB4r65WibGEs5QBvGZZkumvjdVKWykyzjZn6IyVfVX6Fuoh6e4MdwKjfIdD7AdF2WsKisEw/s4032/20230514_171327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMJSt28uOWKFUhyVE8Vx8BwkhasBPAuYPiOGQe8kT9zwH8b7DFs3Kz3DHdN3BKn5q3VBQIZKAEvCaeVk0E9fZdUSMhIoP_-adWaH2eAOTExaT_x-JzS8EB4r65WibGEs5QBvGZZkumvjdVKWykyzjZn6IyVfVX6Fuoh6e4MdwKjfIdD7AdF2WsKisEw/w640-h480/20230514_171327.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />More so than on other trails, I've been pretty aggressive about taking a siesta on the PCT. I generally get up when it's still dark and am hiking shortly after first light. But I take several hours' lunch in the shade, and hike deep into the evening. I figure that I've got 14 hours of daylight to use however I want, and I'd much rather avoid the heat of the day, even if it means getting up earlier and hiking later. It's no wonder why many hot-weather Hispanic cultures embrace the siesta - it's a survival strategy.<p></p><p><b>The Human Factor</b><br /></p><p>When I mentioned to some experienced hiker friends that I was hiking the PCT, they looked at me askance. After all, I typically hike trails that see few (if any) other hikers. Even on more popular trails, I typically roll solo. So it was natural to assume I'd be a fish-out-of-water on the popular PCT. </p><p>To some extent, that's true. Sometimes when I get into town and a large 'trail family' has taken over a laundromat, it's a bit off-putting. But mostly, I've been able to find a surprisingly amount of solitude on the PCT. Most hikers camp exclusively in campsites that are shown on the Guthook PCT . By keeping my eye on the terrain and choosing a site that's not on the map, I'm virtually assured of solitude, not only at night but also during the day, since I'm 'off-schedule', so to speak.<br /></p><p>I've also met my fair share of great people on the PCT. First and foremost are my friends Cruise and Shine, who I met at the border and hiked with on-and-off until mile 650. I was able to congratulate them as they finished their PCT hike there - an accomplishment 13 years and three sections in the making. </p><p>I also ran into my pal Fenway for the third time on three different trails. I didn't even know he was on the PCT until I came around a corner and heard that distinctive northeast accent. The long-distance hiking community is truly unique in that you're never more than two degrees of separation removed from anyone. I constantly ran into friends of friends from other trails. Turns out that ten years of inadvertent 'networking' pays off! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiJtWH3fP9y7OtZwYW_tZL4BUboH05HuTSZWHwl3qmvO6PqC6rZe5arEUMucDjTgTvqaJZyHksg2kmFLkBmjv-4gY670OKqi7lRIEjbFUZzNr7jBOVGdN0PkSuwi_fvsHJ_rKAaTb1BF_vtG4uSormIHYyl9oSCWztMjnqzinjedvR_z5Sm52aeovHPg/s2640/20230512_102319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1980" data-original-width="2640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiJtWH3fP9y7OtZwYW_tZL4BUboH05HuTSZWHwl3qmvO6PqC6rZe5arEUMucDjTgTvqaJZyHksg2kmFLkBmjv-4gY670OKqi7lRIEjbFUZzNr7jBOVGdN0PkSuwi_fvsHJ_rKAaTb1BF_vtG4uSormIHYyl9oSCWztMjnqzinjedvR_z5Sm52aeovHPg/w640-h480/20230512_102319.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>Hard Decisions </b><br /></p><div>I'll spare you the drama: I'm flipping. The Sierra is still blanketed in a record-breaking snowpack, and I frankly don't trust the river crossings during the big melt. Through the hiker grapevine, I've heard of a few groups who've already gone into the Sierra and come out alive, but by my calculus, the river crossings will get <i>worse</i> before they get better over the course of June and July. Long-time readers of this blog will know that I've <span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u><a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/07/grizzly-bear-attack-breakdown.html">cheated death once already</a></u></span> in the backcountry, and frankly to push through the Sierra with this level of objective hazard would violate the sacrosanct <span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u><a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2018/11/the-safety-series-part-2-mom-principle.html">Mom Principle</a></u></span> that I use to keep myself safe in the backcountry. </div><div><br /></div><div>Is it perhaps possible (say, 10-20% chance of success) to hike through the Sierra right now? Perhaps. Could I ever tell my family with a clean conscience about the risks I was taking? Absolutely not. </div><div><br /></div><div>So instead, I'm going southbound (SOBO). Southbound was always my preferred direction to hike the PCT (my 2020 permit was for a SOBO hike), but at the time I obtained my permit last winter, I wasn't confident that my foot could maintain the pace necessary to successfully complete a SOBO. But my foot has pleasantly surprised me, and I'm reasonably confident that I'll be able to pull it off. As an added benefit, this itinerary means I'll be able to finish the PCT - and the Triple Crown - with perhaps the definitive crown jewel of American backpacking - the Sierra Nevada.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Northern Washington is melting quickly. I've got to stand up in my best bud's wedding in early July, and once that's done, it'll be time to turn on the jets. I'll only have three months to hike more than 2,000 miles before the weather window slams shut - an ambitious pace, to say the least. I've overhauled my gear for the first time in a decade in order to drop some additional packweight. In order to minimize town time, I'll prepare and mail myself a lot of resupply boxes ahead of time. A pace like this could perhaps be considered the 'final exam' for the Triple Crown - and Lord willing, I'm ready.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>In the Meantime</b><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Between now and then, I plan to keep my legs by hiking a section of the North Country Trail in northern Michigan while the PCT melts out. Although I grew up in Michigan, I didn't really become an outdoors adventurer until I moved to Utah, and consequently have spent very little time exploring my native state. These few weeks offer me a chance to rectify that oversight. I've swapped out the sub umbrella for bug spray. Let the games begin!<br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_txM1LD8-dG1vkP3qoT1DTGp8-Py5l9i5RX0Gm9D9SIwIOjrEivAjbjebes8FVtm7k1z8atgB06-yyHevYl764zjNfB4WphNOXch1NOjFuWu0SjVi4eKWLbEvJ-1EJz81rAvhDeDsnv_m3uP7wZx8A4qp0zCmvMTgMNeVRcXX-kwpj7nADpkS9fXpJw/s4032/20230521_133801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_txM1LD8-dG1vkP3qoT1DTGp8-Py5l9i5RX0Gm9D9SIwIOjrEivAjbjebes8FVtm7k1z8atgB06-yyHevYl764zjNfB4WphNOXch1NOjFuWu0SjVi4eKWLbEvJ-1EJz81rAvhDeDsnv_m3uP7wZx8A4qp0zCmvMTgMNeVRcXX-kwpj7nADpkS9fXpJw/w640-h480/20230521_133801.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-68918746679295680142023-04-26T14:34:00.000-06:002023-04-26T14:34:19.911-06:00PCT Part 1: Mexico to Idyllwild<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2X2yXS8HzhcvxXDFpEUGSumMp3q-78X7pgDa0TMDFjlEcdbTef5uXgxcs8d8KygTYP_moN9CGqKviCMMERWhu3NPd2Yy2OXOX31bQ9OTQd7uzpk4iZvAIQ3kPDhAqh6Gwuh0oU5AvITgz_bhj2HvOE_lFgsEAWpLIZaMoYZ7uCzbihRegRGsMMFtD-w/s4032/20230425_064713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2X2yXS8HzhcvxXDFpEUGSumMp3q-78X7pgDa0TMDFjlEcdbTef5uXgxcs8d8KygTYP_moN9CGqKviCMMERWhu3NPd2Yy2OXOX31bQ9OTQd7uzpk4iZvAIQ3kPDhAqh6Gwuh0oU5AvITgz_bhj2HvOE_lFgsEAWpLIZaMoYZ7uCzbihRegRGsMMFtD-w/w640-h480/20230425_064713.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>The adventure has begun! I'm about 200 miles deep into the Pacific Crest Trail, fresh off my first "nero" day in a charming little town whose mayor is a golden retriever. I've traversed the first section of snow, and much more is in the future!</p><p><b>Reunion Tour 2023</b></p><p>This spring was a whirlwind. After moving out of my apartment, I criss-crossed the country, visiting family along the way, both nuclear and extended. I did about 60 miles on the Appalachian Trail with my pal Blue Moon, and then about 300 miles on the Arizona Trail, also with Blue Moon. Along the way, we battled back-and-forth in a 21-game set of Rummy, which was only decided by a lucky deal of three aces in the very last hand. Like my 2019 hike, 2023 featured a super-bloom of legendary proportions in the Arizona desert. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifz4gYgBFL1DLoiKmZjNz_pYPOVR1wnRCc7zT0imnbHJI-khOKKlsyNPUaZF0o9UfgXjR2IEqVbeMo4Kiyr3IDNeywG7wGLt5OQ6np-xfjGxiWQ0J-Gm4q7p6Wvz67dLEy3V-BN3JqUFHyFfrW6wYT5gT_5N5HHht3tLKN9B8LYLY7IweZwY3z1-vAww/s4032/20230301_140708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifz4gYgBFL1DLoiKmZjNz_pYPOVR1wnRCc7zT0imnbHJI-khOKKlsyNPUaZF0o9UfgXjR2IEqVbeMo4Kiyr3IDNeywG7wGLt5OQ6np-xfjGxiWQ0J-Gm4q7p6Wvz67dLEy3V-BN3JqUFHyFfrW6wYT5gT_5N5HHht3tLKN9B8LYLY7IweZwY3z1-vAww/w640-h480/20230301_140708.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5C-ufgyRXFTaOGxU1UNPvv34kBOaFm6zyWUhG1Upx-sX1Jc30hH60Mr4c_y8mIHxXA9RFkminu6TA0xu276oRi_Q6d3rJ-lJK5hmzGPSpDcIjB4mHrfK4TZNn0_t2wLlEpd0UOJ1q9WiLS_zgBZp1CBJ0E4zL_9FKC1ro9ItBIA2xxyI4Gik1gOahKA/s4032/20230328_143548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5C-ufgyRXFTaOGxU1UNPvv34kBOaFm6zyWUhG1Upx-sX1Jc30hH60Mr4c_y8mIHxXA9RFkminu6TA0xu276oRi_Q6d3rJ-lJK5hmzGPSpDcIjB4mHrfK4TZNn0_t2wLlEpd0UOJ1q9WiLS_zgBZp1CBJ0E4zL_9FKC1ro9ItBIA2xxyI4Gik1gOahKA/w640-h480/20230328_143548.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><b>A Strong Start</b></p><p>By time I got on the Pacific Crest Trail then, I had a few miles on my legs. Over and over again, I've found that starting a trail already in hiking shape drastically improves the experience for the first few weeks. And so it was this time. The PCT is graded for horse traffic, and its tread is impeccable. From the very beginning, I found myself doing 20-mile days entirely by accident. The foot certainly appreciates the kind hiking experience!</p><p>While the PCT is certainly crowded at this time of year, I've been surprised by how much solitude I've been able to find. I've camped alone almost every night so far (by choice), and I don't see too many folks while hiking. Of course, when I get to town, everyone comes out of the woodwork. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOXCV-Q_Ul1yvCsaxFbi2a_wF6qfd0clGrlUR0VCA3CuSeJ7WaOcy4bRJT8Tu_Yeh1K-YMN-0NhZtHNL8qxSiHDIeBV0zlDeUUPhr5z7yNTGKpwGvSStaL-NGuo9iWAJFO3sDYa0syuYU31VQfwRJeVZ_dmsZ6xUDtGvloqKiLV2YE4mcxmHB0-DjuTg/s4032/20230420_124743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOXCV-Q_Ul1yvCsaxFbi2a_wF6qfd0clGrlUR0VCA3CuSeJ7WaOcy4bRJT8Tu_Yeh1K-YMN-0NhZtHNL8qxSiHDIeBV0zlDeUUPhr5z7yNTGKpwGvSStaL-NGuo9iWAJFO3sDYa0syuYU31VQfwRJeVZ_dmsZ6xUDtGvloqKiLV2YE4mcxmHB0-DjuTg/w640-h480/20230420_124743.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin53TSkYzaWUVBNzPzFziQ36mbKKc35cg8IUgKY7hBWiK32t_IG_9AWQ_RXdXjAO6STi_p9Ymf7z6fy_Dl2_bLmfYjCQKRZ9PKGAMmHwayhwmQA4Oowrwt3pVVDqBN0g0boEXcQfz1mB290EIeBvrimnIdhavi9kHiSKLiy6_wZ3scSLiRmvxkU2EH9A/s2880/20230426_083020-COLLAGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2880" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin53TSkYzaWUVBNzPzFziQ36mbKKc35cg8IUgKY7hBWiK32t_IG_9AWQ_RXdXjAO6STi_p9Ymf7z6fy_Dl2_bLmfYjCQKRZ9PKGAMmHwayhwmQA4Oowrwt3pVVDqBN0g0boEXcQfz1mB290EIeBvrimnIdhavi9kHiSKLiy6_wZ3scSLiRmvxkU2EH9A/w640-h640/20230426_083020-COLLAGE.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79qboXiOTjW6n_eeY4jr4P_51zGJu-e7-r_z5Bau5Sz9bQ_Zh8gDM8ghVUci_N80F5iZROJTNYeL-hisTsen-T_05eugjrMq0C5aPGg_3Q_ZPD-HuMQeYIwbTSC8dniI1mm8T7iCStpnPzFAIXebEsPlPxs5OFGsAztNQPGc9cG8XZVNgan_ewvL9ag/s4032/20230424_153940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79qboXiOTjW6n_eeY4jr4P_51zGJu-e7-r_z5Bau5Sz9bQ_Zh8gDM8ghVUci_N80F5iZROJTNYeL-hisTsen-T_05eugjrMq0C5aPGg_3Q_ZPD-HuMQeYIwbTSC8dniI1mm8T7iCStpnPzFAIXebEsPlPxs5OFGsAztNQPGc9cG8XZVNgan_ewvL9ag/w640-h480/20230424_153940.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>Snowpocalypse 2023</b></p><p>In case you've missed it, the West has a <i>lot</i> of snow. Virtually every monitoring station in the Sierra Nevada is at record levels, and in most cases, the silver medalist isn't even close. The snow has even buried much of the high terrain in the so-called 'desert' Southern California section, leading to ridiculous scenes of hikers carrying ice axes past prickly pear cactuses in ninety degree heat. But such is 2023, a certifiably bonkers year.</p><p>The PCT in a high snow year is a significant challenge, and 'high snow year' doesn't even begin to describe just how crazy this year is. So before you ask: no, I don't know what I'm going to do when I get to the Sierra yet. The creeks will almost certainly be swollen and possibly hazardous to cross. The immense snows have damaged a key bridge over a river with no easy bypass available. In short, the prospect of hiking through the Sierra in June looks gnarly at best and impossible at worst. </p><p>So what am I planning to do? I don't know, to be honest. I'm not worrying about it quite yet. I've got 500 miles of Southern California left before I get there, and I plan on enjoying it thoroughly. Once I get to the southern gateway to the Sierra, I'll figure out the next step. All options are on the table.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0UAAsMVKRIJwDJNg4xd1EeNHRpadgnoAWAobTN_TurOLgasxnaAI8fh5Vge2ku-VBJmdJHaPaSUWGiJXbOrhT0SwiuaZLguxnaAAiIx3Pqaf6udG2XM4T-G9ZafkJmloUOlFlFRbnIf7MkY-Y5t5-5KHQ3PZPJ9DhyTD0ibCqrqhCst8U-7hkwgvXYA/s4032/20230425_090531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0UAAsMVKRIJwDJNg4xd1EeNHRpadgnoAWAobTN_TurOLgasxnaAI8fh5Vge2ku-VBJmdJHaPaSUWGiJXbOrhT0SwiuaZLguxnaAAiIx3Pqaf6udG2XM4T-G9ZafkJmloUOlFlFRbnIf7MkY-Y5t5-5KHQ3PZPJ9DhyTD0ibCqrqhCst8U-7hkwgvXYA/w640-h480/20230425_090531.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR30fbA0jqUK0L_W98f-aRbHEubi3scjxSJZ1_SO2PjUDWqfPwz56aHTlNus97gibx2a8uriOMpDZnZVzr1jI3NojQWMtngiOUAg6IEYNl2RmOdU5vFBAsn5ph1oEJAxwQgTyfVc3g9jrLWkanF6QNli3-8OpKfsnfa37qFmQPgVQx4kA-AKte83CV5Q/s4032/20230425_060923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR30fbA0jqUK0L_W98f-aRbHEubi3scjxSJZ1_SO2PjUDWqfPwz56aHTlNus97gibx2a8uriOMpDZnZVzr1jI3NojQWMtngiOUAg6IEYNl2RmOdU5vFBAsn5ph1oEJAxwQgTyfVc3g9jrLWkanF6QNli3-8OpKfsnfa37qFmQPgVQx4kA-AKte83CV5Q/w640-h480/20230425_060923.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-11111999432056816682023-02-27T22:14:00.000-07:002023-02-27T22:14:33.054-07:00Ten Years Ago Today<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilAbN2BE9MjsK_Jmp1G5ZTqRYCg2Yqtj06fV_27KhBSW2-agD2XIslVXyNmDztqz1LovyVwNEgcJlnpzL6vADTwqROKal0yI4ImS15QWjOhi-wwo_zc49qZxHLzhKgyMCtLVe0Eg_z8ECCzE8uwxNGgV6t6DnpKOYoCvFPDdb-UTsXlMDYcS-0e4f6Ag/s2560/20130302_110929.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilAbN2BE9MjsK_Jmp1G5ZTqRYCg2Yqtj06fV_27KhBSW2-agD2XIslVXyNmDztqz1LovyVwNEgcJlnpzL6vADTwqROKal0yI4ImS15QWjOhi-wwo_zc49qZxHLzhKgyMCtLVe0Eg_z8ECCzE8uwxNGgV6t6DnpKOYoCvFPDdb-UTsXlMDYcS-0e4f6Ag/w640-h480/20130302_110929.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Ten years ago today, my Aunt Paula dropped me off at a road crossing less than a mile from the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail in north Georgia. I had no idea what I was signing up for.<p></p>Well, that's not entirely true. I'd learned about the Appalachian Trail during the spring semester of my freshman year of college, and immediately I was hooked. Not even a bungled spring break trip to the Smokies - lost shoes, hypothermia, a stuck truck, and bearanoia - could dampen my enthusiasm. I re-framed mundane daily tasks in thru-hiking terms. When I studied for exams instead of procrastinating, I told myself that I was disciplining myself to endure the hardships of the AT. When I left the familiar Midwest for a summer internship in Utah, I spent my weekends climbing mountains. <p>It was therefore no momentary flight of fancy that led me to the top of Springer Mountain, Georgia on that drizzly last day of February 2013. It was a culmination of several years of hope and planning. Still, my actual backpacking experience was slim - a grand total of 3 trips, two of which ended in failure - and my enthusiasm greatly exceeded my capabilities. The trail was about to swiftly punish that exuberance.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2J3wifApEepZoM1Ht6zHxcFGmFBMAALaj2Z-GE7vL2y0FaP8aN2YS4yUC-kyDTC_GAYKGOC8MBFJ01VqE9tnuAQGs9N8gO9wgNyImMYskB-rPUCG5688DSXlXHeeLkA0KfNwTRcXWnDPdRyqkvgUS4uCQ5tw0vWq4vK9S7vunC2J_bnuHa8u2pvvV4w/s1280/20130306_133332.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2J3wifApEepZoM1Ht6zHxcFGmFBMAALaj2Z-GE7vL2y0FaP8aN2YS4yUC-kyDTC_GAYKGOC8MBFJ01VqE9tnuAQGs9N8gO9wgNyImMYskB-rPUCG5688DSXlXHeeLkA0KfNwTRcXWnDPdRyqkvgUS4uCQ5tw0vWq4vK9S7vunC2J_bnuHa8u2pvvV4w/w640-h480/20130306_133332.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />March is ordinarily a rough month on the AT. The grizzled trail veteran I met at the first road crossing reminded me that it was "still winter". In a normal year, he'd have a point. In 2013 however, he was downright prophetic. I hiked through three major snowstorms in the first month. On one occasion I hiked with a posse of about 10 shivering hikers, taking turns breaking trail through waist-high snowdrifts near Erwin, TN. On another morning, the mercury read five below zero. I woke up and started hiking at 3am just to stay warm. The suffering was intense, the dropout rate was high, and morale was low. <p></p><p>But somewhere in Virginia, something clicked. Weather and terrain still presented plenty of challenges, but I felt better equipped to deal with them. I was more comfortable in the environment and found my groove. My daily mileage increased, I made several great friends, and was generally relaxed and confident. The circumstances hadn't changed too drastically, but I had. </p><p>When I therefore had to quit the trail in southern Maine that year to start a job that I'd agreed to months prior, I was heartbroken to be leaving this marvelous adventure but confident that I'd be back to fill in those missing miles. And over the next two years, I did finish the trail during a series of vacation-length hikes. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3R0YMypaKAtfZff0tu5JVorWDMqts2wYHwhfmPDrD1yqwRn0emYkWsvakTg2kFcDFXGEFjuVC6vYsH5g8lXo0NfZXakw6JSp-WtTp_m4pSszqugBkdwwSDCZFF0UfxoBrPmc30L3G2Bfrw2IlT6T4PXWOrJILLIuN6YrWpvoK9evLbVMNIeakWXZYA/s5312/20150725_100102.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5312" data-original-width="2988" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3R0YMypaKAtfZff0tu5JVorWDMqts2wYHwhfmPDrD1yqwRn0emYkWsvakTg2kFcDFXGEFjuVC6vYsH5g8lXo0NfZXakw6JSp-WtTp_m4pSszqugBkdwwSDCZFF0UfxoBrPmc30L3G2Bfrw2IlT6T4PXWOrJILLIuN6YrWpvoK9evLbVMNIeakWXZYA/w360-h640/20150725_100102.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>Growing into It</b></p><p>I began the AT as a complete beginner. By the end of that first journey, I was comfortable and confident in the outdoors. But it would be a mistake to call me an expert. I'd learned what I needed to survive in one particular environment (namely, a well-trod trail with tin-roofed shelters and plenty of water sources), but my education was 100-level at best. <br /></p><p>Over the following years, that all changed. I didn't do any long-distance hikes, but I made a concerted effort to hone my skills. I went through a brief ultralight-zealot phase, cutting my pack weight in half. I learned about snow travel, navigation, mapping off-trail routes, water management, and dozens of other topics that hadn't ever surfaced on the Appalachian Trail. I absorbed a steady drip-drip of knowledge and experience, and eventually I emerged from the chrysalis as a competent backpacker and outdoorsman. <br /></p><p></p><p><b>N+1 Adventures</b></p><p>Right around the time I hit my stride in mid-Virginia on the AT, I had decided that long-distance hiking was my cup of tea. I wanted more. So after working and saving for several years, I left my job in 2018 to begin another thru-hike - the Continental Divide Trail. One thru-hike turned into three years spent almost entirely on trails. <br /></p><p>But despite having spent a good long while scratching the adventure itch, something keeps gnawing at me - the Pacific Crest Trail. Although I've schemed and dreamed about the PCT for a decade now, it just hasn't happened yet. In 2018 and 2019, I prioritized other more demanding hikes. I drew a PCT permit for 2020, but then 2020 happened. This year, I've got a fresh permit and a golden opportunity. I've put it off long enough. It's time for the PCT. <br /></p><p><b>Fear and Trembling</b><br /></p><p>It turns out that the decision to do "harder" hikes in the 2018-2019 window was providential. Most hikers see the PCT as the easiest of the Triple Crown trails (AT, PCT, CDT). And it doesn't even hold a candle to grueling DIY routes like the Route In Between, Hayduke, or Greater Yellowstone Loop. Yet though the PCT has a cakewalk reputation, it's perhaps the most daunting challenge I've faced since that drizzly 28th of February, 2013. My foot's still on the mend, and a restoration to full pre-injury function seems like a pipe dream at this point. I'm preparing to walk 2,600 miles with a doubly-surgically-repaired foot that hurts every time I go out for a hike. Even before we factor in the burly 2023 snowpack, the PCT is a leap of faith.</p><p></p><p>I'm not going into this <i>completely </i>blind however. I did a pair of hundred-mile hikes in 2022, one of which shared about 50 miles of tread with the PCT. Those walks went fairly well. I'm as confident as I can reasonably be that a bionic foot can withstand the rigors of 5+ months on trail. But until I get out there and spend days postholing in the Sierra, there's no way to know for sure. It may be that the foot just needs to do shorter days, or needs more days off. Perhaps it just can't maintain the pace needed to stay ahead of fires that are an annual occurrence in our current mega-drought climate. In short, a sober assessment of the circumstances would lead any reasonable observer to conclude that the odds are stacked against me.<br /></p><p>Yet I go. The foot probably won't get any <i>better</i>
as I get older (arthritis and entropy only operate in one direction). I'm single and relatively financially stable. If I don't take this
opportunity now, I'll forever wonder whether long-distance hiking was still a possibility. I proceed in the knowledge that God saved me from a seriously pissed-off grizzly. He brought me back from a shattered heel bone to a point where I can at least walk again. Clearly he's got a plan, I've got an opportunity, and it's time to see the tricks he's got up his sleeve. I embark on this journey because it's something I'm created to do.</p><p><b>What's Old is New</b></p><p>But first, a return to roots. Tomorrow morning, I'll again stand atop Springer Mountain, GA, ten years and a day after that first journey began. My good pal Blue Moon and I are celebrating a decade of adventure with a week on the AT. Having learned absolutely nothing from our previous experiences here in early March, we're once again daring the weather to thrash us with rain, snow, sleet, and all manner of chilly unpleasantness. There will be joy in our shivering.</p><p>After that it's out to the desert for some relaxed hiking on the AZT. Two years of relative inactivity has taken a toll on my fitness, and I'm hoping to use the AZT as a pleasant warmup for the main event, the PCT. </p><p><b>A Programming Note</b> <br /></p><p>As is typical on my Mexico-to-Canada forays, I'll probably update this blog a handful of times over the course of the trip. My on-trail posts tend to be pretty banal, disjointed, and stream-of-consciousness, so I apologize in advance. But my grandparents enjoy them, so everyone else will just have to deal. You can also view additional photos at my Instagram.</p><p>Finally, for those in a praying mood, I'd appreciate a little intercession. If I manage to pull this thing off, it'll be nothing short of a minor miracle - and not one of my own doing! Hope you'll follow along this year!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0Wi73VlgEFLYp85qLDtTeA-b37B3bx-RO5Czjbj6yrFXreBoq_3ynkOna3zi64N2b8rlu8S3i1CORcjExhHvA3wb853Zg09sYg8dbQk4jPfMB4J0ZUkfuYnXrgPnzDhm4nvo-p5TC2UAX8yUpSoInSpU7luj2u7otCrwMJs-TcX0XKBzARBOdLdokQ/s2560/20130328_164709.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0Wi73VlgEFLYp85qLDtTeA-b37B3bx-RO5Czjbj6yrFXreBoq_3ynkOna3zi64N2b8rlu8S3i1CORcjExhHvA3wb853Zg09sYg8dbQk4jPfMB4J0ZUkfuYnXrgPnzDhm4nvo-p5TC2UAX8yUpSoInSpU7luj2u7otCrwMJs-TcX0XKBzARBOdLdokQ/w480-h640/20130328_164709.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-8248737948394029452022-12-28T15:47:00.001-07:002022-12-28T16:24:25.538-07:002022 - In Review<p></p><p></p><p>It's been a couple of long years. Two surgeries, a hundred days off my feet, and more doctor and PT appointments than I care to recount. I'm sick of blathering about it, and you're sick of hearing about it.</p><p>This year, therefore, saved our collective sanity. Sure, it wasn't an all-timer like 2018 or 2019, but within its context, it was a pretty swell year. Another round of surgery and subsequent recovery derailed the first six months, but the summer and fall proved themselves epochs of adventure. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKcPV7uFj1TAzreJgdTEAELQtkaZE-Ml2d7mVnSsB8Fz7oAdlduAYEWEL1cv8C6Axam-EBC5qkbIlrCNnmDRxth2Wf0_B8D9DO4qBtZZXkXvVIZm2aTiJ3d7VWrZvjk0s-yOIkO5AV0T4hZcZtFAvCM4KGerVmNaRGPfkY7mPMvTKe1EF7_xUk6Pfejg/s4032/20220625_113925.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKcPV7uFj1TAzreJgdTEAELQtkaZE-Ml2d7mVnSsB8Fz7oAdlduAYEWEL1cv8C6Axam-EBC5qkbIlrCNnmDRxth2Wf0_B8D9DO4qBtZZXkXvVIZm2aTiJ3d7VWrZvjk0s-yOIkO5AV0T4hZcZtFAvCM4KGerVmNaRGPfkY7mPMvTKe1EF7_xUk6Pfejg/w640-h480/20220625_113925.jpg" width="640" /></a> <br /></div><p></p><p>The most notable of those adventures was a 170-mile circumnavigation of Lake Tahoe on the Tahoe Rim Trail. The TRT represented a turning point for me (or so I hope). Prior to that trip, I hadn't done anything more than a single overnighter. On the TRT, I hiked 13 days in a row, with daily mileage in the mid-teens. I certainly wasn't setting any land speed records, but it did hint that long-distance hiking may still be a future possibility for me. <br /></p><p></p><p>Let's begin the review, as always, with a few fast facts:</p><p><b>Gear: </b> <br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Pairs of shoes: 2</li><li>Pairs of shoes that don't fit anymore: 2</li><li>Toenails lost as a result of the aforementioned: 3</li><li>Leaky tents: 1</li><li>Consecutive years that I've complained about the same leaky tent, but haven't replaced it yet: 3</li><li>Fishing rods: 1</li><li>Fish hooked successfully: Probably a dozen<br /></li><li>Fish reeled in successfully: 1</li><li>Fishing rods accidentally destroyed: 1 </li><li>Carried an umbrella: 3<br /></li><li>Used an umbrella: 3 (great success!)</li><li>Used a bear canister: 1</li><li>Filled a bear canister with fried chicken: 1</li><li>Accidentally left chicken bones to rot for three weeks in a bear canister: 1</li></ul><p><b>Trips:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Long-distance trips: 2</li><li>Weekend backpacking trips: 6</li><li>Trips where everything went according to plan: 3</li><li>Bailouts required: 1</li><li>Backcountry permits: 1<br /></li><li>Car camping trips: 8 <br /></li></ul><p><b>Highest/Lowest/Fastest/Slowest:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Highest point: 13,065' (Wheeler Peak, NV)<br /></li><li>Lowest point: 1,070' (Lake Mead, NV)<br /></li><li>Longest day, in miles: 19 (Tahoe Rim Trail)</li><li>Shortest day, in miles: 2.5 (Deer Creek, UT)</li><li>Most consecutive days without seeing a human: 3 (Canadian Thanksgiving Loop)</li><li>Longest water carry: 17 miles (Tahoe Rim Trail)</li><li>Most consecutive days hiked: 13<br /></li></ul><p><b>Encounters:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Bears: 4</li><li>Bears dashing across a road in the middle of town: 1 <br /></li><li>Mylar balloons: 4</li><li>Mylar balloons in a canyon which possibly no one has ever visited before: 4</li><li>Hitchhikes: 7</li><li>Got my car stuck on a muddy dirt road: 1 <br /></li></ul><p><b>Camping:</b></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Bag nights: 39</li><li>Slept annoyingly close to a busy paved road: 2</li><li>Forgot a tent: 1 </li><li>Camped at a lake: 4</li><li>Camped with other people: 1</li></ul><p><i>Previous years in review: </i><i><a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2021/12/2021-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2021</span></a></i><i>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/12/2020-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2020</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2019/12/2019-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2019</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2018/12/2018-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2018</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2017/12/2017-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2017</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2016/12/2016-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2016</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2015/01/2014-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2014</span></a><span style="color: #2b00fe;">.</span></i> </p><p>In <b>January</b>, I popped down to southern Nevada for a short-but sweet jaunt in the Lake Mead area. It makes an excellent wintertime destination, and despite the nearby whiz-bang chaos of jet skis and PBR cans, I found a more-or-less unexplored canyon to poke around in.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLl9D_O8TVt4P3l__SmA4fOos1QyjjUZ8SVdDevCNhFK9M40xRV6rWnPtw4pjCyu8lrStlKewS_hR2ATzYs-09O_P5-ZbB5hsz5SO-2kyQJoaSeKVqXZBGcYtyO2jj2-1VFa-OpoIbJru6VqwTNmMeiVk_UEz7JspQHJDDIyAtu0dnRNCjrlYJj6TETA/s4032/20220115_091436.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLl9D_O8TVt4P3l__SmA4fOos1QyjjUZ8SVdDevCNhFK9M40xRV6rWnPtw4pjCyu8lrStlKewS_hR2ATzYs-09O_P5-ZbB5hsz5SO-2kyQJoaSeKVqXZBGcYtyO2jj2-1VFa-OpoIbJru6VqwTNmMeiVk_UEz7JspQHJDDIyAtu0dnRNCjrlYJj6TETA/w640-h480/20220115_091436.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>February </b>brought a quick overnighter in Bears Ears National Monument. A chilly tempest lashed the canyon rim, but my site in the canyon bottom was warm and cozy.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQJVYS6kWAvzqTXYnU-tdEUfPt4QbFZD6cXECP8wTScqXei7imfGqGmBRI0tD-yDWuddA6Bu4PyagoELL1RVUVkt-Q-36fnGoxE0T5z4e5H2r8JCVML6oKKICxsu8-XoyqwEZYwRHtnivCxjEjUKt-P9XWN653xYl-c1XwUchRWrMFlAmhE7L5ArD6aA/s4032/20220220_141033.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQJVYS6kWAvzqTXYnU-tdEUfPt4QbFZD6cXECP8wTScqXei7imfGqGmBRI0tD-yDWuddA6Bu4PyagoELL1RVUVkt-Q-36fnGoxE0T5z4e5H2r8JCVML6oKKICxsu8-XoyqwEZYwRHtnivCxjEjUKt-P9XWN653xYl-c1XwUchRWrMFlAmhE7L5ArD6aA/w640-h480/20220220_141033.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>March's </b>excursion was not particularly thrilling - a mediocrea jaunt in the Escalante area. I can honestly say it's the first and only backpacking trip I've ever taken that had zero redeeming features. A recalcitrant foot and cattle-trampled vegetation conspired to make it an utterly forgettable experience. Next time, I'll choose a different canyon.</p><p>An aside: despite the aforementioned, the trip was still manifestly <i>more</i> worthwhile than a corrosive weekend of couch and Netflix would have been. So there's that. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaDYhpDuHxoX5MvAeazhKA4xycL5rbL2cie3gQWHBwwJ5fn5xU5cmnM2Xw30P-sK2uyRJxiFgce8W21qmsKvuOJK9SiZyGoDzcDS2GsA_3IBSvrSCM3jMHS5a9zAirqG3UIlsUxEG9fQRR8Vg91mhNl7ULoFKJWoa_7CC_gQDRsKYLE8ICmDBhm0lOQ/s4032/20220326_152827.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaDYhpDuHxoX5MvAeazhKA4xycL5rbL2cie3gQWHBwwJ5fn5xU5cmnM2Xw30P-sK2uyRJxiFgce8W21qmsKvuOJK9SiZyGoDzcDS2GsA_3IBSvrSCM3jMHS5a9zAirqG3UIlsUxEG9fQRR8Vg91mhNl7ULoFKJWoa_7CC_gQDRsKYLE8ICmDBhm0lOQ/w640-h480/20220326_152827.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>April and May were spent recovering from surgery. I visited a delightful new-to-me drainage in the Uintas in <b>June</b>. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif0ckkynrORPhE1XGgfQz9kdB5RK5Lwifq1Re0HghKNfPvZlmebJwCXa8Fuoyuixe2IGbTL-7MO_M3a2kdKXvah_EfBzMKX_OlHbo6aq_fl9E0jCCdoVuFBwfQP6uao72bxUOztvBZ6uMEdBODE36vvKfPYbCrJl_8TI4XvU8AkblJVa2VK0hi6Ckvgg/s4032/20220625_132740.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif0ckkynrORPhE1XGgfQz9kdB5RK5Lwifq1Re0HghKNfPvZlmebJwCXa8Fuoyuixe2IGbTL-7MO_M3a2kdKXvah_EfBzMKX_OlHbo6aq_fl9E0jCCdoVuFBwfQP6uao72bxUOztvBZ6uMEdBODE36vvKfPYbCrJl_8TI4XvU8AkblJVa2VK0hi6Ckvgg/w640-h480/20220625_132740.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In <b>July</b>, I checked in on an old friend - a lovely stretch of the Highline Trail in the eastern Uintas.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURGMklHERkG6PzHbXC6iOfwgPtBsBNQ_nN6SrsCwUL2GGXsy4jwmLuinyjC5uFuZFAUB_SErMGUaLWStAe2K3wnmYr-gYBRtjZtHlhI0FkKyiRYcMKt9yUeS_4spZ8aDB6scLynoI6xRB-pP7e4wGWuLS4UiRtseuObGSZJHWqunlBIFWVNZ6qkHdPg/s4032/20220703_151038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURGMklHERkG6PzHbXC6iOfwgPtBsBNQ_nN6SrsCwUL2GGXsy4jwmLuinyjC5uFuZFAUB_SErMGUaLWStAe2K3wnmYr-gYBRtjZtHlhI0FkKyiRYcMKt9yUeS_4spZ8aDB6scLynoI6xRB-pP7e4wGWuLS4UiRtseuObGSZJHWqunlBIFWVNZ6qkHdPg/w640-h480/20220703_151038.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I hiked the Tahoe Rim Trail in <b>August</b>, my first long-distance hike since the injury. There was much rejoicing!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtIeRSNEgpPxFQYARg7NJ9OXEhnnryaojfin6V1kPThvE3WE-1km8-NmoJQvaHxmDdBQ8xsqT3BiujlaQ5jM9PJQqHpTVS3-oQAbvSJpzR22R-LLEp9Ec3Wgh-BHCvQUPSmlRN_FzpnyL-Odz9zFWoQEa_HTbNetyLITmlm8OhwAOytcVBMJkylzoB0A/s4032/20220804_135520.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtIeRSNEgpPxFQYARg7NJ9OXEhnnryaojfin6V1kPThvE3WE-1km8-NmoJQvaHxmDdBQ8xsqT3BiujlaQ5jM9PJQqHpTVS3-oQAbvSJpzR22R-LLEp9Ec3Wgh-BHCvQUPSmlRN_FzpnyL-Odz9zFWoQEa_HTbNetyLITmlm8OhwAOytcVBMJkylzoB0A/w640-h480/20220804_135520.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>September </b>brought a very brief overnight in the western Uintas. I forgot my phone though, so here's an old photo from a previous trip.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTx2tzmwgjnrh9bv1NY7qeX9aEbE1pQONn_CmWrM8zYv6B6e-PvfK9PRJN1D1MF6susX2LOuAytGC_bMTSt4CkWFg2yJIEhQt4pixVSsIVNiWZo4jkkcmMuX5HvCkkL45_v6fB6WagYvDfpBYuCslsymjgpzZZfr8uKDqCBQsFD98pDMZGnPALxFapQ/s4032/20200614_171354.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTx2tzmwgjnrh9bv1NY7qeX9aEbE1pQONn_CmWrM8zYv6B6e-PvfK9PRJN1D1MF6susX2LOuAytGC_bMTSt4CkWFg2yJIEhQt4pixVSsIVNiWZo4jkkcmMuX5HvCkkL45_v6fB6WagYvDfpBYuCslsymjgpzZZfr8uKDqCBQsFD98pDMZGnPALxFapQ/w640-h480/20200614_171354.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In <b>October</b>, I tackled an off-trail southern Utah route. It wasn't as long as the Tahoe Rim Trail, but definitely more ambitious. Quicksand and high water cut the trip short, but it was yet another data point in the positive direction.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEign3z_4oZqHiIOYqAl8qlDO-1zyBvIH4R_kGe3EpsSxkpTuuUC6sH7JFjOkxHsbFaFOHugtaUjcV4574TtrC5O_ZNMAsBePgQPy3miccBiaoIu_eosUoxOl2ZLeJorUlzblBl8Gg9hT8VvjzWKPQ77AFuUyQ84kOIVDbYJsy_Wtf2wZWICKz-NTMkBOw/s4032/20221012_085108.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEign3z_4oZqHiIOYqAl8qlDO-1zyBvIH4R_kGe3EpsSxkpTuuUC6sH7JFjOkxHsbFaFOHugtaUjcV4574TtrC5O_ZNMAsBePgQPy3miccBiaoIu_eosUoxOl2ZLeJorUlzblBl8Gg9hT8VvjzWKPQ77AFuUyQ84kOIVDbYJsy_Wtf2wZWICKz-NTMkBOw/w640-h480/20221012_085108.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I finished the year on a high note with a shoulder-season trip in the San Juans. Funny enough, aside from the CDT, it's the first backpacking trip I've ever taken in the state of Colorado. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCQIdtzG3VCVCFvtrowSbv0_4CRxDFLBMrH95xucp7jd43PNL8VLI59lY07E9UOwLGWmoWZ7Laxzw8YXRBoNtWHqijfAJsztiMduJVcZwQBr5YiQW7j1C3M5zMVC6VKcYummQvp86fMLm5NeFx7gLnozNeFTH7pwzBoWNeioTK0WeX0_qCSghPzviYCw/s4032/20221020_101616.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCQIdtzG3VCVCFvtrowSbv0_4CRxDFLBMrH95xucp7jd43PNL8VLI59lY07E9UOwLGWmoWZ7Laxzw8YXRBoNtWHqijfAJsztiMduJVcZwQBr5YiQW7j1C3M5zMVC6VKcYummQvp86fMLm5NeFx7gLnozNeFTH7pwzBoWNeioTK0WeX0_qCSghPzviYCw/w640-h480/20221020_101616.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>What's Next</b></p><p>I have ample reasons to be thankful. This year was a qualified success. I'm hoping next year will be an unqualified success. Some foot-related questions will persist of course, but it's time to pull the training wheels off and see what happens. </p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-20701318497606347772022-08-15T22:35:00.001-06:002022-08-15T23:04:49.270-06:00Two Weeks on the Tahoe Rim Trail<div class="separator"></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9TEfSTB82l786pJPwykwO-LdZhNvXwR1j-t8UnSRYL5swItIKnuC984e97VYbm5qJsukpBKMc4Gyej3IJg1CHTpgqKeA_0YJF9K4c7IYuSd5NfLZJ1l17GTnmNgau76lB5IUFKGGXzosrI2bDNRLF34XboMzVxYy3h6D6mkK30VSKR4EEZ-MYZU-9ag/s4032/20220731_152054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9TEfSTB82l786pJPwykwO-LdZhNvXwR1j-t8UnSRYL5swItIKnuC984e97VYbm5qJsukpBKMc4Gyej3IJg1CHTpgqKeA_0YJF9K4c7IYuSd5NfLZJ1l17GTnmNgau76lB5IUFKGGXzosrI2bDNRLF34XboMzVxYy3h6D6mkK30VSKR4EEZ-MYZU-9ag/w640-h480/20220731_152054.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The Tahoe Rim Trail was something of a milestone for me. Although it's only 170 miles in length, it represents the first long-distance hike I've done since the foot odyssey began. I couldn't be more grateful.<br /><p></p><p>Through the end of July, my longest backpacking trip this summer was a measly eighteen miles over two days. Typically, my foot would feel alright on Day 1 and marginal on Day 2. Day 3 would be spent on the couch with an ice pack. My big vacation plans for the summer thus looked a little dicey. Originally, I had plans to head to Europe for the wedding of some close friends, but had to scuttle those plans due to foot uncertainty - after all, it'd been a mere three months since my second surgery. Instead, I settled for something a little closer to home, where I spoke the language and had a robust support network. Enter the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT).<br /></p><p>Lake Tahoe is surrounded entirely by mountains - the Carson Range on the east (Nevada) side and the main Sierra crest on the west (California) side. The Tahoe Rim Trail runs on/near the crest of these ranges in a 170-mile loop. The TRT shares a concurrency with the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) for about 50 miles, while the rest is dedicated TRT trail tread. The majority of the TRT (excluding the Wilderness areas, State Parks, and the PCT overlap) is open to mountain bikes. I saw nearly as many mountain bikes on the trail as hikers. <br /></p><p><b>A Safety Net</b></p><p>A major factor in my decision to attempt the TRT was my bailout options if my foot didn't cooperate. There are plenty of access points; by my count, the TRT crosses seven major paved highways in 170 miles. Even at my rather ponderous pace, I never carried more than 4-5 days of food.</p><p>Along the same lines, transportation was not a problem on this hike either. There are municipal bus systems that serve the north and south shores of the lake, respectively. And crucially, my buddy Blue Moon lives in the area and was more than happy to shuttle me if I needed to change plans. I know it's cliche, but this hike absolutely would not have been possible without him. He helped shuttle me twice (see below), and we also got a chance to backpack together for the first couple days - the first time we'd done so since the AT, nearly a decade ago. <br /></p><p><b>Confusing Logistics</b><br /></p><p>Owing to foot-related uncertainty, I planned very conservatively for this hike. First, I only planned to do about 10 miles per day. That was roughly in line with the pace I'd kept on previous trips this summer. On one hand, the Tahoe Rim Trail is easier than the rocky, poorly-maintained trails I hike in the Uintas. On the other hand, I'd be going out for several days, not just a quick overnighter, and I expected the foot to wear down a little. I hoped the two factors would balance each other out.</p><p>Second, I only planned to hike half the loop. I parked my car in Tahoe City and Blue Moon shuttled me to the other side. I planned to do only the red portion of the loop (figure below). It would consist of a warm-up section of a few days (I wanted to determine how my foot would handle the all-important days 3 & 4) followed by some more difficult terrain on the SE side, in the beautiful Desolation Wilderness.</p><p>But when I got back to my car in Tahoe City, I was feeling good and ahead of schedule. So I phoned Blue Moon, who was happy to shuttle me back to my initial starting point. This time, I hiked the blue route, once again ending at my car in Tahoe City. In essence, I managed to turn the easy logistics of a loop trail into something immensely more complicated - some sort of flip-flop hike that required two separate car shuttles. And yet, I can't say it was a bad decision. It was simply a well-founded conservative game-plan given the uncertainty surrounding my foot. <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghwsk4G-gJoidx26YGpPWb3J6is6yU8g3gBrM4NB0pfks_-KYjI_MpOoCy5ULsT0nCIsoR9iDWW459C1wxF4_dE1nSFartE8GD2adP7z0wAhsZS4eQPwqI43wc4tplnTNpIgUMm1AxPrhNiosqjwmRstVxjzC8_dRmXpuiCDxn4v7aa1G8ii5E4ikrvQ/s648/TRT%20map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="518" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghwsk4G-gJoidx26YGpPWb3J6is6yU8g3gBrM4NB0pfks_-KYjI_MpOoCy5ULsT0nCIsoR9iDWW459C1wxF4_dE1nSFartE8GD2adP7z0wAhsZS4eQPwqI43wc4tplnTNpIgUMm1AxPrhNiosqjwmRstVxjzC8_dRmXpuiCDxn4v7aa1G8ii5E4ikrvQ/w512-h640/TRT%20map.png" width="512" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>Ambulatory Ailments</b></p><p>I was surprised by how well the foot held up. Each morning was a battle to stand up and walk around, but after a few minutes, it loosened up. It definitely hurt at the end of each day (particularly on my third-to-last day, where I did 19 miles with significant vertical gain/loss), but it was manageable. In some ways, it was similar to other (left) ankle. On one hand, it hasn't stopped hurting since mile 200 of the Appalachian Trail, nearly a decade ago. On the other hand, I've done many of thousands of miles on <i>one </i>bum ankle; what's to stop me from doing it on two?</p><p>Several injured hiker friends weighed heavy on my mind in the course of this hike. They've had recent surgeries or broken bones, and I know they'd love to be out here. And I have a couple of outdoorsy family members - loved ones from whom I draw <i>immense </i>inspiration - that are similarly sidelined with recent major surgery. They were on my mind constantly. In a way, I felt that my hike was theirs too - it represents a hope that they too can get back to running and adventuring in due course. <br /></p><p><b>Walking on Clouds</b><br /></p><p></p><p>The trail tread on the TRT was absolutely incredible - by far the best I've seen on any long-distance hike. In 170 miles, I didn't step over a single fallen tree. On the penultimate day of my hike, I ran into a trail crew whose stated mission was to 'remove the rocks from the trail'. Indeed, the environment was often rocky, whereas the trail tread itself was typically a pleasant dirt path - the fruits of countless hours of trail work. My foot certainly appreciated those volunteers!</p><p>And it really was beautiful! There were several sections - the Marlette
Lake area, the Desolation Wilderness, the little-remarked Granite Chief
Wilderness - that stack up well with the scenery on any of the other
long trails.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncYMTENIWKsYkgWiGTqsgFQdQVheDz2z949-1m8e4gWS3DbckZikqvV6kAS-q7eN28nMqdgr7sfahgD0m56_iaGWxb36dX5bSj_S7IeivekyiAfdN_ZaFjsUmjrbgvBukYVwckyMERIgqpAGkUptx5DqMueonWicOSRILIvOFThSLa7f5Di1I2Vuq3A/s4032/20220731_123703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncYMTENIWKsYkgWiGTqsgFQdQVheDz2z949-1m8e4gWS3DbckZikqvV6kAS-q7eN28nMqdgr7sfahgD0m56_iaGWxb36dX5bSj_S7IeivekyiAfdN_ZaFjsUmjrbgvBukYVwckyMERIgqpAGkUptx5DqMueonWicOSRILIvOFThSLa7f5Di1I2Vuq3A/w640-h480/20220731_123703.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>The Next Generation</b></p><p>The Lake Tahoe region is near the huge population centers of California. And unsurprisingly, the TRT can hardly be described as 'deep wilderness'. Indeed, even the so-called Desolation Wilderness, stunning as it is, is neither 'desolate' nor truly 'wilderness' - more like wilder-<i>nish</i>. I saw multiple groups of TRT thru-hikers every day on trail, as well as mountain bikers, day-hikers, trail runners, and dog walkers. </p><p>The diversity of TRT users was encouraging to see. There were the old-timers out there toting external frame packs held together with duct tape, PCT bros doing 30-mile days, and more than a few rookie thru-hikers, most of whom seemed to be thriving. The TRT in particular seems like an ideal trail for a first-timer. It's long enough to get a sense of a real journey, but short enough to be completed in a reasonable length of time. It's perfectly maintained, well-marked, and has some truly beautiful sections to savor. If the TRT is any glimpse into the future of the other long-distance hiking trails, then the future is bright indeed.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBF4im9t8rWQUyVsO1meVbC-z8G0fwS7CXxgLKAlu0StotXLrKuDr8jAsVcK7dSYxd9JfvVoV1tx6pNwxgoYflq6w2iW1kZIPa3LyG2jtvrUasgVwKmd_oId8NQaVUV3EKN7WsGMHi-_gZCGXyqQScbnT38h61_sfn7CpDL8MvC8uTO207GuRjBG-6kQ/s4032/20220809_170346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBF4im9t8rWQUyVsO1meVbC-z8G0fwS7CXxgLKAlu0StotXLrKuDr8jAsVcK7dSYxd9JfvVoV1tx6pNwxgoYflq6w2iW1kZIPa3LyG2jtvrUasgVwKmd_oId8NQaVUV3EKN7WsGMHi-_gZCGXyqQScbnT38h61_sfn7CpDL8MvC8uTO207GuRjBG-6kQ/w640-h480/20220809_170346.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>Wildlife</b></p><p>Overall, I didn't see a ton of wildlife on this hike. That's not entirely unsurprising, as the Tahoe region is at best Wilderness Lite, as mentioned previously. I saw no elk, no moose, and only a couple deer. Chipmunks were absolutely everywhere, and will be indelibly linked in my mind from now on to that unique eastern Sierra environment of sand and granite boulders.</p><p>I did see black bears on this hike. On the first occasion, I saw a mother and cubs in the vicinity of some cabins near Echo Lake at the southern end of the loop. I saw them ahead on the trail before they saw me. I backed up a couple hundred yards and made a ton of noise to hopefully encourage them to move along. That didn't work at all; the sow gave me an unconcerned glance and stood her ground. I ended up bushwhacking around them as they lazed around, completely unmoved by my presence.</p><p>On another occasion, I was walking down the sidewalk in downtown Tahoe City when a bear suddenly dashed across the road and scurried into a tiny patch of woods. Several drivers had to slam on their brakes. The inconsiderate bruin didn't even use the crosswalk!</p><p>I have virtually no experience with the famous habituated black bears of the eastern Sierra. And in several communities, every single trashcan you'll find is bear-proof, so they're clearly a problem. Bear canisters were required in the Desolation Wilderness, where several nuisance bears have been ransacking lakeside campsites recently (naturally, I camped nowhere near those locations). But I opted to carry a bear can even in areas where it wasn't required. The Tahoe Rim Trail Association recommends them for the entire hike, and because I just didn't know what the habituation level was like elsewhere, I carried one the whole way just to be on the safe side. In retrospect, it probably wasn't necessary (I saw unsecured trashcans at several different trailheads, a surefire sign that they're not a huge problem), but it's always tough to know, as an outsider, where you can get away with it and where you can't. </p><p><b>The Weather</b></p><p>An unusually strong surge of monsoonal moisture pushed into eastern Nevada for almost the entire duration of my hike. Thankfully though, the storms formed just east of the Tahoe area most afternoons. I'd often see ominous clouds building to the east, but my location would see nothing more than a few sprinkles and some well-appreciated clouds for shade. </p><p>Only one time did it really rain, but that morning was a doozy. I got up early to pack up before it started raining... and I almost made it. My stuff was all spread out on the ground when it suddenly started pouring, and even though I packed in a frantic rush, some of my gear got a little wet. The rain continued uninterrupted for the next 7 or 8 hours. The ancient Frog Toggs rain jacket and skirt that I'd brought were badly ripped and mostly ineffective, so the fact that I'd brought my umbrella was clutch, to say the least. Rain is never pleasant, but I was a lot less miserable than the rest of the folks out there who didn't have umbrellas.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBy1i2DePZCp-gtqhwMzXtPJwqtfU0IybbixzDhQiOcuKTuRxTZ227_xTkO0-ZQwWXaIuU6Mi4wq-TRGoPRguEqrNF8PZEmuB220s43j8jnYod2WzJLExP44ouhHYYJhnN1WnhSH_78IchmW548YKeyAwe2FgU0oj2HBJLbM1jXZMzd6C0cNnOg9eYA/s4032/20220803_171907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBy1i2DePZCp-gtqhwMzXtPJwqtfU0IybbixzDhQiOcuKTuRxTZ227_xTkO0-ZQwWXaIuU6Mi4wq-TRGoPRguEqrNF8PZEmuB220s43j8jnYod2WzJLExP44ouhHYYJhnN1WnhSH_78IchmW548YKeyAwe2FgU0oj2HBJLbM1jXZMzd6C0cNnOg9eYA/w640-h480/20220803_171907.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Speaking of rain, the West has been locked in a big-time drought for the past decade or so, and the Tahoe area is no exception. Because much of the trail runs along ridges, there isn't as much water as you'd think on the TRT, particularly around the north and east sides of the loop. I'd heard much weeping and gnashing of teeth about this before the hike, but I found it really not to be a problem. There were no unavoidable water carries of more than ~15 miles, and though I set up a pair of water caches when Blue Moon shuttled me to start the second half of my hike, I barely drank a liter from one, and didn't touch the other. Perhaps it's just the jaded desert dog in me speaking, but I really didn't see the big deal.<b> </b></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSIsIowhCfQ3O8FH0NCHhnvtPpN9Jnmi4bBQM_F6YfrHR98UY9O_ifsEN9Srt5-LnsD2xQsftzetCVDCZ7joK7caELezrV4eb_qsgy35Zxd-4X2o3Pfi2l4Em1NMZmefmrA6VbOt1fORbAAIm5UdivJKE4-7M9j3XUVtt5ptN0H3KOoMI1oIkDXhLSA/s4032/20220731_182739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSIsIowhCfQ3O8FH0NCHhnvtPpN9Jnmi4bBQM_F6YfrHR98UY9O_ifsEN9Srt5-LnsD2xQsftzetCVDCZ7joK7caELezrV4eb_qsgy35Zxd-4X2o3Pfi2l4Em1NMZmefmrA6VbOt1fORbAAIm5UdivJKE4-7M9j3XUVtt5ptN0H3KOoMI1oIkDXhLSA/w640-h480/20220731_182739.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Many of the hikers I met were apoplectic about the slightly green water in this lake. Blue Moon and I shrugged. Better than cow poop!<br /></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><b></b></p><p><b>Overall</b></p><p>The TRT was a great hike. It was most certainly Wilderness Lite, but that's exactly what I needed at this stage of my recovery. It's hard to describe the joy of being on trail in a major way for the first time in a year and a half. I'm grateful to the Tahoe Rime Trail Association for making an accessible trail, and to Blue Moon for helping make the hike possible. Above all, I thank God that I'm at the point in my recovery where this hike was even feasible. I'm hopeful that this trail will propel me back towards bigger and better things.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzSuue85oFaB7fbapB5O5s-UW44u38sXgCqOyQNi6sTOSulxqwl_Hhl54-LkMjc50LTCiNQEelQiKlpdxJ6UDkMUxK9XWXD_8nRo6az9Cv7joDVU2stKgcBSwybXV6i0b-8KXtI_YQ1MrFs59OBe4JSFovo4aUZRmZ-NPHeX7DZaK6mPEX5BFALNAhg/s4032/20220804_084658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzSuue85oFaB7fbapB5O5s-UW44u38sXgCqOyQNi6sTOSulxqwl_Hhl54-LkMjc50LTCiNQEelQiKlpdxJ6UDkMUxK9XWXD_8nRo6az9Cv7joDVU2stKgcBSwybXV6i0b-8KXtI_YQ1MrFs59OBe4JSFovo4aUZRmZ-NPHeX7DZaK6mPEX5BFALNAhg/w640-h480/20220804_084658.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQGeTEIEwCVLp__EpgAfT4sw_kmpQ0E86Epyi-AhZU4kbzMZyMMt0Gqrss_ZTlgNAVtsWGEImMAXTjzfvUJHGTIbC7aCtYXa3zQa68fovvEWjI41GoErskWEcU2KOC1iJyAgmnR_xkoGF9-ZV4gG3QB8iJCCB_KJC0ttSDtI8hPrbRfMFL_JMT2FleQ/s4032/20220809_084822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQGeTEIEwCVLp__EpgAfT4sw_kmpQ0E86Epyi-AhZU4kbzMZyMMt0Gqrss_ZTlgNAVtsWGEImMAXTjzfvUJHGTIbC7aCtYXa3zQa68fovvEWjI41GoErskWEcU2KOC1iJyAgmnR_xkoGF9-ZV4gG3QB8iJCCB_KJC0ttSDtI8hPrbRfMFL_JMT2FleQ/w640-h480/20220809_084822.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4H8DxyTiilrjTJMvndXozuDMLcCNBHNURxLPcuLp3KVoGZSEDeVEWDBlHjbFjJV1o3EufkkZ3kMT7nucBEITaUVT8N223mGBr04l6ls1rsFAOSuJDjSeruyc_ZeaCIeeFfb2JtK_tJ7EO87KmSRzbAIoXYNNbQVY2UZRYmIpblYucCsh3WU80fq90w/s4032/20220804_130756.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4H8DxyTiilrjTJMvndXozuDMLcCNBHNURxLPcuLp3KVoGZSEDeVEWDBlHjbFjJV1o3EufkkZ3kMT7nucBEITaUVT8N223mGBr04l6ls1rsFAOSuJDjSeruyc_ZeaCIeeFfb2JtK_tJ7EO87KmSRzbAIoXYNNbQVY2UZRYmIpblYucCsh3WU80fq90w/w640-h480/20220804_130756.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-73672582258473107962022-06-09T19:18:00.000-06:002022-06-09T19:18:21.587-06:00Ten Years of Lake Blanche<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyia3s02LJm451zJH0HcVdj4i2dgOSUG1gRnFoDPScf3bxLXe_fEwX1usbsd7TxHS5V6_cQ3bBxKdzyjJcIBVbqN_pu_KxiG2uErLW8AlKLDdG10Kk1icQ-VYQdwwGUKo769Uh2LDRaRXIUUnmMVjnwoEqa-UHrYonyDNqHo6xUPpzdtTGwr99oehnw/s4032/20220609_144456.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyia3s02LJm451zJH0HcVdj4i2dgOSUG1gRnFoDPScf3bxLXe_fEwX1usbsd7TxHS5V6_cQ3bBxKdzyjJcIBVbqN_pu_KxiG2uErLW8AlKLDdG10Kk1icQ-VYQdwwGUKo769Uh2LDRaRXIUUnmMVjnwoEqa-UHrYonyDNqHo6xUPpzdtTGwr99oehnw/w640-h480/20220609_144456.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>June 9, 2012. Ten years ago today. I'd arrived in Utah mere days earlier, and was eager to get out and explore my temporary home for the next three months. The first item on the list was a hike up to Lake Blanche, an icon of the Wasatch Mountains.</p><p>I'd drooled over mountains for years, depicted beautifully in the model railroad magazines I'd spent my childhood reading. I had climbed a few mountains of eastern Spain where I'd spent a college semester. But despite that, I'd never actually spent time in the high alpine. This mountain foray was a new and long-anticipated experience.</p><p>I made all the typical mistakes. I clad myself in cotton from head to toe. I misidentified every single tree I passed. I carried myself with a youthful overconfidence, even haughtiness. I came down with dehydration-related headaches. </p><p>But I was transfixed. The high alpine was just as idyllic, just as stark, just as captivating as I imagined it would be. <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpwock0mSgzXLi22vdZtqNTL1NWX4kMu6TqXrSsbqjYYpyTPy_V7EGEqtxlq1xHwUmu4GdRNmWZpFKiVcp86UIWRr3u1qXfou5N2xD0PYG8HTQHTB3aWKPwYJjfxk-DRVSsEteYkUvTmJO_38sVXIsFGbfwWuPgNQMNy5giPNZBW6YQsjFzbo5BYltA/s1280/0609121500.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpwock0mSgzXLi22vdZtqNTL1NWX4kMu6TqXrSsbqjYYpyTPy_V7EGEqtxlq1xHwUmu4GdRNmWZpFKiVcp86UIWRr3u1qXfou5N2xD0PYG8HTQHTB3aWKPwYJjfxk-DRVSsEteYkUvTmJO_38sVXIsFGbfwWuPgNQMNy5giPNZBW6YQsjFzbo5BYltA/w640-h480/0609121500.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">2012. Excuse the dodgy digital photography</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Lake Blanche was just the beginning. I explored a new Wasatch destination nearly every weekend that summer, climbing several 11,000-foot peaks and reveling in the wonders of the high alpine.</p><p>Along the way, I learned quite a bit. I learned the importance of hydration in an arid climate. I learned how to deal with altitude and how to pace myself. I stopped wearing cotton and started carrying the Ten Essentials. At the end of the summer, I took my first non-failure backpacking trips. By the end of that summer, I was well on my way to being the outdoorsman of my aspirations. </p><p>Equally important were the lessons I learned about myself. I'm a truly terrible athlete. While I've always been active and/or played sports, genes simply don't work in my favor. In four years of high school swimming, not once did I manage anything other than a last-place finish. I have several friends in their 60's who can still hike circles around me.<br /></p><p>But that summer I found my niche. Even given its limitations, my body could still propel me thousands of feet upward, to beautiful places and unforgettable experiences. Sure, I might be a little slower than the average person, but I really could do it. That summer gave me the confidence to tackle the Appalachian Trail the next spring and launched a solid decade of adventure.<br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbMtXFRFQARFu-pzjXgQ4KA_Ea8wK8MFG4DO3IrwDZfBBKsHj5yt-orA0pC88BudqFvhyLkAEYVL6MzYBnebG1dzMtPdmBduB6ilG0PFipoSrSRb7r-i9wVOz6PmKXTZeiJepQKlXpEBDMU4ArsQzszW1qjIU4L17M701AKgce4C2Oasw9nmTcDDNyQ/s3264/DSCN1858.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbMtXFRFQARFu-pzjXgQ4KA_Ea8wK8MFG4DO3IrwDZfBBKsHj5yt-orA0pC88BudqFvhyLkAEYVL6MzYBnebG1dzMtPdmBduB6ilG0PFipoSrSRb7r-i9wVOz6PmKXTZeiJepQKlXpEBDMU4ArsQzszW1qjIU4L17M701AKgce4C2Oasw9nmTcDDNyQ/w640-h480/DSCN1858.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">2012. Cotton from head to toe.</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>An annual tradition has developed - an homage to that first, transformative hike. Every year, on the first Sunday after Memorial Day, I hike up to Lake Blanche after church with some friends. Objectively, it's a terrible idea:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>It's always at least 95 degrees.</li><li>We don't start until about 1pm, so there's never any room left in the trailhead lot. We end up parking about a half a mile down the road.</li><li>We do the climb during the heat of the day. Nobody's ever passed out (yet), but it's always sweltering.</li><li>I tote a watermelon three thousand feet up to the lake. <br /></li></ul><p>...but terrible ideas make for quirky and fun traditions. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6V1cyRRpPbBXWnxYYnA0A_QCxCfAMmmkaN-01iz7GcS_XM8ENQ6m8-MfHzSRNq_dDYK1AFOfTsSJh2jMC9035enjw2pnbukPq-6gaGvomSVg5_JyTmtUsniLeIWnSw0xI6P9KgnSEN0VlZSbB68K5xyiOgo7Hhxg6cc6zTN4RvO2H7ld1_l3EQzajA/s960/15110880_10154032043030823_1732334856058217901_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6V1cyRRpPbBXWnxYYnA0A_QCxCfAMmmkaN-01iz7GcS_XM8ENQ6m8-MfHzSRNq_dDYK1AFOfTsSJh2jMC9035enjw2pnbukPq-6gaGvomSVg5_JyTmtUsniLeIWnSw0xI6P9KgnSEN0VlZSbB68K5xyiOgo7Hhxg6cc6zTN4RvO2H7ld1_l3EQzajA/w480-h640/15110880_10154032043030823_1732334856058217901_o.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>2016. Nothing better on a hot day! (Photo: Clara Gelderloos)<br /></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>This year, things were a little different: no companions and no watermelon. I did it on a Thursday, ten years to the day after that first hike. After two major foot surgeries in the past fifteen months, I needed to keep a rather ponderous pace. I'm still working back into shape, and it's unclear how the past year's foot odyssey will affect my future hiking capabilities. </p><p>Nonetheless, this Lake Blanche hike represents a hope that the next ten years will be as fruitful as the previous ten and that the foot can recover enough to make backpacking possible again. It's also a celebration of ten years of adventure, and ten years of living in a place that's become my home. <br /></p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_c4Ygexfq82oXC1VUj26siZna6w0Vzg1a3Vtyk7iBVdJYSFGjUsK69x7ITYnVjnHq_un956vF71D-E5-CyaIBIYj3hO2FCvILffSVfNa2gcyvozLdq85xDDuN86hJTRWJLbLJmlUHDCkYvZBfrvT3U0LoT4bFe76kyhIRSgjWe30-5YUhYysx3hM9Q/s4032/20220609_143810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_c4Ygexfq82oXC1VUj26siZna6w0Vzg1a3Vtyk7iBVdJYSFGjUsK69x7ITYnVjnHq_un956vF71D-E5-CyaIBIYj3hO2FCvILffSVfNa2gcyvozLdq85xDDuN86hJTRWJLbLJmlUHDCkYvZBfrvT3U0LoT4bFe76kyhIRSgjWe30-5YUhYysx3hM9Q/w640-h480/20220609_143810.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>2022</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-29454645085368258012022-01-09T12:08:00.002-07:002022-04-09T23:11:03.859-06:00The Winter Thru-hike Problem<p>Spend any time on the internet or hanging around Triple Crowner types, and inevitably the topic of winter thru-hikes will arise. There are <a href="https://www.longtrailsmap.net/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">dozens of long-distance trails</span> </a>out there, but most are best hiked in the spring, summer, and fall. There are relatively few true "winter" thru-hikes. Sure, you can get away with starting some trails at the end of February of the beginning of March (even if that's often<a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2013/03/ups-and-downs.html"> <span style="color: #2b00fe;">a bad idea</span></a>), but that's not really what we're talking about here. Rather, we're referring to treks that are doable - and even pleasant - in the dead of winter, e.g. January. In this post, we'll review some candidates routes, and then discuss some special considerations for winter thru-hiking.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj78iZTkYY1WaSCJL4hUp9ymfWReiN9Zdta33LMOWNRzfl57_C1qgXSyigjps-dNg9mL8p5HqDOgOwuoOvcxyo5REV-Na9q6wCADE8RstSjdX2fn5uH4N8neREHaZQy_FnXUwibMChrPcaYAiKFiCZyUbij2Nl8r1AYq_US5E-HgFoAEuG6t4XgSCy3JQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj78iZTkYY1WaSCJL4hUp9ymfWReiN9Zdta33LMOWNRzfl57_C1qgXSyigjps-dNg9mL8p5HqDOgOwuoOvcxyo5REV-Na9q6wCADE8RstSjdX2fn5uH4N8neREHaZQy_FnXUwibMChrPcaYAiKFiCZyUbij2Nl8r1AYq_US5E-HgFoAEuG6t4XgSCy3JQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Desert Winter Thru Hike holds tremenous potential.</span><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Rejected Candidates <br /></h1><p>When I was a college freshman, I headed down to Great Smoky Mountain National Park over spring break with a few friends for our first-ever backpacking trip. Spring break in the south! It'll be warm and pleasant, right? Wrong. We trudged through multiple feet of snow, slid off the road once, and even got a good old-fashioned case of hypothermia. I was cold and miserable most of the time. To put it charitably, the trip was a flop.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC8XVAvU0CzVHJ8GmPhPP3fNRsuMkJu2qfn1t7D5k77F_n1uXGHMVXOfijXLvApQrISISejKPB92k9AwW8y-hXSTG_arjrG9lOL_gcqm9IqWohOAcQF72MZOZyznDpRlW8RNcBfYQ5iBxkoasv3LdBKlra-tkTQxSma5GADjvZkDOOeFT9kgKmzvOIxg=s3264" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC8XVAvU0CzVHJ8GmPhPP3fNRsuMkJu2qfn1t7D5k77F_n1uXGHMVXOfijXLvApQrISISejKPB92k9AwW8y-hXSTG_arjrG9lOL_gcqm9IqWohOAcQF72MZOZyznDpRlW8RNcBfYQ5iBxkoasv3LdBKlra-tkTQxSma5GADjvZkDOOeFT9kgKmzvOIxg=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo: Jake Vriesema</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>To this day, I see people making the same mistake. Northerners like me seem to underestimate the effects of elevation. Just because a trail is in the "south" doesn't mean it's warm and pleasant in the depths of winter. The following trails, despite being located in southerly climes, are largely at high elevation, and would be unpleasant at best in the depths of winter: </p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Arizona Trail<br /></li><li>Sky Islands Traverse</li><li>Grand Enchantment Trail</li><li>Hayduke Trail</li></ul><p>Is it possible to do these trails in winter? Yes, and some of them have been done already. But by that standard, the Pacific Crest Trail has been <a href="https://www.pcta.org/2015/meet-two-guys-winter-thru-hiking-pct-19-incredible-photos-26687/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">done in the winter</span>,</a> and I certainly don't think anyone would call the PCT a "winter thru-hike". Hikers attempting any of these trails in the winter will be doing them explicitly out-of-season, and will face many challenges not present during the prime hiking season. </p><p>It should be noted that most of these routes do have sections that dip down into the low elevations. The stretch of the Arizona Trail north of Oracle comes to mind as an obvious instance. Certain sections would be perfectly doable in the winter, however I wouldn't advise attempting a thru-hike of the whole thing unless you're prepared for a whole lot of unpleasantness and truly four-season conditions.<br /></p><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Marginal Candidates <br /></h1><p>A few years ago, hiker extraordinaire Cam "Swami" Honan walked Arkansas's Ouachita Trail in January/February. He evidently enjoyed it, and wrote a <span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://www.thehikinglife.com/2014/07/ouachita-trail/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">very positive review</span> </a></span> of the trail. Since that time, I've seen countless online acolytes refer to the OT as a "winter thru hike". And while it's certainly possible to hike the OT in the winter (even if you're not a top-notch adventurer like Swami), there's some context that's missing.</p><p>Swami did the OT as part of his stunning "12 Long Walks" project, in which he hiked many of North America's foremost hiking trails in one year-round, 18-month push. Of course, that meant finding trails to do in the winter. Among them was the OT. He hiked the OT not because it was at its very best in the winter, but because it was possible, pleasant, and lined up well with his schedule. </p><p>Put another way, if your goal was to hike the Ouachita Trail at its best, and there were no other considerations, you probably wouldn't hike it in January. The OT and its brethren are perfectly suitable for winter thru-hiking, but frankly, are best enjoyed at a different time of year. Off the top of my head, there are several such trails:<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Ouachita Trail </b>(223 mi)</li><li><b>Ozark Highlands Trail</b> (164 mi)</li><li><b>Palmetto Trail</b> (~500 mi, unfinished)</li><li><b>Pinhoti Trail</b> (335 mi)</li><li><b>Benton MacKaye Trail</b> (287 mi)<br /></li></ul><p>It's possible to hike all of these trails in the winter. Temperatures may be cool (or even downright cold at night), but it warms up during the day. Snow and ice may be a factor, but snowpack doesn't hang around all winter and continue to accumulate. <br /></p><p>But it's hard to argue that any of these trails are at their <i>best </i>during the winter. Hiking a trail through the leafless hardwoods can be a little monochromatic in the winter. Sure the views are marginally better, but those dead and brown trees don't exactly inspire a soaring feeling of wonder as you hike through the woods. And though they're well south of the Mason-Dixon line, each of these trails (especially at higher elevations) can see snow/frost/cold temperatures. On the Ozark Highlands Trail (early March 2018), I had nights in the single digits, and four consecutive days where the mercury didn't even reach the freezing mark. </p><p>This isn't to dissuade anyone from doing these trails in the dead of winter. Even imperfect time spent outside is better than rotting on the couch. But there are other, possibly better, candidates out there. <br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjseaCwJMYJARv77jU5Q6TaoCJtrGRimXBXVEAzZJSwwE_8DrOBZqJ2QKIuAuwgZzt_XYPuMZX2NMJghISnEmRLR4vTyW1Fz3k_lxlmLDEK6-aRi9NOfGVGQgCA67kCirZ12vZAjzG6iVGs4ojh1gUHCxZdnihgOHygdlGw13nZ283Q7jDxKRGiu8RKzQ=s3264" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjseaCwJMYJARv77jU5Q6TaoCJtrGRimXBXVEAzZJSwwE_8DrOBZqJ2QKIuAuwgZzt_XYPuMZX2NMJghISnEmRLR4vTyW1Fz3k_lxlmLDEK6-aRi9NOfGVGQgCA67kCirZ12vZAjzG6iVGs4ojh1gUHCxZdnihgOHygdlGw13nZ283Q7jDxKRGiu8RKzQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Doable. Not ideal.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Prime Candidates:</h1><p>As far as I'm concerned, there are really only two US long-distance routes that are at their best during the depths of winter (December-February) - the Florida Trail and the Desert Winter Thru Hike. We'll discuss each of them in turn:</p><p><b>Florida Trail</b></p><p>For many years, the <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/03/florida-trail-quick-tips.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Florida Trail</span> </a>has been the default choice for long-distance hikers looking to stretch their legs in the winter. Let's start with some fast facts:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>1,100 miles long</li><li>Federally-designated National Scenic Trail</li><li>Southern terminus: Big Cypress National Preserve</li><li>Northern terminus: Gulf Islands National Seashore</li><li>70% trail, 30% (mostly paved) roads</li><li>No appreciable elevation gain/loss</li><li>Numerous towns/resupply points. Resupply is a breeze, at least if you're okay eating out of nothing but Dollars General for 500 miles. <br /></li></ul><p>The FT often carries a bum rap among thru-hiker types. They scoff at the completely flat elevation profile, lack of pristine wilderness, or abundant road miles. They're often scared off by the pounding that feet take on the FT, the swamps/wet conditions, and the bugs. All of those are fair criticisms. </p><p>But here's what they're missing: The forests on the FT are incredible. Far from being boring green tunnels like they often are on other trails, the FT's forests are varied. They're dense, often with interlocking branches above. The palm and oak hammocks are something to behold. And while the swamps are certainly soggy<i>, </i>they're among the most unique and interesting parts of the trail. FT volunteers have worked tirelessly to bridge the deepest water with some truly spectacular bridges. The FT passes through varied ecosystems, from the Everglades in the south to pine forests in the middle to a white sand beach in the north. Along the way, you walk along idyllic rivers, one of which (the Aucilla) randomly dives into a series of karst sinkholes and soon thereafter disappears entirely. How cool is that!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9e38PnG6L_-yKUr-CW2si98Q6ceUp1sV3LqIyxt6JAtMee6u9YeHtbBVJTFB_TKc75JxpJX2YaEErNQOPfN7X4cd3m05G98NCiYR80BPO7jfyoFiEqziYdb_in0ibU8j1vm4yh7AyAJl2KjAYw4qUoBBqZDFwJh8YWwnsyQsrQIET_Knz0rCDK0Pq8g=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9e38PnG6L_-yKUr-CW2si98Q6ceUp1sV3LqIyxt6JAtMee6u9YeHtbBVJTFB_TKc75JxpJX2YaEErNQOPfN7X4cd3m05G98NCiYR80BPO7jfyoFiEqziYdb_in0ibU8j1vm4yh7AyAJl2KjAYw4qUoBBqZDFwJh8YWwnsyQsrQIET_Knz0rCDK0Pq8g=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br />The only realistic hiking season for the FT is the dead of winter. The rest of the year can be ruled out due to oppressive heat, hideous bugs, and high water left over from tropical storms. While you'll probably have a few chilly nights in the panhandle and a few sweltering nights in the south, overall, temperatures are fairly pleasant and mild. The swamps would require a dinghy in the summer; in the winter, they're passable on foot. <br /><p></p><p>The FT can be hiked in either direction (northbound or southbound) during the winter months (Dec-Mar). Most hikers start in south after celebrating Christmas/New Years with their families, working their way north as the weather warms. Hikers generally finish in late February or March.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF7gsPxwAqw9jQJacZr3YGt4F-5nG7ma3MMWqvFMq-7ZqOhclNoHlQM3ErbdXamp7WCK0RCmH0di3I0gBTEKYWDeiMAgl5W3mZJcHy0bUhIdbjLAlP2JG0H8qZfFwSmtsZhybXMX2DaeadagVcjtqzjKydqzVZg8ayVdF8tbs477Kc8RJNjHbO1D5xfw=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF7gsPxwAqw9jQJacZr3YGt4F-5nG7ma3MMWqvFMq-7ZqOhclNoHlQM3ErbdXamp7WCK0RCmH0di3I0gBTEKYWDeiMAgl5W3mZJcHy0bUhIdbjLAlP2JG0H8qZfFwSmtsZhybXMX2DaeadagVcjtqzjKydqzVZg8ayVdF8tbs477Kc8RJNjHbO1D5xfw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>Desert Winter Thru-Hike</b></p><p>As its name implies, the <a href="https://blisterfree.wordpress.com/2020/12/06/desert-wth-follow-up-and-version-2-0/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Desert Winter Thru Hike</span> </a>is designed to be walked during the dead of winter. It stays generally in low-elevation terrain of the Sonoran and Mojave deserts. The fast facts:</p><ul><li>~750 miles long<br /></li><li>Unofficial "route" created by Brett "Blisterfree" Tucker (of Grand Enchantment Trail fame)<br /></li><li>Eastern terminus: Saguaro National Park<br /></li><li>Western terminus: Joshua Tree National Park<br /></li><li>50% dirt roads, 40% cross-country, 10% trail<br /></li><li>Modest elevation gain/loss<br /></li><li>Tough resupply situation. By necessity, most towns have walk-in/walk-out access. With few exceptions though, they're tiny hamlets with few services.<br /></li></ul><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfGz6-TNq_ZPq6pen3boVLbCCGh25TJyihTOYp0oUrNXCviQnWah1Aqy8Iy7vmofYRHVj_jIXWF3rxun7ppwA1vsTXaJW_mnYO5eZesuBfZW9rkuJfgsGvokTcrd--MPlJIWlQxVq1mMYBpmyej4tAodouLIhCJSOS6_90Ax_5-K66SM4L3zAVax0ddg=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfGz6-TNq_ZPq6pen3boVLbCCGh25TJyihTOYp0oUrNXCviQnWah1Aqy8Iy7vmofYRHVj_jIXWF3rxun7ppwA1vsTXaJW_mnYO5eZesuBfZW9rkuJfgsGvokTcrd--MPlJIWlQxVq1mMYBpmyej4tAodouLIhCJSOS6_90Ax_5-K66SM4L3zAVax0ddg=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Most of the "dirt road" miles are like this. Zero traffic, just double-wide trail.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>We need to be very clear about one thing up-front: the Desert WTH is a <a href="https://www.msrgear.com/blog/route-vs-trail-pt1/"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">route, not a trail</span></u></a>. There's no dedicated trail tread (indeed, in this hardscrabble country, trails are a rarity). There's a ton of cross-country on this route, though most of it follows natural handrails like canyons or ridges. This route definitely falls into the "experts only" category. <br /></p><p>Compounding the challenge, the Desert WTH is still in its adolesence. Though Blisterfree is fastidious about gathering beta, the reality is that the Desert WTH is still only a couple years old, is not yet finalized, and to date has seen zero completions. </p><p>All that said, the Desert WTH is, in my opinion, most beautiful, wild, and rewarding trail mentioned in this article. To date, I've only done the eastern (Arizona) half, and am more than a little stoked to walk the California portion at some point in the future. Unlike wetter climes, the deserts look just as beautiful in the winter as they do in the summer, and the sunsets are often picture-perfect. For hikers with tens of thousands of trail miles to their names, I think the WTH will quickly become a preferred option in coming years.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgV3Lf31Mmc7jJesvqysZMO4_CT0psH9EMl3PG1PtYlB422jkmEuqRiItPM5QqVRdtBF87HWgOVMWWUN-t8xRUtfYoTWm2WZx4Dk8eT2Hrn7j_l0WqlXcHHYdJXN1L2Z2HjSQPLRMYKSjR8aYc-3IYm8yt_GuZrZCR6HZR5lJ69tBTMUlNdoFJm4zZDpA=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgV3Lf31Mmc7jJesvqysZMO4_CT0psH9EMl3PG1PtYlB422jkmEuqRiItPM5QqVRdtBF87HWgOVMWWUN-t8xRUtfYoTWm2WZx4Dk8eT2Hrn7j_l0WqlXcHHYdJXN1L2Z2HjSQPLRMYKSjR8aYc-3IYm8yt_GuZrZCR6HZR5lJ69tBTMUlNdoFJm4zZDpA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Shorter Candidates</h1><p>Beyond the FT and Desert WTH, there are a few shorter trails that are in-season in the dead of winter. Whether these trails qualify as "thru-hikes" is an arcane debate that I don't care to indulge, but these are all trails that can be done on either zero or one resupply. Hiking time would be anywhere from 4-12 days.</p><p><b>San Diego Trans-County Trail</b></p><p>For its length, the <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2019/01/the-good-bad-and-sketchy.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">SDTCT</span> </a>is a surprisingly diverse trail. Some fast facts:</p><ul><li>~160miles long<br /></li><li>Official county trail, but with many gaps that have been filled in by unofficial connections over the years<br /></li><li>Eastern terminus: Salton Sea (below sea level!)<br /></li><li>Western terminus: Torrey Pines State Park, Pacific Ocean<br /></li><li>65% trail, 20% dirt roads, 15% pavement<br /></li><li>Significant private property/access concerns<br /></li><li>Easy resupply situation</li><li>Most folks will want to cache water for a couple of long dry stretches. </li></ul><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpd2a1M5_2TiAPC7xh4xFL0d-wB5WT_4PofN7UavibBX1PUP5ZdhhG2kEKQgZf-zffxx7H4AZnVM-jpbV4Dnj1RAX7Z4xzpH0ENYbwRYgVf-P7KyaKIKua5_8Guk2rNSzHYiCeCllNxH8x4DVr0MQx8okmJeQBc9PipP9_HV3ES7dpECLDolt9lNmAcQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpd2a1M5_2TiAPC7xh4xFL0d-wB5WT_4PofN7UavibBX1PUP5ZdhhG2kEKQgZf-zffxx7H4AZnVM-jpbV4Dnj1RAX7Z4xzpH0ENYbwRYgVf-P7KyaKIKua5_8Guk2rNSzHYiCeCllNxH8x4DVr0MQx8okmJeQBc9PipP9_HV3ES7dpECLDolt9lNmAcQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Normally dry wash, flowing after the winter rain nourishes this Mediterranean climate. Bring a rain jacket.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The SDTCT begins in a rugged, waterless desert next to the stinking Salton Sea. It crosses badlands, low mountain ranges, a significant river canyon, several neighborhoods of suburban San Diego, an urban greenway corridor, and splashes its way to an end in the Pacific Ocean. It's incredibly diverse; in just 150 miles, it contains both a 40-mile waterless stretch and a Costco. The eastern half is pretty remote; the western half is built up enough that finding a campsite can be a challenge. Even though the entirety of the trail isn't remote, unbroken wilderness, I still really enjoyed it.<br /></p><p>Private property is a concern, and unfortunately there will be several times along the SDTCT where you'll feel distinctly unwelcome, even if what you're doing isn't strictly speaking illegal. I'd encourage anyone who seeks to undertake the journey to be respectful, stealthy, and understand the private property issues prior to undertaking.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheoY-Nov5UdvuWTDLwGhUSDVwhdV-wXUqIeV4FSCSYDkM0kULKVzD3uZ078hMaEpjTKFc1cTcQwlodn1lcVMqOA2H51iC-equiYPShtQkiDdD_iB7XYXSLfiaX3dP0HAumxKSILqFjwYOvB55eGS0kmpz6XErY9cNRknC1BYeB-XGQSVtpEkgC4wiuCw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheoY-Nov5UdvuWTDLwGhUSDVwhdV-wXUqIeV4FSCSYDkM0kULKVzD3uZ078hMaEpjTKFc1cTcQwlodn1lcVMqOA2H51iC-equiYPShtQkiDdD_iB7XYXSLfiaX3dP0HAumxKSILqFjwYOvB55eGS0kmpz6XErY9cNRknC1BYeB-XGQSVtpEkgC4wiuCw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Burbling brook in the foreground, high-voltage lines in the background. Hiking in the urban/rural interface is certainly unique.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b>Lone Star Hiking Trail </b><p></p><p>I haven't done the <a href="https://lonestartrail.org/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Lone Star Trail</span> </a>and have no first-hand experience with the area. Some fast facts:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li> 96 miles long</li><li>Designated as a National Recreation Trail</li><li>Has a legit, active trail organization</li><li>Located in the Sam Houston State Forest, north of Houston.<br /></li></ul><p>On the other hand, reader <a href="https://outdoorpilgrim.com/about/"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Sisu</span></u> </a>has hiked the LSTH and offers her <a href="https://outdoorpilgrim.com/at-shakedown-hike/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u>thoughts</u></span>.</a> She appreciated the warm Texas midwinter weather, the modest length and difficulty, and the easy navigation. There was no dangerous wildlife to contend with, aside from a few ticks.<br /></p><p>On the other side of the ledger? She found the trail conditions to be a wet, "juicy mess". the scenery to be pretty lackluster, and the water quality to be surprisingly poor. Aggressive dogs on roadwalks and a tough camping situation rounded out the challenges on this route. In summary? </p><blockquote><div></div><div><i>Bottom
line, if someone asked me about my honest opinion about the LSHT, I'd
respond with: Don't waste your time. You can do better.</i></div><p></p></blockquote><p>Like with any trail, opinions vary. I hate to say it, but hiking a midwinter trail in North America does often imply lowering your standards a little bit*. No one is going to confuse the Lone Star Hiking Trail for the John Muir Trail, or the Florida Trail for a <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/09/a-greater-yellowstone-loop.html"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Greater Yellowstone Loop</span></u></a>. But that's okay. </p><p><i>*In my opinion, the Desert Winter Thru Hike is the exception to this rule, but I'm admittedly a huge fanboy of that route so you should probably take this with a grain of salt.</i></p><p><i><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PQk4eyH71n6lFAoGYfa17ijLcQrIm-xK--hfV4LWbXr1Jh-e3jLGaheiiszJnYh67ANRF4lz4syalpeJeZsrgdA91XBgmaHpsbDo65K3SQsnC32S9fu6JDfryB_VSn-an1XZ36zTadTPgk6l4JTzz4LMV5zuIBNSb03Y4TmO2NhNCtqYirF3dpyx0Q/s4032/81EDD935-4F2C-486B-8480-B77096FDE9A7.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PQk4eyH71n6lFAoGYfa17ijLcQrIm-xK--hfV4LWbXr1Jh-e3jLGaheiiszJnYh67ANRF4lz4syalpeJeZsrgdA91XBgmaHpsbDo65K3SQsnC32S9fu6JDfryB_VSn-an1XZ36zTadTPgk6l4JTzz4LMV5zuIBNSb03Y4TmO2NhNCtqYirF3dpyx0Q/w640-h480/81EDD935-4F2C-486B-8480-B77096FDE9A7.heic" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo courtesy of </i><a href="https://outdoorpilgrim.com/"><i><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Sisu</span></u></i> <br /></a></td></tr></tbody></table> </i><br /></p><p></p><p></p><p><b>Big Bend 100</b></p><p>I've only done a few miles of the <a href="https://ramujica.wordpress.com/how-to-hike-the-big-bend-100/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Big Bend 100</span> </a>(where it overlaps with the Outer Mountain Loop in Big Bend National Park), but think the route has a lot of potential. Some fast facts:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>100 miles long </li><li>50% trail, 30% dirt road, 20% off-trail</li><li>Unofficial "route"</li><li>Western Terminus: Casa Piedra Trailhead, Big Bend Ranch State Park</li><li>Eastern Terminus: Chisos Basin, Big Bend National Park<br /></li><li>Split roughly evenly between national park and state park land.</li><li>Tough logistics/transportation between termini</li></ul><p>This one's another expert-level trail. I haven't done the "hard" (i.e. off-trail) parts, as the 2019 government shutdown scuttled my plans, but would expect it to be on par with the Hayduke for navigational and water difficulty. The route's "official" website has been taken down recently for unknown reasons, so do your homework if you want to attempt this trail. Reading between the lines, I suspect there's some significant red tape associated with hiking this trail, with the National Park's permit system being of particular concern.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXbUaGk4ZDelhgfjB1PifSDiIecG2YgDzMDvh2lKCwSAooi1peBASY6EBXnhBeS_8G5L80XpixxsLMaxZKntiU40JF6oaQZ35FfZ-nwyi7jRa9A__xzeHi3U_etCu0PC4J0Q-AXp_dWWzNDKMfvtTvne9uS9V90ZRa9WEm7YPG9Z4NQkxKIu0SaCwReg=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXbUaGk4ZDelhgfjB1PifSDiIecG2YgDzMDvh2lKCwSAooi1peBASY6EBXnhBeS_8G5L80XpixxsLMaxZKntiU40JF6oaQZ35FfZ-nwyi7jRa9A__xzeHi3U_etCu0PC4J0Q-AXp_dWWzNDKMfvtTvne9uS9V90ZRa9WEm7YPG9Z4NQkxKIu0SaCwReg=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Considerations for winter hiking</h1><p>Even for hiking trails that are at their best during the winter, things are still a little bit different in the winter vis-<span><span data-dobid="hdw">à-vis three-season hiking. <br /></span></span></p><p><b>Short Daylight</b></p><p>In early January, the sun is only up in Miami for 10.5 hours. For points more northerly (e.g. the rest of the country), there's even less daylight. This has two implications.</p><p>First, expect to scale back your daily mileage. During three-season conditions, I typically do about 25 miles/day on the major western trails, and most of those trails are far more physically demanding than either the Florida Trail or Desert Winter Thru Hike. Despite that, I found that my daily mileage on both the FT and Desert WTH was only around 20 miles/day. I constantly found myself running out of daylight. I could certainly do bigger miles, but it would involve night hiking. I advise anyone looking to thru-hike in the winter to scale back their mileage expectations relative to the long days of summer.</p><p>Second, find ways to pass the long nights. Even while hiking, I can't sleep for 13 hours, night after night. I generally find myself falling into an exhausted sleep soon after dark, waking up for an hour or two in the middle of the night, and then falling back asleep til morning. Apparently this <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-16964783"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">sleep pattern was common</span> </a>in the long winter nights of pre-industrial Europe. I recommend bringing a deck of cards, a book, or some other form of entertainment. I also use the nighttime interregnum to do a significant fraction of my daily eating. I'm awake anyway, so why not? It allows me to make better use of my limited daylight to hike and see stuff, rather than taking an hour lunch.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOnq1l_t1rIW65g6yiNm9NvYlmJV5m3KfL9lXY4tn0a0_0c0nBysXhvQ3c5x0IrTQ9abVvrkeORWtwLTAd5OnmQsP15Es_j3NOWD_1Aw7fojJAzL24BlQiSfcK3-fzP_gIdd_jZbe_27x19dETVAsS9NE4w4mgKeql8DDBy8AGewK646wtwwhadOjYag=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOnq1l_t1rIW65g6yiNm9NvYlmJV5m3KfL9lXY4tn0a0_0c0nBysXhvQ3c5x0IrTQ9abVvrkeORWtwLTAd5OnmQsP15Es_j3NOWD_1Aw7fojJAzL24BlQiSfcK3-fzP_gIdd_jZbe_27x19dETVAsS9NE4w4mgKeql8DDBy8AGewK646wtwwhadOjYag=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sunrise and sunset seem to consume half the daylight hours during the winter</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p><b>Less Human Presence<br /></b></p><p>Particularly for trails in the "Marginal Candidates" bucket, I find that trails are much quieter during the winter. Most casual outdoors-types who live in warm climates aren't particularly enthused about going out in cold weather (at least by their standards). On my Ouachita and Ozark Highlands Trails hikes, I met a grand total of 4 people over 400 miles. Had I hiked in the dead of winter instead of during the winter/spring transition, I probably met even fewer.</p><p>With shoulder-season hiking comes certain challenges though. Campgrounds and seasonal businesses may be closed. Water faucets at campgrounds and visitors centers may be shut off. If you're planning to hike a Marginal Candidate durin the winter, make sure you do your research beforehand!<br /></p><p><b>Reduced Physical Fitness</b></p><p>A friend of mine refers to this as the "Winter Manatee, Summer Dolphin" phenomenon, and I don't think it's limited to long-distance hikers. Understandably, most people simply aren't as active in the winter as they are in the summer.</p><p>Hikers are particularly susceptible to this phenomenon, though. Many of them will have completed a long-distance hike in September or October, and will have adjusted their expectations over the course of that hike. They now see 25-30 mile days as the new normal, and may not fully appreciate just how tough a 25 is for someone "coming off the couch". After a couple months of reduced physical activity and still eating 3,000 calories/day, trying to do big miles during the dead of winter may be a rude awakening indeed. </p><p>All in all then, even experienced thru-hikers would do well to ease themselves into the hiking life and allow their bodies to acclimate to the rigors of on-trail life.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTnTRQjU40R9ZECJIEUqf9yMVjzif-0VBBgP11tvvk2nn0R_3sxltrOWaELGqooxs2hvyof82CjE7yO1QY22Stxu824r31-f6IesODglH371ZUx-3gMEOoXrOjlJAvfVYCFCzYwgkOEWajf7OLbFX-r0Mi7oHn_8IOZzmDBcg-52FstjMSGAVh8C_5jQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTnTRQjU40R9ZECJIEUqf9yMVjzif-0VBBgP11tvvk2nn0R_3sxltrOWaELGqooxs2hvyof82CjE7yO1QY22Stxu824r31-f6IesODglH371ZUx-3gMEOoXrOjlJAvfVYCFCzYwgkOEWajf7OLbFX-r0Mi7oHn_8IOZzmDBcg-52FstjMSGAVh8C_5jQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Worth It?<br /></h1><p>There's no way around it - long-distance hiking options are limited during the North American winter. Nevertheless, a winter thru-hike can be delightful. I think that the Desert Winter Thru Hike in particular has a ton of potential as a delightful midwinter journey for very experienced route hikers. But even if you're not up for something that long or difficult, the shorter candidates, or a section of the Florida Trail may be just what you need to ward off the winter manatee. And let's not pretend there's not a certain delight in enjoying the warm sunshine while our friends and family in colder states are complaining about yet another foot of snow!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXgK4YBGZCB6z2rwRXmIyFU4QjEtQCBddAh731bBp1aaMTlSjJtMujq8iCPXzSjBlnPKr9BW978ZPRRU6dCCYzhUYXpAzPJCh6IT81v9r-FSqSYpnEPlMjOCgPaV6D5WEh8jn9Z8TcmMFcNBVLkwb0_4IR-f-FQBPKV32sEJEG2faBtSQBI6TGet_wLw=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXgK4YBGZCB6z2rwRXmIyFU4QjEtQCBddAh731bBp1aaMTlSjJtMujq8iCPXzSjBlnPKr9BW978ZPRRU6dCCYzhUYXpAzPJCh6IT81v9r-FSqSYpnEPlMjOCgPaV6D5WEh8jn9Z8TcmMFcNBVLkwb0_4IR-f-FQBPKV32sEJEG2faBtSQBI6TGet_wLw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-28984329977874202572021-12-23T10:24:00.001-07:002022-04-30T21:44:59.652-06:002021 - In Review<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnqnkzSZbGs2_LgD5cULrrNALMDeCxhO3CcQl0qvZXXEQFuyP1IwfSbVU-zFhfu8XI0UiIwvc_YQ-njQxKu8GrVB-6BRUqsP42PTy0WA-BXUfM48FOIrtS_An4VR9PKvP7DdxU5uew8TDqLtBnDAvmI4JUKkUVEa-ktettfx96XAKQrEhUzCcPfNwIfQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnqnkzSZbGs2_LgD5cULrrNALMDeCxhO3CcQl0qvZXXEQFuyP1IwfSbVU-zFhfu8XI0UiIwvc_YQ-njQxKu8GrVB-6BRUqsP42PTy0WA-BXUfM48FOIrtS_An4VR9PKvP7DdxU5uew8TDqLtBnDAvmI4JUKkUVEa-ktettfx96XAKQrEhUzCcPfNwIfQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I've done this year-end review series for several years now, and the format's always the same. I generally try to tie the year together with a little theme, compile some silly numbers, and run through each month's trips. I generally conclude that it was a "good year". Some years (2018, 2019) were pretty phenomenal, while other years (2017) were rougher, but still alright. Heck, even the dumpster fire we call 2020 was fairly fruitful for me from a backpacking standpoint, despite a global pandemic and literal bear attack.<br /></p><p>Not this year. This year sucked.</p><p>It started out well enough, with a little ramble through the low desert during the dregs of winter. And despite returning to full-time work this year, I was pretty stoked for the a full slate of weekend and vacation-length trips.</p><p>On the very first of those weekend trips, I shattered a bone in my foot. I had surgery shortly thereafter and was knocked entirely out of commission for the next 5-6 months. I did some (exceptionally wimpy) trips in the fall, but as of this writing (December 2021), the foot is still very limited - a few miles over easy terrain is about all it can handle. I'm still unsure how thorough the recovery will be, and whether I'll be able to get back to doing some of the things I love - long-distance stuff, uneven terrain, etc. The foot odyssey will stretch at least into 2022, and your prayers would be highly appreciated as that journey continues.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2kGzl64M6W4R1h8Y08gzldxNJ2K2nFPZCS_OuXeKjVHvQOEbXRrLtD0YvYaW1Egd7EPsPaLRw6ZNrzn5vf0MbXl8HlGGXph_j9OqU8j4PAR8jeVsFw-Rd4HXmzy6ZDXimcnyE2himqi08Sqmam6O0qN9zngn8MzrSLSqWHshl9fYzKqcI924Qd330vQ=s1080" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2kGzl64M6W4R1h8Y08gzldxNJ2K2nFPZCS_OuXeKjVHvQOEbXRrLtD0YvYaW1Egd7EPsPaLRw6ZNrzn5vf0MbXl8HlGGXph_j9OqU8j4PAR8jeVsFw-Rd4HXmzy6ZDXimcnyE2himqi08Sqmam6O0qN9zngn8MzrSLSqWHshl9fYzKqcI924Qd330vQ=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>"Getting outside" on the Bonneville Salt Flats with a wheelie scooter. H/T Justin Swanson</i><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p> Whew, sorry for being a downer there. Despite the year's rottenness, there were a few highlights to celebrate. Let's begin with a few fun facts:</p><p></p><p><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Gear:</b></span><br />
</p><ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Pairs of shoes: 2<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Silver umbrellas: 2<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Tents used: 2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Leaky tents: 1<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Leaky tents complained about in last year's In Review that I still haven't replaced: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Sleeping pads rendered as sacrificial offerings to the thorns of southern Arizona: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Cars rented: 2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">U-Hauls rented: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">5-gallon buckets hidden in the desert: 4</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">5-gallon buckets insufficiently hidden in the desert:1 (it got stolen)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Days on crutches: 77</span><br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Days in a walking boot: 103</span></li></ul>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Trips:</b></span><br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Long-distance hikes: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Weekend backpacking trips: 5</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Number of vacation days devoted to backpacking: 0</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Car camping trips: 5 </span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">National Parks: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">National Monuments: 2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Miles hiked: 475<br /></span></li></ul>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Highest/Lowest/Fastest/Slowest:</b></span><br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Highest point (literal and metaphorical): 11,949' (Bald Mountain, Uintas)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lowest point: 392' (Lower Colorado River)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lowest point (metaphorical): Crawling up a steep rock-and-dirt slope on hands and knees with a broken foot<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Longest day, in miles: 22 miles (desert ramblings)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Shortest day, in miles: 0.5 miles (Bear River Range)</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Most consecutive days without seeing a human: 2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Longest water carry: 33 miles <br /></span></li></ul> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Animal Encounters:</b></span> <br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Snakes seen: 0<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Bears seen: 0</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Moose seen: 2 <br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Wild horses poking around my camp in the middle of the night<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Dead bees floating in my water sources: millions<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Killer bee colonies crept past under the cover of darkness: 1</span></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Water sources fouled up by a dead/decaying burro corpse: 1</span></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Water sources drank from despite aforementioned burro corpse: 1<br /></span></span></li></ul>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Human Encounters:</b></span><br />
<ul><li>Solo trips: 4</li><li>Trips with friends: 1 <br /></li><li>Hitchhikes: 1 (after breaking my foot)<br /></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Episodes of Boy Scout drama: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Times I was once again the gossip of hospital staff: 1<br /></span></li></ul>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Camping:</b></span><br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Bag nights: 35<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Weird UFO sightings: 1 (I don't believe in aliens but I sure couldn't identify whatever I saw in the sky!)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Harassed by ravenous mosquitoes in the middle of the Arizona desert: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Slept on a train: 1<br /></span></li></ul><p><i></i></p><p><i>Previous years in review: <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/12/2020-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2020</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2019/12/2019-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2019</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2018/12/2018-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2018</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2017/12/2017-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2017</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2016/12/2016-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2016</span></a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2015/01/2014-in-review.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2014</span></a><span style="color: #2b00fe;">.</span></i></p><p><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"></span></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3Mt3pOe6uqDrh5FjTicagwvcZzZM-HPECXnHxP8qiqZljU_ThTLXmQ7avKOeaUNhiZtzpPrlGqGL5Hrz7syQB1HZQPeVLTIP7qwAYKKBU0f3AEow0OlzY6ti7F7kmRTbHBuiuPe85IYD0ozorLb2jwzr6b_H4DuYWY8EsBvHu24chgImdC-oIKzBXYQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3Mt3pOe6uqDrh5FjTicagwvcZzZM-HPECXnHxP8qiqZljU_ThTLXmQ7avKOeaUNhiZtzpPrlGqGL5Hrz7syQB1HZQPeVLTIP7qwAYKKBU0f3AEow0OlzY6ti7F7kmRTbHBuiuPe85IYD0ozorLb2jwzr6b_H4DuYWY8EsBvHu24chgImdC-oIKzBXYQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>On a train, not in a train</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"></span></i><p></p><p>In <b>January </b>and <b>February</b>, I walked 440 socially-distant miles (all caches, no town stops, no public transit) from Tucson to the Arizona/California border along the route of Brett Tucker's proposed <a href="https://blisterfree.wordpress.com/category/desert-wth-winter-thru-hike/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Desert Winter Thru Hike</span></a><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">.</span></i>When finalized, the Desert WTH will connect the Arizona Trail to the Pacific Crest Trail through the Sonoran and Mojave deserts. It was great fun to contribute in a small way to the its development, as well as pick up some route-creation tips from hiking's foremost master craftsman. <br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXB-RlXh0D5prEXlIsTpRGg8FZtNAndT1C-sXM5ebECLNxoqkY4E5uhRMU6dYGYRwXPUo34ZmAUh-UQ94k5tGKhJUN-xX89mHY3LvwkxoKIi1CPoyuQbY19QE7JCiNZytMLcJ8vqi-pOMryczQztIqziK_TU72fxQOD1VWZwNpxYBW3mxtI9R18US7oQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXB-RlXh0D5prEXlIsTpRGg8FZtNAndT1C-sXM5ebECLNxoqkY4E5uhRMU6dYGYRwXPUo34ZmAUh-UQ94k5tGKhJUN-xX89mHY3LvwkxoKIi1CPoyuQbY19QE7JCiNZytMLcJ8vqi-pOMryczQztIqziK_TU72fxQOD1VWZwNpxYBW3mxtI9R18US7oQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></i></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The only flowing water in 400+ route miles<br /></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSTiFkR2bf317ALPDxBzjHc8DQg8aJNZBxdCW70P8HNk2AnUEuv8M41rWArrPZ5nayAsmWF5l0lEH-1dYWH5rjv0sO-TCBNTe9ljjCQDa2hizWyynROiJuvr6FvKQ_XSoBTK-m4Eho_3wd3Vifw_XA7AsQH9JpKEGgxEnGpaQxzGv1xpspKmIFW74eHA=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSTiFkR2bf317ALPDxBzjHc8DQg8aJNZBxdCW70P8HNk2AnUEuv8M41rWArrPZ5nayAsmWF5l0lEH-1dYWH5rjv0sO-TCBNTe9ljjCQDa2hizWyynROiJuvr6FvKQ_XSoBTK-m4Eho_3wd3Vifw_XA7AsQH9JpKEGgxEnGpaQxzGv1xpspKmIFW74eHA=w640-h480" width="640" /> </a> <br /></div><p>In <b>March</b>, I took an otherwise-delightful weekend trip through some non-technical slots in the Glen Canyon area. In so doing, I broke my foot badly. The next six months consisted of surgery, endless follow-up appointments, and physical therapy.</p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8WH_nLaRDqiEn0tigkmb0ziXn0prUrqJ3F6HroxHFVLQ16qQmwiB_g0LLVwa81ir-8Vlqs4PKM8wlXaD6RrMXBO1UNSjQB0_pZy3nI7CHCxpvAxA7Xpv1SnMwaFMulJSVaj1-xSQnDXGNlkx_QZt69Ebqaa3PaabrDqazNM1s6Vxsb_5u_VJGAWYBNQ=s5472"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8WH_nLaRDqiEn0tigkmb0ziXn0prUrqJ3F6HroxHFVLQ16qQmwiB_g0LLVwa81ir-8Vlqs4PKM8wlXaD6RrMXBO1UNSjQB0_pZy3nI7CHCxpvAxA7Xpv1SnMwaFMulJSVaj1-xSQnDXGNlkx_QZt69Ebqaa3PaabrDqazNM1s6Vxsb_5u_VJGAWYBNQ=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p>I took several car camping trips over the summer, but my next backpacking trip didn't come until <b>September</b>, when I did a half-mile overnighter in northern Utah's Bear River Range...</p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCaeHVlb6rC4fjLpxCR2xIly2HSqUEvzf9-tJ1EAUfhxdP_tWkcj23mqGWycNXke8sI5T7qgOJFoBRmdv0lTmzIgM6tx9W_cbxiceKv5ZO231_fnNOQbTpK3BaO4now7u49J6-v4nAvBc0vnuB50jLH7IDfbIqXSpIaPrltPtLVLV0w36LqkjfHXUN6w=s4032"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCaeHVlb6rC4fjLpxCR2xIly2HSqUEvzf9-tJ1EAUfhxdP_tWkcj23mqGWycNXke8sI5T7qgOJFoBRmdv0lTmzIgM6tx9W_cbxiceKv5ZO231_fnNOQbTpK3BaO4now7u49J6-v4nAvBc0vnuB50jLH7IDfbIqXSpIaPrltPtLVLV0w36LqkjfHXUN6w=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>...and a another quick trip to a lake in the High Uintas.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaPAgWCtn47LsBDL8Ng0wyKEQBi1DZKOrD3LmGnMWp681feMijQ_z8PXqSnH02NgzVO3c8G7sPHo20fZ9SsXCRkEYLhbICTx2oXDsxwMrgBDnl09CIw7-X87s8FndPyEeahGLtSYaxVus3qjLArsjsH-ZANjgxyd4G22Vn0ccyBQ70yDY4zIOqPyHWgA=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaPAgWCtn47LsBDL8Ng0wyKEQBi1DZKOrD3LmGnMWp681feMijQ_z8PXqSnH02NgzVO3c8G7sPHo20fZ9SsXCRkEYLhbICTx2oXDsxwMrgBDnl09CIw7-X87s8FndPyEeahGLtSYaxVus3qjLArsjsH-ZANjgxyd4G22Vn0ccyBQ70yDY4zIOqPyHWgA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I spotted a pair of moose and the first snowfall of the season in <b>October </b>while camped in the upper reaches of the Wasatch.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3cYIQNWy508SRv9L-Z4p1RnA70A8m8sc-7Z_ml6kSYpyGoei6Fo8pjG5zmDkvSpdQNllVWmgucj90VMuHeKtY5g3CjPA2EwzMcgiBxKTYdz3YqRCxXoL5QRkOYuzDnTtPkB8-Z-YfHpCsFx-gFr4ev2TA8tW7lXqcVB6B8DEFII0YJGc8evo6vw9NKQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3cYIQNWy508SRv9L-Z4p1RnA70A8m8sc-7Z_ml6kSYpyGoei6Fo8pjG5zmDkvSpdQNllVWmgucj90VMuHeKtY5g3CjPA2EwzMcgiBxKTYdz3YqRCxXoL5QRkOYuzDnTtPkB8-Z-YfHpCsFx-gFr4ev2TA8tW7lXqcVB6B8DEFII0YJGc8evo6vw9NKQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p><b>November </b>brought a trip to one of my favorite canyon systems in the newly restored Bears Ears National Monument.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMYq1DVCDuuwexTmhMGknjxW6SsuvfPPtT-oj1hrH9h5X7-l38SUxtaRQhbJV8D91_l0qVBxyRrHHI19AaHjPaTljB6a-TJLJxdNB0p3qK9PCpexZGdnHV2AO_AfMFHKbhvzo4Q0IiLXBge7XZuDHzq2SqhZZGf0Pp-RMKMq_sDJHvZxXFLswD2Qop8g=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMYq1DVCDuuwexTmhMGknjxW6SsuvfPPtT-oj1hrH9h5X7-l38SUxtaRQhbJV8D91_l0qVBxyRrHHI19AaHjPaTljB6a-TJLJxdNB0p3qK9PCpexZGdnHV2AO_AfMFHKbhvzo4Q0IiLXBge7XZuDHzq2SqhZZGf0Pp-RMKMq_sDJHvZxXFLswD2Qop8g=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>What's next: </b>for the first time in forever, I don't have any concrete outdoor plans for the coming year. The foot is a wild card, so it's tough to set expectations. Lord willing, I have plans to do some international hiking in 2022 if the foot/Covid situation permits. Hopefully next year is a bit more fruitful than this year was. I realize it's been a bit of dry year on the blog, and I'm honored that some of you have stuck around to read these rambles. More to come in 2022! </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbBZCFZxUU-6TvLslkpUnf08z7jbb3oucKEZI1FJPNSI-rBIMrtokHow8XJ_umI0A1Jr7z75hWemLuSPAdlgfAh-rxeE8Pxueqd84wFYnNNrwexMUwMt_VVDbSEoom9OUYpQfqBoJFVANy436WOSf-mrANfWz6WKOBBTXB0P0U3gkbGaQ7cZnzgivw0w=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbBZCFZxUU-6TvLslkpUnf08z7jbb3oucKEZI1FJPNSI-rBIMrtokHow8XJ_umI0A1Jr7z75hWemLuSPAdlgfAh-rxeE8Pxueqd84wFYnNNrwexMUwMt_VVDbSEoom9OUYpQfqBoJFVANy436WOSf-mrANfWz6WKOBBTXB0P0U3gkbGaQ7cZnzgivw0w=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-4142580190795707572021-09-12T17:07:00.003-06:002021-09-12T17:07:43.087-06:00The Hundred Yard Hike<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdDeKxL8trjJaEdysIyxArnueDeR13aJBwlgF8JTTC1SMZ9tKGDvjCrS3XxflBcswfiGp7M5Xu5F-LSMZhMtull295ZV5udDvKIDk0pKcrIc1i8GUp4K9nGETtad9YJdu_XO2OioK7Pnx/s4032/20210912_075457.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdDeKxL8trjJaEdysIyxArnueDeR13aJBwlgF8JTTC1SMZ9tKGDvjCrS3XxflBcswfiGp7M5Xu5F-LSMZhMtull295ZV5udDvKIDk0pKcrIc1i8GUp4K9nGETtad9YJdu_XO2OioK7Pnx/w640-h480/20210912_075457.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>The trail was a half mile long, four feet wide, and punctuated by wooden benches every few hundred yards. It'd be a stretch to call it true "wilderness". Yet the path slithered past a few grassy ponds on its way to a deep, clear alpine lake, nestled in a north-facing cirque. I could hardly complain about that!<br /></p><p>I hiked/limped my way down the trail, stopping periodically to rest on those conveniently-placed benches. Families, teenage cliques, and the occasional retired couple breezed past. I didn't care. I was just happy to be out with a pack on my back for the first time since breaking my foot.</p><p>Thankfully, most folks were going the other way, back to their cars as the shadows lengthened. There were still a number of groups at the lake, most of them headed for the 40-foot rope swing attached to a stately tree overhanging the water. It looked like a blast, but such shenanigans were out of the question in my current condition. Instead, I headed for the opposite side of the lake, finding a level patch of short grass to pitch my tent on. The rope swingers' excited shrieks filtered across the water, even as the sun finally took leave behind the rocky cliffs that ensconced the lake. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_YFBzLQfaizGRxMGuDGLu7CrseM9uRFGlFyazdOqisOW54Xz_tkELA4_EutE_Mxbsa2Q5k68my1R3aM8HBcu3gqTTZNi1Gokbp-wcMKCUKOH1vwi7vNlChN_VDiT1hoF8YERwADRo_VZl/s4032/20210911_190313.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_YFBzLQfaizGRxMGuDGLu7CrseM9uRFGlFyazdOqisOW54Xz_tkELA4_EutE_Mxbsa2Q5k68my1R3aM8HBcu3gqTTZNi1Gokbp-wcMKCUKOH1vwi7vNlChN_VDiT1hoF8YERwADRo_VZl/w640-h480/20210911_190313.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>After setting up my shelter, it was time for dinner. Carrying a stove is out of the norm for me, but on a trip like this, it was worth the weight and the fuss to prepare a nice meal and enjoy the camping. Except for one thing - I forgot my cookpot. Darn. I guess that's what happens when you've been out of the backpacking swing for six months. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbR7rA4fAqSfT9tHUoSTgWTfUsRyqWQv0HJHPbNrXGj6CCpz1DBaINIQsy2-h7Pqr3W3pBpS1sUoKWa3XkQBuMqvnMM7Ogh5s6Sgn-UhiCX5huRTRQ_p245TCzYOc08W4gy6yTUjPP2kG/s4032/20210912_074233.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbR7rA4fAqSfT9tHUoSTgWTfUsRyqWQv0HJHPbNrXGj6CCpz1DBaINIQsy2-h7Pqr3W3pBpS1sUoKWa3XkQBuMqvnMM7Ogh5s6Sgn-UhiCX5huRTRQ_p245TCzYOc08W4gy6yTUjPP2kG/w640-h480/20210912_074233.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Yet, even as I was shaking off the rust, certain elements seemed so familiar. The slightly sweet musk of pine sap. The way the world quiets down as evening falls. The muting of color, as the brash hues of afternoon gives way to the soft sepia of dusk. As it got dark, I sipped a brew I'd squirreled away in my backpack, and finally went to bed. It was good to be home.</p><p style="text-align: center;">*****<br /></p><p>In a way, this trip brought me back to my roots. I've been backpacking for the better part of a decade now. After a while, the memories of those first trips fade. Sure, you remember how you brought nothing but nuts and chocolate chips for a three-day trip, clad yourself in cotton, or saw your buddy lose his shoes down a raging river. But it's much harder to recapture the general discomfort/nervousness/fear of spending those first days and nights outside. But now, where every step was a battle, and I couldn't stride carefree into the backcountry like normal, I remembered what it was like to be a newbie in this hobby.</p><p>There are a lot of people in my boat right now. One fascinating subplot of the Covid-19 pandemic has been its effect on outdoor places. Because people rightly perceive outdoor activities to be less risky (at least as far as the virus is concerned) than indoor activities, visitation to many of our public lands has skyrocketed. A <a href="https://www.npr.org/2021/07/09/1014208160/national-parks-crowds-litter"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u>new, vaguely handwringy article</u></span></a> on the subject is published seemingly every five seconds. And yes, there are real consequences to the overcrowding of outdoor spaces - it can impact visitor experience, quality of life for locals, habitat for wildlife, and the land itself. </p><p>But there's one thing I think that narrative is missing. There is a whole generation of people right now who are in their first or second season of outdoor adventuring. They didn't necessarily intend to get into the outdoors, but then the pandemic happened and forced their hand. And now, they're glad they were introduced to it. Because even though they had to wait two hours for the chains at <a href="https://www.nps.gov/zion/learn/news/angels-landing-proposed-day-use-permit-and-lava-point-campground-fee.htm"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Angels Landing</span></u></a>, they <i>did it</i>, goshdarnit! And in so doing, they realized that their body was good for more than simply carrying their brain around. And they discovered they loved those outdoor places. <br /></p><p>To those enthusiastic beginners, welcome! <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmOIqhd8NdH_g07Iq8snNf2cbzf8n8pkVcE4JbdVnaCxFCSgtJicABjNBXnhktPqejmg6U8p10nUnADiVEecetl_9W6Zz7Cgv5jgT4o0ANvYEWSWcNancljZD1UhR5t1k4JbFo0fsVItq/s4032/20210911_172327.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmOIqhd8NdH_g07Iq8snNf2cbzf8n8pkVcE4JbdVnaCxFCSgtJicABjNBXnhktPqejmg6U8p10nUnADiVEecetl_9W6Zz7Cgv5jgT4o0ANvYEWSWcNancljZD1UhR5t1k4JbFo0fsVItq/w640-h480/20210911_172327.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-791826670539615682021-05-20T22:24:00.002-06:002021-05-20T22:34:09.996-06:00Quick Guide: Backcountry Resupply Caches<p>I walked into Hot Springs, NC on Day 17 of my 2013 Appalachian Trail hike. I found a cozy hostel, a welcoming populace (Wednesday night potluck at the community center!) and a great greasy-spoon diner that didn't skimp on the portion sizes. I ended up staying in Hot Springs for a day and a half, eating pizza, sampling a few local brews, and hanging out with hikers at the hostel. I don't generally hang out in town on thru-hikes. But I certainly enjoyed Hot Springs.<br /><br />Not all trail towns are as idyllic as Hot Springs, though. Some towns (Kent, CT) have plenty of services but a terrible attitude. Other towns (Leadore, ID) have a great attitude, but very limited services. And once you get away from established hiking routes and trails, towns are frequently both unfriendly and inconvenient.<br /><br />One section of the Hayduke Trail, for example, goes more than 300 miles between paved road crossings. Getting to town involves either a lengthy detour or a tough hitch down a dead-end dirt road. At the end of a similarly-sized roadless section of the Idaho Centennial Trail, the nearest "real" town is 80 miles away. Eighty miles! The Hayduke and the ICT are both admittedly fringey hiking routes. But we can push the envelope further. How about a <a href="http://www.freedirtmonger.com/p/great-basin-trail.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u>thousand-mile loop</u></span></a> of the empty spaces and looming ranges of Nevada, or an <a href="https://blisterfree.wordpress.com/2020/12/06/desert-wth-follow-up-and-version-2-0/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u>800-mile ramble</u></span></a> through the Mojave and Sonoran deserts? What if the best route - as far as scenic values and hiker experience is concerned - goes nowhere near anything that resembles a decent town or a plausible hitch?<br /><br />The point is this: the need to stop into town once a week can, in some cases, be a major impediment to our enjoyment of a particular environment. But there's good news: we don't actually need to go into town in order to resupply. We can cache supplies in the backcountry instead. <br /><br />Normally, caching is probably the least desirable way of resupplying. After all, it involves a whole bunch of driving to and from your cache site, before and after your hike. It involves having enough foresight to pack absolutely everything you'll need, weeks or months in advance. And it does involve leaving food unattended in the backcountry, which necessitates strict food-storage practices, as well as compliance with local regulations. All in all, it's a headache. But sometimes, it can be the best way, and allow you to hike a route that would otherwise be logistically impossible.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizkXgWYLGrrIdly54QnTnQFGR7-ogObe28SQV1Pdg1SqhBXX06O6o3qB7Wrxs8fkZfHg8ubN-zTsp4EHEoDwoncU21BNL9mlyZ-wddRDwFBiDdWtzuIaTbyLXb1Y8lzVmuQynP8cfduR8o/s2048/20200627_082700.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizkXgWYLGrrIdly54QnTnQFGR7-ogObe28SQV1Pdg1SqhBXX06O6o3qB7Wrxs8fkZfHg8ubN-zTsp4EHEoDwoncU21BNL9mlyZ-wddRDwFBiDdWtzuIaTbyLXb1Y8lzVmuQynP8cfduR8o/w640-h480/20200627_082700.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Prepping maildrops and caches. When appropriate, the latter make for a more pleasant resupply experience (IMO).</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">What is a cache?</h1><p>Simply put, a resupply cache is a sturdy container filled with all the supplies a hiker needs, hidden in the backcountry. It requires extra work before and after the hike - you've got to place it before you begin the hike, and retrieve it after you finish. But in exchange, it's enormously convenient while on-trail - there's no need to get off route or go into town in order to resupply. To break it down into steps:<br /></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Research your cache.</b> Decide whether or not a cache is actually the best option for your particular resupply needs. Look up whether caching is legal in the area you’re planning to visit - and if so, what the applicable regulations say.</li><li><b>Pack your cache.</b> In addition to backpacking food, you'll want to include first aid supplies, extra gear,and more.</li><li><b>Stash your cache.</b> Drive to a convenient point along your backpacking route, and bury your odor-proof, bear-proof container in an inconspicuous & Leave-No-Trace compliant site</li><li><b>Enjoy your cache.</b> When you get to your cache site, take the afternoon off, eat your "town food", play Angry Birds on your phone while it's charging, wash your socks, and swap out gear. Pack up your backpacking food for the next section and re-bury your cache.</li><li><b>Retrieve your cache.</b> After you complete your hike, drive back to your cache site, pick up your box, and restore the area to a natural look. <br /> <br /></li></ol><h1 style="text-align: left;">1. Research your cache</h1><p>It’s the <a href="https://lnt.org/why/7-principles/plan-ahead-and-prepare/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u>first principle</u></span></a> of Leave No Trace outdoor ethics - prepare and plan ahead. Caches require far more forethought than any other method of backpacking resupply. You really do have to think of everything - headlamp batteries, new socks, Leukotape, medications, SD cards for your camera - if you didn’t think of it beforehand, you’ll have to live without it for a couple weeks at a minimum. This may sound intimidating - and to be fair, cache-based wilderness expeditions require a greater skill set than traditional town-based thru-hiking, all else being equal. But that need not scare us off. After all, thru-hiking requires a greater skill set than backpacking, which in turn requires a greater skill set than day hiking. Cache-based expeditions are merely one logical step in our development as outdoorsmen or outdoorswomen, and just about anybody willing and able to put in the time/effort should be able to achieve mastery.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">When to cache</h2><p>In addition to the obvious (town is impossible or inconvenient to get to), there are a few other reasons one might want to cache in the backcountry:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>It's not safe to go into town.</b> Many hikers aren't particularly comfortable with hitchhiking, especially when they're outside the cozy confines of a well-established trail corridor. And, of course, the Covid-19 pandemic introduced a wrinkle in the "hiker visits town" dynamic. Even though the threat is gradually receding as vaccination rates continue to improve, many hikers prefer to avoid town during the 2021 hiking season - and I certainly can't criticize that decision.</li><li><b>You don't have time to go into town.</b> Town stops are the single biggest time-suck on a long-distance hike. It can often take an hour or two to get a ride. And once you get into town, you've got to visit a restaurant, post office, outfitter, grocery store, and laundromat. And by that time, the sun's going down, and you decide to spend the night at a motel. By the time you get back on trail the next morning, the better part of a day has elapsed - and that's if you make your town stop quick! By contrast, with a cache, I can eat my "town food" leisurely, pack up my resupply, launder my clothes, and repair gear - all in about three hours and without feeling rushed. </li><li><b>You don't want to go into town.</b> The founders of the Hayduke Trail designed their route around the cache system - not because towns didn't exist, but because they believed strongly that the best Hayduke experience would be found in two months of uninterrupted wilderness. It turns out that not too many hikers have followed in their footsteps, opting instead for a more traditional hitch-to-town resupply strategy. Nonetheless, their impetus was well-intentioned: spending weeks or months in the wilderness, without going into town, can be a tremendously powerful and rewarding experience.<br /></li></ul><p style="text-align: left;"></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">When not to cache</h2><p>Caches can be very useful, but they're not always appropriate. Here are a few instances where I would not cache:<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Whenever it's illegal. </b>You're generally prohibited from caching inside state or national parks. Exceptions exist of course, but generally the more protections that land has, the less likely that it's going to be appropriate/legal to cache on it. Land managers often distinguish between attended food storage (i.e. hanging your food bag near camp) vs unattended food storage (i.e. a cache). There are often different regulations for each. In many jurisdictions, unattended food storage is banned outright. Check the regulations for the park/forest/monument in advance.</li><li><b>On/near established long-distance hiking routes.</b> Caching can be a great solution to logistical issues, but it also comes with its fair share of ecological impacts - digging a hole, for one. It's not too big of a problem if one hiker does it on a DIY route in the middle of nowhere - but we probably don't need a couple dozen people all digging holes near the same trailhead. Thankfully, there's generally no need to cache on an established trail. Even the most hardscrabble of CDT trail towns, Leadore ID, has a few people who run shuttles for hikers to and from the trail crossing. That's very much welcome, since there's not too much traffic on that dirt road! </li><li><b>In ecologically sensitive areas. </b>It's completely inappropriate to cache in the high alpine or cryptobiotic desert environments. Areas with lush vegetation and high soil moisture are generally best - these areas will heal quickly once you've removed your cache. <br /> <br /></li></ul><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">2. Pack your Cache</h1><p>I used to be pretty skeptical of caches. After all, they shared a lot of similarities with maildrops - similarities that I didn't particularly like. I was forced to plan my resupplies weeks or months in advance, without knowing exactly how my nutritional needs and tastes would change on trail. I couldn't bring string cheese - keeping it unrefrigerated for a week in your pack is no problem, but two months in a cache sounded like a recipe for food poisoning. And finally, I wasn't looking forward to not eating in a restaurant, not being able to wash my clothes, or missing out on any other town niceties.<br /><br />In preparation for a 2020 <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/09/a-greater-yellowstone-loop.html"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Greater Yellowstone Loop</span></u></a> hike, I started to research food cache strategies. One of the most insightful tips I got was from serial thru-hiker <a href="https://www.postholer.com/journal/Desert-Trail/2019/buck30/2019-11-22/Water-and-Food-Caching/64842"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Buck-30</span></u></a>, who'd done some water caching on a hike of the Desert Trail a few years ago. Along with the water caches, Buck packed himself heavy, but yummy food - fruit cocktail and a Diet Coke, in his case. This got the gears turning, and eventually morphed into my "Town-in-a-Box" concept.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Town-in-a-Box</h2><p>The idea is this: when hikers visit town, we do a lot more than just buy six more days of backpacking food. We pig out at the buffet, compensating for the calorie deficit we've been running. We wash our clothes. We charge our phones. We swap out gear, sip a beer, and relax with some trashy daytime TV. If I'm going to opt for a resupply cache in lieu of a town-stop, then my cache has to serve most, if not all of those functions.<br /><br />Let's take a walking tour of an imaginary trail town, stopping at each business.<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Restaurant.</b> You may not be able to get a hot/fresh meal in the woods, but you certainly can pack yourself a bunch of obscenely heavy, bulky items that you'd never take backpacking. A couple cans of chili make a great snack. Ditto with snack-pack pudding cups, fruit cocktail, a 2-liter bottle of pop, or whatever else you crave. Depending on how long you're leaving your cache, and how deep it'll be buried, you can even get away with putting a few fresh fruits or veggies in your cache. How about burritos - tortillas, a can of chicken, a can of chili, a bag of shredded cheddar, fresh tomato, avocado, and onion? I bet that'll keep just fine for a week, buried underground at a constant 55F.</li><ul><li>Go big! The first time I tried caching town food, I didn't leave myself nearly enough and ended up hungry and miserable. The second time? I left myself a feast.</li><li>Pack some luxuries. Hikers who typically go stoveless can leave a pot/stove/fuel inside their cache, so they can make a hot meal. Even hot/cooked ramen is a treat when you're used to biting it off the block. And of course, you can leave yourself a glass jar of spaghetti sauce and a container of parmesan with no care in the world for weight.<b> </b></li></ul><li><b>Grocery store.</b> It's possible to "go shopping" inside your cache - just
leave yourself a little extra food so you can pick and choose what you
want to carry. That way, if you're sick and tired of the Doritos after a
month of eating them, you can pack out the BBQ Lays instead. And if
you've been ravenously hungry and running out of food, you have the
option to bring both - more food than you originally thought you needed.</li><ul><li>Don't forget those non-food items that you typically buy at the store - toothpaste, headlamp batteries, ibuprofen, or athletic tape. You might not need all of it at any given resupply, but it's hard to say what you will and won't need. Anything you don't need can just be left in the cache. None of it will go to waste - you'll use it all eventually on future trips, just like with the extra food.<b> </b></li></ul><li><b>Motel room.</b> In addition to a soft bed, motel rooms offer hikers the chance to take a shower, charge their electronics, and veg out with House M.D. reruns.</li><ul><li>Consider leaving a sponge in your box so you can wipe yourself down/freshen up. It'll eliminate the worst of the grime. Same thing goes with any other personal care items (say, a hairbrush) that are too heavy or annoying to carry in your backpack.</li><li>Bring a big battery bank. In addition to taking your phone from zero to 100%, you'll want extra juice so you can take care of the stuff you normally do in town - uploading photos to the cloud, paying your credit card bill, yakking with Great Aunt Edna for 45 minutes, or watching some bad TV. </li><li>Before leaving home, check cell coverage maps (Gaia GPS offers layers for most major US carriers) to see if your cache location has cell service. Otherwise you'll have to bring a larger capacity battery on-trail (or a solar charger) so you can take care of all of your electronic entanglements atop a mountain where you actually have service.<b> </b></li></ul><li><b>Tavern. </b>Slip a couple delicious beverages of choice into your resupply cache. They won't be ice-cold, of course, but they do stay surprisingly cool if they're buried underground. This is particularly true in fairly cold climates, where soil temperature is fairly low. Fortunately, mountainous areas fit the bill.<b> </b></li><li><b>Post office/outfitter.</b> This is your opportunity to swap out gear and to replenish supplies. Need new shoes or trekking pole tips? Leave yourself a pair. No longer need those microspikes? Leave them in your cache. In this way, with a little forethought, you can swap out your gear, always bringing the right tools for the season and environment.</li><ul><li>Socks, trekking pole tips, shoes, and bottles of Aquamira all have pretty well-defined lifespans. Plan conservatively, just in case conditions are a bit more rugged than you expected. If your shoes usually last 700 miles, consider replacing them around the 450-500 mile mark. If they fall apart earlier than expected, and you're not within striking distance of a town, you'll be very glad you planned to replace them as soon as you did!</li><li>Consider leaving a sewing kit in your resupply cache (if you're not already carrying one in your backpack).</li></ul><li><b>Laundromat.</b> For the vast majority of human history, washing machines didn't exist. Yet, we've usually avoided living in total squalor. I won't claim that "some soap and a sturdy plastic bag" gets your clothes quite as clean as an Electrolux, but it certainly does the job. At the bare minimum, it gets rid of the uncomfortable sweat crust that builds up on your socks - and let's be honest, that's the biggest reason you want to do laundry in the first place. Two caveats apply here though:</li><ul><li>Use biodegradable soap, and using as little of it as possible. My first attempt at trail laundry involved Dr. Bronners, and wasn't particularly successful in getting my clothes clean. My second attempt involved beefier soap, but it turned out to be really concentrated and probably wasn't the greatest for God's creation. The search continues for the perfect backcountry laundry soap. If you use one and are happy with it, shout it out in the comments so the rest of us can learn!</li><li>Don't do your laundry next to a stream. Instead, get water from a water source (either a large jug in your cache, or a nearby stream), and do your laundry "Dundo-style", as <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Backpacking-Jardines-Lightweight-Hiking/dp/0963235931"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Ray Jardine</span></u></a> would say, far away from the water source itself. We don't want to contaminate a stream with a mixture of soap scum and foot funk. If there's no nearby natural source and you need to cache water, I'd expect to use about 2.5 gallons to pre-rinse, thoroughly wash, and rinse a typical hiker's load of socks/underwear/bandana.<br /></li></ul></ul><p>The overriding message is this: a little extravagance goes a long way. There's no need to go ultralight or minimalist when it comes to caching supplies. It's okay to have a little more than you need. You need a little flexibility to account for unknowns on trail, and you need a mental break for the austerity that wilderness backpacking demands. Treat yourself. It's okay. And you're still using a lot fewer resources (and money!) than you would be on an in-town resupply stop. <br /><br />We can't completely emulate the comforts and conveniences of town with a resupply cache. But with a little creativity, we can get pretty close. And it's certainly a far cry from the "barely enough food, crammed into a USPS flat rate box" sadness of an isolated post office in the middle of nowhere. Unlike that sad, pathetic maildrop, Town-in-a-Box is designed to be sustainable indefinitely. It's possible to hike for weeks or even months at a time without ever visiting a town, using the Town-in-a-Box strategy. <br /><br />One final tip: trying to organize many caches at once can be daunting. Spreadsheets are essential to keep it all organized. And, unless you’re buying in bulk, you might find it easier to go shopping for just one or two caches/resupply legs at a time. That will help you increase the variety of foods that you put in your cache (different foods will look good to you on different days) and avoid the dreaded “aw-screw-it” apathy when you’ve been at the grocery store for two hours already and your cart is overflowing.<br /><br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">3. Stash your cache</h1><h2 style="text-align: left;">Critter Safety</h2><p>The most important consideration when caching supplies in the backcountry is keeping your food absolutely 100% safe from critters. It's your only way of staying fed for the next week. And, given that your food will be stored unsupervised, it needs to be very, very critter-proof to keep a fed bear from becoming a dead bear, or to stop determined squirrels from gnawing their way inside.<br /><br />I use a three-part safety system to ensure that my food will be absolutely secure:<br /></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Store all food and smellable items in odor-proof bags</li><li>Put everything inside a hard-sided, IGBC-certified bear-proof container</li><li>Bury the whole business 8-12 inches underground<br /></li></ol><p>The idea is this: if a critter can't smell my food, it won't have any reason to try and dig up my box. And if it does randomly dig up my box, it'll find it completely impenetrable. And the fact that it's well-buried means that a curious animal won't randomly stumble upon it, swat it around a bit, or run off with it. Put simply, with this method I can be 100% certain that my cache will be waiting for me when I get there, completely undisturbed.<br /><br />Let's dig into each of these elements:<br /><br /><b>1. Odor-proof bags.</b> The name of the game here is a fleet of OPsaks - heavy-duty, resealable plastic bags designed to be 100% air and odor-proof. In the past, I’ve been a little skeptical of OPsaks. They don't hold up very well to the rigors of backpacking. Backpackers tend to abuse OPsaks - opening them and closing them constantly, crumpling them up, jamming them to the brim with food. After a week or two of this harsh treatment, the seals start to break, seams begin leaking, and suddenly your odor-proof bags aren’t very odorproof anymore.<br /><br />On the other hand, OPsaks excel at keeping things fully air and odor-proof in static environments like a cache. Just buy fresh bags, put everything with a smell in them (including medication, chapstick, toothpaste, and any other smellables), and put them inside your cache boxes. Not only will they contain odors, but they'll keep your chips and cookies and other food fresh for weeks. You can even pre-open and crush a bag of chips (to save space), and after a month in an OPsak, they'll still be perfectly crunchy.<br /><br /><b>2. Hard-sided, IGBC-certified container. </b>The honest truth is that 95% of the classic backpacking terrain in North America is black and/or grizzly bear terrain. Everybody knows that the Sierra Nevada and Yellowstone are bear habitats. That much is obvious. It's far less obvious that large parts of Florida, the ranges of the mid-south (Ouachitas/Ozarks), and even many of the desert ranges of the Southwest (Superstitions, Mazatzals) are bear habitats too - but they are! Unless you have solid and bulletproof information that you’re not in bear habitat (e.g. Catalina Island, where bears absolutely, definitely do not live), you should assume that you're in bear territory, and plan accordingly.<br /><br />It is therefore imperative that a cache be fully bear-proof. That means that it must be in a sturdy, hard-sided container (no Ursacks!). But more than that, the container should be <b>certified as bear-resistant by the Interagency Grizzly Bear Committee</b>. An IGBC-certified container is a legal requirement for unattended food storage on many public lands. Not all hard-sided containers are IGBC-certified. Most coolers, for example, are not - and even if they are, they must usually be bolted or padlocked shut in order to be in compliance with regulations. A full, constantly-updated list of IGBC-certified products can be found <a href="http://igbconline.org/certified-products-list/"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">here</span></u></a>. <br /><br />Even in the tiny minority of places where bears do not exist (low-elevation deserts, certain islands), you should take basically the same precautions. On one occasion while hiking in the low desert, I decided to use 5-gallon buckets instead of ammo boxes. To my horror, one of the caches was nearly gnawed through by a desperate rat! Not only did some poor rodent have to visit the dentist because of my actions, but it very nearly got into all my food, which would have been disastrous. The same thing applies with water jugs - animals will smash, bend, and otherwise mutilate gallon jugs of water in order to get some of that precious liquid. So even when you're not in bear country, it's wise to take the same precautions anyhow, just to avoid problems with other wildlife.<br /><br />What kinds of IGBC-certified containers work well for caching? There are a few contenders:<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Bear Canisters.</b> There's an obvious advantage to bear cans - many backpackers already own them. Despite that, though, I find that bear cans aren't actually ideal for caching. They're simply too small. Any PCT hiker who's tried to cram 8 days of food into a bear can in the Sierra will attest to the fact that they tend to fill up very quickly. And once you start adding town food, replacement gear, and all your other Town-in-a-Box supplies, you'll find that a bear can probably isn't big enough.</li><li><b>Coolers.</b> Most coolers are not IGBC-certified, but a few are. <i>If </i>you've got an IGBC-certified cooler, it can work well, as long as it's padlocked or bolted. The IGBC product list will generally detail the correct way to use it. But if you're planning a long trip with multiple resupply caches, those roto-molded coolers quickly become economically impractical.</li><li><b>Ammo Cans.</b> Fortunately, there's one product on the IGBC list that's cheap and can be purchased en masse - the Army-surplus ammunition box. Ammo boxes themselves are NOT IGBC certified, but with a <a href="http://westernwildlife.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/resistantproducts.pdf">couple easy modifications</a> - a couple lengths of U-channel bar and some bolts, along with a razor saw and a drill with carbide bit - you can make a huge, fully IGBC-certified container at home. You can expect to pay maybe $15-25 per ammo box, plus a couple bucks for the supplies needed to modify it. They come in a variety of sizes - commonly identified by the size of the ammunition stored within. Larger numbers correspond to smaller boxes. The "standard" 50-caliber box is too small to do Town-in-a-Box - it barely fits two days of backpacking food! The 40mm box is sufficient for about 3 days of food, plus Town-in-a-Box. The big boy, the 20mm box, can pretty comfortably hold up to 8 days of food, plus Town-in-a-Box. It's my preferred choice for most caching. <br /></li></ul><p><b>3. Bury your cache underground. </b>You'll probably want to bury your cache anywhere that there are large animals capable of dragging away your food cache. Burying it keeps it to be out-of-sight and out-of-mind for critters. Yes, animals can dig, and maybe they'll be curious about your freshly-dug hole. But if burying our poop 6-8 inches deep is sufficient to keep animals from messing with it, then burying our odor-proof food cache least that deep (I recommend 8-12 inches) will probably be similarly effective. And I probably don't need to remind you that poop is not odor-free! Except mine, of course. :)<br /><br />In order to dig a proper hole, you'll need the following:<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>A good shovel.</b> We're talking a real shovel, not your poop trowel. Even with good site selection, you'll invariably have to dig out a big rock or cut through a few roots. That’s a job for a shovel that you can really stomp on and use some force with. Thankfully, there's no need to leave the shovel at your cache. Once you've placed your cache and filled the dirt back in the hole, it's easy enough to dig back up with bare hands - even after a couple months of letting the dirt settle and harden.</li><li><b>Plenty of patience.</b> Your hole will need to be at least twice as big as you think. The problem is, we dig round holes, and our ammo cans are rectangular. So we'll need to dig a lot deeper and wider than it appears at first glance. Be patient, and give yourself plenty of time to complete the work.<br /></li></ul><p>It should be noted that there are some drawbacks to caching underground - namely, the LNT impacts of digging a hole. In most cases, I consider those drawbacks to be "worth it" in the name of greater food security. There are certain exceptions - most notably in truly arid desert environments where there aren’t bears or any other animal large enough to mess with a IGBC-certified and smell-proof container. <br /><br />And keep in mind - caching is only recommended on super obscure/DIY routes, not on the Pacific Crest Trail. One hole in the middle of the woods isn't a big deal to me, provided that it's dug in a sustainable location and that you re-landscape the area to a natural appearance afterward. But if you've got a thoughtful, contrary opinion on the matter, I'd love to hear it in the comments. </p><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Human Safety</h2><p>Two-legged critters are more likely to cause problems for your food cache than the four-legged critters are. Mere weeks before I began my 2020 Greater Yellowstone Loop, the <u>t<a href="https://www.santafenewmexican.com/news/local_news/forrest-fenn-confirms-his-treasure-has-been-found/article_37006cfe-a8d7-11ea-8653-873ca96e31ef.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">reasure of Forrest Fenn was finally found</span></a></u>. For years, it was strongly suspected to be in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem - not too far from where I was burying caches! Needless to say, I was relieved that fewer people would be poking around random trailheads in the GYE, looking for buried treasure.<br /><br />On another occasion, I neglected to hide a resupply cache underground, as it wasn't in bear country. But I hid it a little too close to town, in the litter-and-creosote wasteland where people ride roughshod on ATV's. When I got to my cache location a few weeks later, my bucket had vanished without a trace. I hope the thief really enjoyed those crushed potato chips and Teddy Grahams.<br /><br />The point is this: curious or malevolent humans can pose a slight risk to your cache in the backcountry. Here are a couple security tips I've learned the hard way:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Avoid well-traveled areas.</b> It's probably not a good idea to cache in the vicinity of a busy trailhead. Maybe, if you've got a couple mile roadwalk down a dirt road away from the main road, go half a mile down the dirt road and then cache well off the road in a place only you can find it. GPS tag the location and take a picture to be certain!</li><li><b>Seriously, bury your stuff underground.</b> People are lazy, and on the odd chance that they spot your hole, will probably lose interest if they dig down a few inches and find nothing.</li><li><b>Disguise your cache site as a dog grave.</b> I like to print off a photo of a random poodle from the internet and write "RIP Fluffy" on it. Bury it a few inches down in the hole, so if anybody starts digging, they'll promptly find the epitaph and stop. Nobody wants to dig up a rotting pet carcass.<br /></li></ul><h2 style="text-align: left;">Proper Site Selection</h2><p>As alluded to earlier, it's important to choose a good cache burial site. Here are a few tips I've picked up:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>If you wouldn't poop there, you shouldn't cache there.</b> It's easy to get "lazy" with your caches - a fully loaded Town-in-a-Box will be pretty heavy, and hikers aren't exactly known for their upper body strength. But take the extra time and walk a few tenths away from the road crossing or trailhead, so you're not in/near a high-foot-traffic area. The LNT standard of 200 feet from trails/roads/water is a good start, but I'd probably go with 200 yards rather than 200 feet in this case. A large cache hole is a bigger impact and more unsightly than a small cathole, so it's best to cache well away from where other people will be venturing - both for the security of your cache and out of respect for other visitors</li><li><b>Lush and green is your friend.</b> I like burying my cache in areas of high soil moisture. In addition to keeping your stuff nice and cool, the land will recover more quickly in a greener, wetter environment. On a Greater Yellowstone Loop, my latter caches - which had been buried for close to 2 months by the time I reached them - had little green shoots already growing out of the dirt I'd overturned. Within a couple years, the site will become indistinguishable from its surroundings.</li><li><b>Flood plains offer easy digging.</b> Even in areas that aren't particularly rocky, there are rocks everywhere. And when you start digging holes, you'll find more rocks than you ever knew existed. I've found that flood plains of creeks and rivers make for the best digging - there are simply fewer rocks there. If it's an area that only floods in the springtime, and you're caching in the summer, you probably don't have to worry about floods sweeping away your Teddy Grahams. Just make sure it's a broad floodplain so you're not caching too close to the watercourse itself.</li><li><b>Disguise your burial site.</b> After you finish burying your cache, grab some leaves/rocks/forest duff and try to make your site look natural. There will still be a leftover dirt pile nearby, of course, but you can disguise that too with a little additional landscaping. I generally leave two small sticks atop the burial site in an L-shape - recognizable enough to tell me exactly where to dig, but subtle enough not to attract attention from strangers who happen to stumble across the site.</li><li><b>Tag your cache site with GPS.</b> After a few months, memories fade. Take a photo, save the exact GPS coordinates on your phone, and make sure to send the coordinates to your emergency contact. Perish the thought, but if the worst case scenario happens and you disappear, SAR can dig up your cache and determine whether you made it this far or not.<br /></li></ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCCLI5gmfagB-XhpvPWk1kqPY1ol5Yjx0sutWDeJXRLv1wWLS2g46g13YhBZgdz1O3SlzOAVDpw8yBSltVFh8Ct8JEaYq-8dckkpIyo-U85VsN30hUcySAYaK-zZEa7oyZ0OBcf8RwlOq/s2048/20200708_140004.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCCLI5gmfagB-XhpvPWk1kqPY1ol5Yjx0sutWDeJXRLv1wWLS2g46g13YhBZgdz1O3SlzOAVDpw8yBSltVFh8Ct8JEaYq-8dckkpIyo-U85VsN30hUcySAYaK-zZEa7oyZ0OBcf8RwlOq/w640-h480/20200708_140004.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Green and lush. Any trace of the burial site will quickly disappear in this environment.<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">4. Enjoy your cache</h1><p>This is the fun part. There’s absolutely nothing better than rolling up to your cache and being able to immediately dive head-long into a large pile of food and drink. You don’t have to wait for a ride or slow service at the restaurant. And, if you’ve done Town-in-a-Box right, you’ll be able to stuff yourself to the gills.<br /><br />A few tips for maximum effectiveness:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Plan ahead.</b> I generally budget about three hours for my cache activities, including a healthy dose of relaxation. Given that caches are usually relatively close to a road of some sort, I try not to get there too late in the day - otherwise I’ll have to camp close to the road and/or night-hike. I find that early afternoon is best. After all, I’ve got to do laundry, and I want it to dry in the warm sunshine.</li><li><b>Start charging ASAP. </b>Unless you’re carrying a solar charger and/or auxiliary battery in your backpack, the cache is your only opportunity to recharge your phone or other electronic toys. Sit down, take a couple swigs of pop, and then plug your phone into your battery bank right away. By time you’re done with your “town chores'', the phone will be ready to go. </li><li><b>Do <i>all </i>of your town chores.</b> It can be surprisingly hard to keep track of all the things you have to do at a cache - be it repairing ripped gear, doing laundry, or swapping out gear. I suggest making a list ahead of time so you don’t forget anything. There’s nothing worse than getting five miles down the trail and realizing that you could have jettisoned your microspikes at the last cache - or worse, that you forgot your mosquito headnet for this next section.</li><li><b>Relax.</b> Long-distance hiking may be a leisure activity, but darned if that hobby doesn’t feel like work sometimes, particularly when you do it all day every day. It’s okay - necessary, even - to just hang once in a while. A few ideas to increase the enjoyment of your cache day:</li><ul><li>Watch a show on your phone. I won’t tell if you cry when they shoot Old Yeller. </li><li>Do a little fishing. Roads tend to follow rivers, which means there’s a decent chance your cache site isn’t too too far from water. Pick up a cheap spinner pole at a thrift store, hide it near your cache box, and spend the day pulling little brookies out of the stream. </li><li>Play a game. Again, the thrift store is your friend. Wade past the 91 copies of Trivial Pursuit to find a board game, leave it in your cache box, and enjoy settling Catan or whatever.</li></ul><li><b>Re-seal everything properly.</b> If anything, a cache is a bigger bear magnet after it’s been emptied. You’ve just swapped out food for your rotting trash, which is far more pungent than the food was. Leave everything smellable sealed back inside your OPsaks, safely locked in the bear-proof container, and re-buried.<br /></li></ul><p><br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">5. Retrieve your cache</h1><p>It’s vitally important to pick up a cache promptly upon completion of your hike. If it’s not picked up, it’s mere litter, and negates all the good work you did to make it sustainable and critter-proof in the first place. <br /><br />You will want to take some time, after you dig up your cache, to re-landscape the site to a fairly natural appearance. In addition to filling in the hole, I recommend spreading forest duff, sticks, and leaves. Try to spread around the inevitable residual dirt pile, and generally do your best to make it look like you were never there - in other words, leave no trace! You won’t be completely successful in this regard, but if you do your best, the site will largely recover within a year or two. <br /><br />To reiterate - site selection matters. If you’re digging in a drier place, or one with sensitive vegetation, your impacts may last decades. If you’re digging in a green, lush place with quick-growing plants, the impacts will be more short-lived.<br /><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"> *********************************************************************************<br /></p><p><br />Food caching isn’t always - or even usually - the best or most appropriate choice for backpackers. But on extremely remote, DIY routes, it’s a useful part of a hiker’s toolkit. There are certainly many approaches to take to caching. In this guide, I could certainly be accused of overthinking it. But I’ve aimed to get hikers thinking outside the flat-rate box - and hopefully to inspire them to create a caching strategy that works well for them. Get out there, experiment a little, and report back! I’d love to hear other perspectives - please share your experience in the comments or ask a question!</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFO-1snecanqExenNEzeI8DalCpIrcDQ9N9v8dSP-Ezk499GJEJUMMh7LaSoEJ58cRYsChIHGgsxG6tEEA6fwvAc7PBE7bcz0fMIuI9FpU28yegIhvwjfl9Q6WsJuduitJF_u5zHRhzZD9/s2048/20210120_135807.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFO-1snecanqExenNEzeI8DalCpIrcDQ9N9v8dSP-Ezk499GJEJUMMh7LaSoEJ58cRYsChIHGgsxG6tEEA6fwvAc7PBE7bcz0fMIuI9FpU28yegIhvwjfl9Q6WsJuduitJF_u5zHRhzZD9/w640-h480/20210120_135807.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Backcountry top-loader washer in action. Put the lid on before agitating! I don't recommend a plastic bucket anymore - a rodent nearly gnawed through one of my buckets on this trip.<br /></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-80239838405620215642021-04-18T20:17:00.000-06:002021-04-18T20:17:22.383-06:00Deseret Hiking Route - 2021 Updates are Available<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxXCftb3bad60cw7E_xDAyg7lSMxDlMcZsr_0f59Ya2Cw-S7wgUKWhJETTTxhEkCw9LLjcIODo9g11rwLgKdUWHowQuF6jzChEVI4o-aXCA8oQqkyAPeU8F-RXNsQC9AcJQJCtsLeG9C8/s2048/20190715_132112.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxXCftb3bad60cw7E_xDAyg7lSMxDlMcZsr_0f59Ya2Cw-S7wgUKWhJETTTxhEkCw9LLjcIODo9g11rwLgKdUWHowQuF6jzChEVI4o-aXCA8oQqkyAPeU8F-RXNsQC9AcJQJCtsLeG9C8/w640-h480/20190715_132112.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>I am happy to announce that the second generation of the Deseret Hiking Route (DHR) information pack - Version 2021 - is <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/13CgPTaEpsrLOtZQ--gUf9NudIZ6CocVu/view?usp=sharing"><u><span style="color: #2b00fe;">now available</span></u></a>. Its updates represent a significant improvement over the old route, in my opinion. They were developed as a result of recent hiker feedback, along with my own scouting missions and another year of staring at maps. Highlights of the updated route include:</p><p></p><p></p><ul><li>Better, ground-verified route across Boulder Mountain (Section 3).</li><li>Large-scale
re-routes in the Pocatello area (Section 9), resulting in easier
logistics, more water, more snacks, and less pavement.</li><li>Several improvements in the Pioneer Range (Section 11) - more trail, less road, and more beautiful mountain scenery.</li><li>Clarified and greatly expanded GPX file (though <i>not</i> a full track!)</li><li>Many new alternate routes, many of which may eventually become the new Red Route, depending on hiker feedback.</li><li>Multitudes
of "little improvements" here and there - mile markers on the maps, simplified naming conventions, dozens of new data points, etc.<br /></li><li>New, less confusing verbiage around <b>Public </b>(for anybody) vs <b>Private </b>(gotta do your trail work!) resources.</li></ul><div>This is also a good place to say thanks. I've been floored by the hiking community's enthusiasm for the route thus far. For those who've taken the time out of your day to read the guide, to ask a question, or suggest an update... thank you!</div><p>And if you've been on the fence about the DHR, now's a great time to revisit the question. If you've been meaning to ask for the resources but keep forgetting, it's time to drag that email out of your drafts folder and send it. If you've been procrastinating your trail work day, I encourage you to call your local hiking club and ask about opportunities. As spring turns to summer and our mass vaccination campaign continues at full tilt, there will be more and more opportunities to give back to the trails that we love so much. Seize the day!<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzelFB7-jE0EnZ4rbf0mmWBt3mX4rZQV0PGws4p9r51SVWYi_ptRS_uXhKrJXDuTBmVo0NPBMjEsRMB-SvOBkfB6po7C18r1t1OzVCTK0-rgPS_sf7Jb_Xfll3pT9bXxH10nrlNU1eUyQw/s2048/20190511_162411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzelFB7-jE0EnZ4rbf0mmWBt3mX4rZQV0PGws4p9r51SVWYi_ptRS_uXhKrJXDuTBmVo0NPBMjEsRMB-SvOBkfB6po7C18r1t1OzVCTK0-rgPS_sf7Jb_Xfll3pT9bXxH10nrlNU1eUyQw/w640-h480/20190511_162411.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><b> </b><p></p><p><b>What is the DHR?</b></p><p>The Deseret Hiking Route (DHR) is a roughly 1,000 mile route through the heart of the American West. It begins on the Utah/Arizona border and runs north through Utah and southern Idaho before terminating in the Sawtooth Mountains of central Idaho. The DHR is a route chock-full of world-class beauty and offers the prospective hiker the opportunity to explore amazing and oft-overlooked landscapes. The DHR is designed to be hiked as either a standalone route, or in conjunction with the Arizona Trail and Idaho Centennial Trail from Mexico to Canada. The DHR is completely unmarked and undesignated by any state or federal agency. For the experienced long-distance hiker, one who takes responsibility for their own route choices, personal safety, and happiness, I can think of few extant routes that can deliver the kind of satisfaction that the DHR offers.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4q3Iy7o6nk3Gi6ghQYIrSCKZHuknnghLI2Zb-1MOEWb7nq87HmFbCmJC3D_XXcneGDc9-mQ9VauBqHuwBRzqDaDAiIK31j5L7alcyNyuok2WUtGtmmvb3mJoDATpt_nwJBJhOKo5So62/s2048/20190504_161904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4q3Iy7o6nk3Gi6ghQYIrSCKZHuknnghLI2Zb-1MOEWb7nq87HmFbCmJC3D_XXcneGDc9-mQ9VauBqHuwBRzqDaDAiIK31j5L7alcyNyuok2WUtGtmmvb3mJoDATpt_nwJBJhOKo5So62/w640-h480/20190504_161904.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRza5y6jmLisoyIiTSfz2BIyZLWdBiU_VpWMqsuLilP76STz6AQLa-fvI_rbcksZLP9NPLiUOHtVr_Yq54dEWgUEakvYdyGNh6jGFU3-PE-XNKjO_aUSU9dTFpuiXl7WWoJ7G4Y6cWqMmL/s2048/20190706_110731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRza5y6jmLisoyIiTSfz2BIyZLWdBiU_VpWMqsuLilP76STz6AQLa-fvI_rbcksZLP9NPLiUOHtVr_Yq54dEWgUEakvYdyGNh6jGFU3-PE-XNKjO_aUSU9dTFpuiXl7WWoJ7G4Y6cWqMmL/w640-h480/20190706_110731.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN8XWEUZZi5Q6r6oJvsQySO-86586zMlUg223n3qLgqzMr-0emvApWAzGtbG_m11qtWS5Q1m_9QMXbeXUJXGzoD2Lz9mo4uBeVxqUApAmBA3cVb3ATVhA6_e_96MS3g3AkqwTE_7My6gf/s2048/20190706_154845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN8XWEUZZi5Q6r6oJvsQySO-86586zMlUg223n3qLgqzMr-0emvApWAzGtbG_m11qtWS5Q1m_9QMXbeXUJXGzoD2Lz9mo4uBeVxqUApAmBA3cVb3ATVhA6_e_96MS3g3AkqwTE_7My6gf/w640-h480/20190706_154845.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYyL-FunIMAJAWV-pEoK6z7GuL0-zURDvnrz2euHnxnhfKajP1e674_AJ5T5yE7DCypVeNlZFRDYl8Um-c_Yqlrd0j0MtY9BygIVNHMkUiPbd7MeL9_VRpkpCf2XCcmqh124106xmyPfl/s2048/20190715_121013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYyL-FunIMAJAWV-pEoK6z7GuL0-zURDvnrz2euHnxnhfKajP1e674_AJ5T5yE7DCypVeNlZFRDYl8Um-c_Yqlrd0j0MtY9BygIVNHMkUiPbd7MeL9_VRpkpCf2XCcmqh124106xmyPfl/w640-h480/20190715_121013.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9kiu12g8ajR9JjKbPUHSm-N0YXw4-vmGUpBHs7yhbJ9hyphenhyphenlOnZA2w8pyIQTkvB4GqQ1T-gJ4P0cYELguxBFJU-NcW4hs75QLxnVhSoss_XTTszPRmCJdY11C-dtwUVBld1BvkFI3f2CV3/s2048/20190716_112452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9kiu12g8ajR9JjKbPUHSm-N0YXw4-vmGUpBHs7yhbJ9hyphenhyphenlOnZA2w8pyIQTkvB4GqQ1T-gJ4P0cYELguxBFJU-NcW4hs75QLxnVhSoss_XTTszPRmCJdY11C-dtwUVBld1BvkFI3f2CV3/w640-h480/20190716_112452.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDjtgiIi_qM-0GzEgOVsAMuyeBC-LHxyzwGmp_sV659b0SGJD5-VpN_vjkugHkzmHTHm7feMiKWZPrwH-oOJTCmmhmv-lKcoeDmO3NDoj28H1hX4cY42mOgAU1zrDVDUXlVpmE9qFicub/s2048/20190724_180126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDjtgiIi_qM-0GzEgOVsAMuyeBC-LHxyzwGmp_sV659b0SGJD5-VpN_vjkugHkzmHTHm7feMiKWZPrwH-oOJTCmmhmv-lKcoeDmO3NDoj28H1hX4cY42mOgAU1zrDVDUXlVpmE9qFicub/w640-h480/20190724_180126.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii7yyIn_ufAescK4TIdPkEMSDFZM4weqikGUXjR8yD4R-JZaOEvllfuDbNcJQUcuyLyxTGfYYcsKmuPsdhW5eX1Wd4_IJEQu3m8JRQzFRywgicJ2eIF8xZRfqBiDqf8GVO41_bNjoaWBvw/s2048/20190728_161647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii7yyIn_ufAescK4TIdPkEMSDFZM4weqikGUXjR8yD4R-JZaOEvllfuDbNcJQUcuyLyxTGfYYcsKmuPsdhW5eX1Wd4_IJEQu3m8JRQzFRywgicJ2eIF8xZRfqBiDqf8GVO41_bNjoaWBvw/w640-h480/20190728_161647.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbL5Pc4I7fqlpRcA0PpUW8t-LD4TCjx4Ecy2EbaRa5Q3283IvjnRqb3RInmMQuxUyPmB7f7ZJaSDIeFMtUr0cRjwdR_HriVlDPrsLwpd7CBb2nt7wonbc4GD_UwtF-tXK-u7CdOjk3AsM/s2048/20190802_152347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbL5Pc4I7fqlpRcA0PpUW8t-LD4TCjx4Ecy2EbaRa5Q3283IvjnRqb3RInmMQuxUyPmB7f7ZJaSDIeFMtUr0cRjwdR_HriVlDPrsLwpd7CBb2nt7wonbc4GD_UwtF-tXK-u7CdOjk3AsM/w640-h480/20190802_152347.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-44539276255362527482021-03-18T21:00:00.000-06:002021-03-18T21:00:07.279-06:00Re-thinking the Personal Locator Beacon<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTtiOTvec2lnfVUssll_CjGS95KLHdozf6BGr8lZJOOPvhCgwU21BjeMlT-30c66n4_p538FsT3SKNEK81J8fttD84axLmkO6nt5rno4XX-1Ysz-6fBGvayDMxwzC70fvS_Qhb3FVZL_V/s5472/IMG_2055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTtiOTvec2lnfVUssll_CjGS95KLHdozf6BGr8lZJOOPvhCgwU21BjeMlT-30c66n4_p538FsT3SKNEK81J8fttD84axLmkO6nt5rno4XX-1Ysz-6fBGvayDMxwzC70fvS_Qhb3FVZL_V/w640-h426/IMG_2055.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><p>I'm no Luddite, but I must admit some misgivings about the ubiquity of technology in 21st-century life. When friends check their phones while we're hanging out, off in electronic la-la land, it bothers me. I'm not completely comfortable with the degree to which large tech companies can reconstruct our lives simply by snooping on our browsing habits, location data, and more. And, having just begun a job, bought a car, and signed a lease, I'm struck anew by how necessary - yes, <i>necessary</i> - it is to have an email address and access to electronic communication in the modern age. <br /></p><p>Backcountry adventuring is not insulated from this broader societal trend. It's not a coincidence that the venerable Halfmile PCT maps <a href="https://pctmap.net/2019/12/05/national-geographic-pacific-crest-trail-maps-are-now-available/">are no more</a>, "replaced" by an unjustifiably expensive set of Trails Illustrated maps. In reality, they've been replaced not by the TI maps, but by the Guthook PCT app, as well as the digital versions of those TI maps on Gaia GPS. Hikers who are increasingly steeped in a digital culture increasingly turn to digital resources to meet their navigational needs. We can rail against it all we want (and if you catch me in a offline/non-diplomatic moment, you may hear that screed), but like it or not, the tendency toward an all-digital navigational approach seems inexorable. <br /></p><p>Navigation isn't the only area of the modern outdoor experience that's been digitized. In recent years, I've had more than few hikers tell me that it's dangerous - irresponsible, even - to <a href="https://www.backcountrychronicles.com/plb-personal-locator-beacon/">not carry a personal Personal Locator Beacon</a> (PLB) or similar satellite communicator in the backcountry. On one memorable occasion, a fellow CDT hiker chided me for not carrying a PLB. He told me that a PLB was required equipment, but a paper map was not. If his Guthook app failed, he could simply push his SPOT device and wait for rescue. This line of thinking is obviously terrible and a "special kind of stupid" - but unfortunately all too frequent.<br /></p><p>I've owned a Personal Locator Beacon for 6 or 7 years now - long enough that I've had to renew its NOAA registration and really should have replaced the battery already. But in all that time, I've always treated it with a barely-restrained degree of contempt. I've regarded it as an intrusion on my life - an electronic "leash", as my friend <a href="https://pmags.com/on-an-electronic-leash">Paul</a> would say. I bring it only when there aren't any other options for rescue in case of injury - namely, when I'm hiking both <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2018/11/the-safety-series-part-2-mom-principle.html">(1) alone, and (2) off-trail</a>. And the whole time, I grit my teeth and resent the fact that it's sitting in my hipbelt pocket, tying me to the outside world with invisible cords. I bring it mostly for my family's sake, and complain bitterly to myself about it.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmT4iaw5DuLloE3bzgu-mZTon6UPmFGAcY6wEb7JNbf2OhK_oPSdHpSuAqyeYhKgxOWeGld4eCjtAMJh-eB-wKa4cKn8U4UhWtgDHXIGuBfK0FHU1gHpkGnKdoKpLApAlfXZ1Hz2Y0ig-x/s2048/20200721_101401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmT4iaw5DuLloE3bzgu-mZTon6UPmFGAcY6wEb7JNbf2OhK_oPSdHpSuAqyeYhKgxOWeGld4eCjtAMJh-eB-wKa4cKn8U4UhWtgDHXIGuBfK0FHU1gHpkGnKdoKpLApAlfXZ1Hz2Y0ig-x/w640-h480/20200721_101401.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The only non-gory bear attack photo I've got. This was shirt #2. It was soon soaked with blood as well. The wince says it all.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>But I think my (admitted bad) attitude is starting to change. Two incidents in the course of the past year have impacted my thinking:</p><p>1) In 2020, I was <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/07/grizzly-bear-attack-breakdown.html">attacked by a grizzly bear</a>. I was able to bandage up my wounds and hike out, but had things happened just slightly different, I would have needed SAR to rescue me. If the bear had slashed my leg instead of my chest, I wouldn't have been able to walk. If I hadn't been able to control the bleeding, I would have needed medical attention immediately in order to survive. I didn't need my PLB, but in any other scenario, I probably would have.</p><p>2) In 2021, I took a fall while hiking in a desert canyon and shattered a bone in my heel. Thankfully, it happened within a couple hundred yards of a paved highway, and I was able to crawl up to the road where a good Samaritan picked me up. Had the fall occurred anywhere else, I would have required rescue, as I couldn't walk at all. In this desert environment, an inability to move coupled with a lack of water sources could have led to a grim outcome.<br /></p><p>I don't consider myself particularly accident-prone. I generally make fairly conservative decisions when it comes to risk in the outdoors. Put simply, I try to do everything within my power to ensure that I never have a medical emergency in the backcountry. And yet, accidents happen - twice in a year, in my case. Without a PLB, either of the scenarios could have proved fatal, had circumstances played out a bit differently.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiH2sfi10nhOAIOu7uF8vNSp3AJI4cxzlX07M5dgbYTvpZaiRiGixX_yDN4Jmw4TPw5yMXSryQbZv_p_1fGIbdEo565MEhD7iy6uxkAzDhgyIU1WvWsxKaYnvzfRmaZB7Zr98NoKbkmqs-/s5472/IMG_2248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiH2sfi10nhOAIOu7uF8vNSp3AJI4cxzlX07M5dgbYTvpZaiRiGixX_yDN4Jmw4TPw5yMXSryQbZv_p_1fGIbdEo565MEhD7iy6uxkAzDhgyIU1WvWsxKaYnvzfRmaZB7Zr98NoKbkmqs-/w640-h426/IMG_2248.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Crawling up this rockpile/slope on hands and knees: not fun.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>What then, of the PLB? I'm beginning to appreciate it, rather than despise it. I turned 30 this year. The youthful illusion of invincibility is starting to wear off. And after my brushes with injury in the past year, it's tough to claim with a straight face that it "won't happen to me". And if it can happen to me, it can happen to anybody. It doesn't even need to be an injury - take a simple case of food poisoning in the backcountry. In deep wilderness, an inability to move can quickly become an inability to survive. </p><p>I've made my peace with the personal locator beacon. I may not love it, but I certainly don't hate it anymore. As part of my re-thinking of the PLB, here are a few key considerations I've dwelt on:<br /></p><p></p><p><b>1. The Right Device</b></p><p>Not all emergency-use satellite communicators are created equal. I won't try to create a full buyer's guide here, but just sketch out some general categories. From simplest to most complex:<br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>A "true" Personal Locator Beacon</b>. A classic example is the <a href="https://www.acrartex.com/products/resqlink-plb">ACR ResQLink</a>. The only thing it can do is send out an SOS signal and transmit a location. On the other hand, the signal on a true PLB is far stronger than that of more feature-rich devices, and it's paired with the most robust satellite network. It's free to register your beacon with NOAA, and if you ever need to actually activate your beacon, the manufacturer will generally replace it for free afterward.</li><li><b>A Satellite Messenger</b>. A multifarious category, encompassing a wide range of features and options. Canonical examples include the <a href="https://www.findmespot.com/en-us/">SPOT devices</a> or the <a href="https://www.rei.com/product/857610/delorme-inreach-se-2-way-satellite-communicator">Delorme inReach</a>. Some of these messengers allow users to send a handful of different pre-set messages, from "daily check-in", to "please send help", to full-blown "SOS". Others, particularly newer models, allow for free-form text messaging and two-way communication. These devices usually require a monthly service plan or charge on a per-message basis. Some models have their own keyboards and screens, while others are designed to serve as an accessory to the smartphones that most people already carry. </li><li><b>A Satellite Phone</b>. It's exactly what it sounds like. One well-respected brand is <a href="https://www.iridium.com/phones/">Iridium</a>. Not too many backpackers find themselves in need of a sat phone, though exceptions apply for commercial guiding operations, or long stretches in extremely remote areas of the globe (say, the polar regions). Sat phones are expensive, and so are the service plans.</li></ul><p>Which is the right device for you? Tough to say, as it depends on how many features you want, and whether you're willing to pay for them. I've carried a barebones PLB for years, as I <i>wanted</i> to be unable to communicate with the outside world except in dire emergencies - that is, I wanted my electronic leash to be as long as possible. But my experiences in the past year have taught me that there's quite a bit of gray area when it comes to urgent medical needs. Though I was in little danger of dying in the aftermath of either of my recent incidents, it would have been enormously helpful to be able to contact medical help without them assuming that I was in need of a full-blown chopper rescue. When I broke my foot, being able to contact the county sheriff and have a couple folks help me limp out would have saved me a truly excruciating hour of crawling on bloody hands and knees over boulders and up steep slopes - and it might have made the difference in preventing further injury. <br /></p><p>On the other hand, I'd hate to shoulder an expectation that I'll contact friends or family (or <i>work </i>- shudder!) while I'm in the backcountry. Part of the reason we head into the wilderness is to put our ordinary daily concerns on the back burner. Would having a more advanced device - capable of check-ins or 2-way messaging - compromise the reason I was out there in the first place? To some extent, yes. But I'm starting to wonder if the compromise might be worth it. I'm not there yet, but I think my attitude might be changing.<br /></p><p><b>2. The Right Mindset</b></p><p>All that said, it's possible that carrying a PLB <i>doesn't</i> actually make for a safer trip. Consider again the fellow who told me he was carrying a PLB instead of paper maps . Instead of learning the navigational skills needed to survive and thrive on the often-poorly-marked CDT, he was using the PLB as a crutch. The presence of a PLB was almost certainly making his trip <i>less </i>safe. If safety equipment (be it a PLB, avalanche airbag, climbing helmet, etc) emboldens us to take risks that we wouldn't ordinarily take, then that safety equipment is useless at best and counterproductive at worst.</p><p>The best safety equipment we have is our brains. It's not exactly a profundity to say that it's far better to avoid a dangerous situation than to be bailed out of it by our safety gear. I try not to let the presence - or absence - of a PLB impact my decision-making. If I'd be more comfortable navigating that sketchy arete in the rain with a PLB, that's my brain's way of telling me that I'm making a bad decision. <br /></p><p><b>3. The Right Message</b></p><p>So, how do we convince skeptics (like me) to bring a PLB? So often, our arguments in favor of PLB's revolve around guilt and shame:<i> "you're irresponsible</i> <i>for not bringing one"</i>, or <i>"what will your family say?" </i>To me, that's the wrong approach. These arguments only put someone on the defensive and further entrench an anti-PLB mindset.</p><p>To me, the best way to encourage the use of PLBs is instead a message of liberation: <i>"A PLB increases your odds of a good outcome, if something bad happens to you". </i>A PLB is relatively lightweight, relatively compact, and can be stashed in a hipbelt pocket (for easy access!) and forgotten about unless it's needed.</p><p>Folks who don't carry a PLB aren't generally irresponsible. They simply have a different assessment of the costs versus benefits of carrying one. I've got a lot of sympathy for that argument. I used to agree. But after having experienced a couple of backcountry accidents and seeing the the costs first-hand, I'm starting to re-think my cost/benefit analysis when it comes to PLBs. And hopefully my recent experiences will help others do the same.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv69DQiOn8OEFtaKacIj8p62CjNnsOCqEzecQKnRM4ESJbNnOcKyeItZ-a2m3WY_TDvdODyQPrfBQD0KJSnBsmzt4SbF_LCwmaPZJS_HhkYyxW9mYhnfwfBFTw-nF16PxF2LaIKBaCEUa2/s2048/20200721_103017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv69DQiOn8OEFtaKacIj8p62CjNnsOCqEzecQKnRM4ESJbNnOcKyeItZ-a2m3WY_TDvdODyQPrfBQD0KJSnBsmzt4SbF_LCwmaPZJS_HhkYyxW9mYhnfwfBFTw-nF16PxF2LaIKBaCEUa2/w640-h480/20200721_103017.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>All photos in this post taken near the scenes of the crimes. Unpleasant things happen in pretty places!</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-25660556720816830342020-12-26T01:19:00.000-07:002020-12-26T01:19:05.001-07:002020 - In Review<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-2xiW2z9QNzb2fSiYSxKuSRDq6DkG6ugwcKqCV0v50NjEKc2FdtYvxnD1UUR_79crv1b5FkZLfoIhVTSpCQkZdvADPSUZzV8VWIIJHGHMivSAun25pkfNqgL5HofAb1Jq1VuD4GHhJbC/s2048/20200906_110848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-2xiW2z9QNzb2fSiYSxKuSRDq6DkG6ugwcKqCV0v50NjEKc2FdtYvxnD1UUR_79crv1b5FkZLfoIhVTSpCQkZdvADPSUZzV8VWIIJHGHMivSAun25pkfNqgL5HofAb1Jq1VuD4GHhJbC/w640-h480/20200906_110848.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Well, that was a trainwreck.<p></p>Strictly speaking, 2020 wasn't "the worst year ever", or even "unprecedented". Such proclamations are most-often voiced by pundits with a poor grasp of history and a flair for the overly dramatic. There's no denying this was a miserable year, but it probably doesn't stack up to 541 (devastating famine across Europe and Asia after an Icelandic volcano threw a bunch of ash into the atmosphere; the Plague of Justinian) any of the years in the late 1340s (a third of Europe and a quarter of Asia killed by the Plague, Version 2.0), 1918 (a way deadlier pandemic, plus a brutal World War), or 1945 (wrap-up to the deadliest war in history and the deadliest genocide in history, the US nuking Japan, and the beginning of the Cold War)<br /><p>But most of us weren't alive in 541, 1348, 1918, or even 1945. And as a matter of lived-experience, 2020 sure has been rotten. So before we wish it a hearty <strike>good riddance</strike> farewell, here's a brief review, as it pertains to backpacking adventures.</p><p></p><p><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Gear:</b></span><br />
</p><ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Pairs of shoes:5</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Zippers split:2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Zippers repaired: 2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Amount of Cuben tape used: way too much <br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Tents used:2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Tents found to be leaky: 1 </span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Tents used, in spite of being leaky: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Pairs of microspikes lost: 1 (it's the bear's fault)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Compasses lost: 2 (not the bear's fault)<br /></span></li></ul>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Trips:</b></span><br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Long-distance hikes: 2 (Florida Trail; Greater Yellowstone Loop<b>)</b></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Medium-length backpacking trips: 1 (Ouachita Trail)<b> </b></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Short backpacking trips:7</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Miles hiked: 2,800+ </span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">States visited:9</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">National Parks visited:2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">National Forests visited: 16</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Wilderness Areas/WSA's visited: 19<br /></span></li></ul>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Highest/Lowest/Fastest/Slowest:</b></span><br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Highest elevation: 13,448' (Gilbert Peak, Uintas)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lowest elevation: sea level (Gulf Islands National Seashore, Florida Trail)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Highest point (metaphorical): Walking on the spine of the Tetons themselves<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lowest point (metaphorical): Oh crap, that's a grizzly<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Longest full day, in miles: 27 miles (Florida Trail)<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Shortest full day, in miles: 14 (trudging through the swamp on the Florida Trail)</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Most consecutive days without seeing a human: 6 (Greater Yellowstone Loop)</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lightest packweight: 8 lbs (Florida Trail)</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Heaviest packweight: 40 lbs (Greater Yellowstone Loop)</span></li></ul> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b></b></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Animal Encounters:</b></span> <br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Gators seen: hundreds</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Gators bellowing uncomfortably close to my tent during the night: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Gator problems: 0</span></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Venomous snakes: 0</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Dog problems: many<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Jumped into the bed of a passing pickup truck to avoid a confrontation with a pack of unleashed and aggressive dogs: 2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Bears:11</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Bears that didn't attack me: 10</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Confirmed grizzly bears: 4</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Confirmed black bears: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Mystery bears: 6 (too far away to tell)</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Foxes that tried to sneak up on me: 1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Foxes that got pelted with rocks by a very ticked-off LarryBoy: 1<br /></span></li></ul>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Human Encounters:</b></span><br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Shown overwhelming generosity by strangers: too many to count</span><br /></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Offered money by strangers who thought I was homeless:1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Given "trail magic": 2 </span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Given "trail magic" in a uniquely Florida style, by people who were proud of their regional and ethnic cultures and wanted me to feel welcome: 2<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Hiker gatherings attended: 1 (pre-covid)</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Randomly encountered friends in the middle of nowhere: 2<br /></span></li></ul>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Camping:</b></span><br />
<ul><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Bag nights: 150+</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Bathrooms slept in:1</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Churches slept at: 2</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">AT-style shelters slept at: 4 <br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Favorite campsite: stunning unnamed lake in the Beartooths</span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Least favorite campsite: mosquito-infested dystopian wasteland in the Bechler River area of SE Yellowstone<br /></span></li><li><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Cowboy camped: 0 (for the first time in many years!)</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Previous years in review: <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2019/12/2019-in-review.html">2019</a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2018/12/2018-in-review.html" target="_blank">2018</a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2017/12/2017-in-review.html" target="_blank">2017</a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2016/12/2016-in-review.html" target="_blank">2016</a>, <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2015/01/2014-in-review.html" target="_blank">2014</a></i></span></p><p><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"></span></p><p>In <b>January</b>, just after New Years, my good pal Blue Moon dropped me off at the the southern terminus of the Florida Trail. South Florida featured a full-blown <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/01/ft-part-1-big-cypress-to-lake-okeechobee.html">swamp walk</a>, beautiful oak and palm hammocks, and the occasional <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/01/ft-part-2-lake-okeechobee-to-orlando.html">death-defying roadwalk</a>.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoyxRN-k6SjXPI7UJ8fOWl_kdNgSdyLOc8wDBvwpdudZwSJT9DZK_srPaaBzsC32d3HndQlzPZwzbIdXGltuvNc8SaoAk7gJdGdCdtkCQfLKlNpnQpt04ijvIblWTLGpB2TLRwqHdgHFH/s2048/20200109_145138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoyxRN-k6SjXPI7UJ8fOWl_kdNgSdyLOc8wDBvwpdudZwSJT9DZK_srPaaBzsC32d3HndQlzPZwzbIdXGltuvNc8SaoAk7gJdGdCdtkCQfLKlNpnQpt04ijvIblWTLGpB2TLRwqHdgHFH/w640-h480/20200109_145138.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXGx7DbYu7bgNpXbKR9VL4f6fDLpx4A51sg7wkzTjzkPvuWanSN0dH0M3alxcliq9tBLhdOEC4kmfjaWoU9ZNYcnrMB8R9tsnnTtigySQJLOeErfdP7O0E0-IGz8zreMRhjVsi86pXe0W/s2048/20200109_105156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXGx7DbYu7bgNpXbKR9VL4f6fDLpx4A51sg7wkzTjzkPvuWanSN0dH0M3alxcliq9tBLhdOEC4kmfjaWoU9ZNYcnrMB8R9tsnnTtigySQJLOeErfdP7O0E0-IGz8zreMRhjVsi86pXe0W/w640-h480/20200109_105156.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Around the beginning of <b>February</b>, I reached north Florida and took a left turn, now heading <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/03/ft-part-3-orlando-to-pensacola.html">west toward Pensacola</a>. Highlights included the incredible Suwanee and Aucilla rivers. The weather took a turn for the worse, with regular drenching rainstorms rolling through every three days or so.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGO11LZFkZ6l30sLLR_Y5hSuNB_I9-leAnUKKEF0P3lr9a7k51eN8Ug1jBsyVdm54d6DcAf6pvWkaf8bWPiJqd_xSemTz1TaNMnztak0VXxZ_aye2TomgLLPzDenQrNOGSOeW47PH6z-h/s2048/20200209_095626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGO11LZFkZ6l30sLLR_Y5hSuNB_I9-leAnUKKEF0P3lr9a7k51eN8Ug1jBsyVdm54d6DcAf6pvWkaf8bWPiJqd_xSemTz1TaNMnztak0VXxZ_aye2TomgLLPzDenQrNOGSOeW47PH6z-h/w640-h480/20200209_095626.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefywvFNbwFPGdL2hcJISr-sri3GhJaJIKd_fkqTarOB4L3iQ0uy85KmsfyMFYoXly9Z1k0rc7CMsaLbMrR6TqWzmgc6vYxqey99CfM7MoBavTOjv77FWzvmF7tRv5SAypYloTqQqqmsuY/s2048/20200210_124457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefywvFNbwFPGdL2hcJISr-sri3GhJaJIKd_fkqTarOB4L3iQ0uy85KmsfyMFYoXly9Z1k0rc7CMsaLbMrR6TqWzmgc6vYxqey99CfM7MoBavTOjv77FWzvmF7tRv5SAypYloTqQqqmsuY/w640-h480/20200210_124457.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I finished up the Florida Trail during the first few days of <b>March</b>, ending with a beautiful walk along the beach to a historic US Army fort on the Gulf of Mexico. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3I2FxUQDuiZHSpdwaRh-s7aTIYW7AZAu2lkQxQPTWayN1c9SPYwgAbxo9QB8tF6IwVGqonYoanEOpTJXL-iV964jsiPVp0Tl8BCptWoKlFqpGoCkcF0HvZ2_hijZ2grDCDKls_x0oQVUO/s2048/20200303_062006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3I2FxUQDuiZHSpdwaRh-s7aTIYW7AZAu2lkQxQPTWayN1c9SPYwgAbxo9QB8tF6IwVGqonYoanEOpTJXL-iV964jsiPVp0Tl8BCptWoKlFqpGoCkcF0HvZ2_hijZ2grDCDKls_x0oQVUO/w640-h480/20200303_062006.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>After finishing the Florida Trail, I got on a plane and headed to Arkansas to hike the <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/03/whiteblazing-and-blueblazing-in-arkansas.html">Ouachita Trail</a>. There was a minor buzz going on - an emerging virus was apparently making its way from China to the rest of the world, and some experts were saying that it was a concern. </p><p>A week later, when I emerged from the woods in Mena, AR, the world had gone crazy. Hand sanitizer and toilet paper were nowhere to be found. Most states still had single-digit case counts, but it was clear that this coronavirus was going to be a bit of a problem. I hurriedly jumped on a train to Phoenix, to start the Grand Enchantment Trail. I figured being in the woods was for the best right now.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlTZ43IpLOyeToQW_fRPbylTTABEcbNrCkp_X7O5o76FRa04UZ9go_a246X0EKmQ3GRhaiI96a_29NSBP6xIXrdcsuk90SVPJPlxb5J1uSs3nW3C-NfRn1HLAAeuAJXue4rEKWGYnQmsP/s2048/20200305_183920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlTZ43IpLOyeToQW_fRPbylTTABEcbNrCkp_X7O5o76FRa04UZ9go_a246X0EKmQ3GRhaiI96a_29NSBP6xIXrdcsuk90SVPJPlxb5J1uSs3nW3C-NfRn1HLAAeuAJXue4rEKWGYnQmsP/w640-h480/20200305_183920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0zr6IViAGjbZBsxaXcWFTuSvJh6cOGFcrc1FEvU5bMPqsIyAGsaND3R3PK6WFw6b2dzi7ZTzUSXmqXzLeYM8YE4im13Ryn7ZOLv4VzqUvNEt2j7p1f_1CE1lVHqUuXnCBerxxG2jlQiZ/s2048/20200307_103800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0zr6IViAGjbZBsxaXcWFTuSvJh6cOGFcrc1FEvU5bMPqsIyAGsaND3R3PK6WFw6b2dzi7ZTzUSXmqXzLeYM8YE4im13Ryn7ZOLv4VzqUvNEt2j7p1f_1CE1lVHqUuXnCBerxxG2jlQiZ/w640-h480/20200307_103800.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Things were changing fast. After just <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/03/briefly-enchanted.html">four days on the GET</a>, I realized that continuing a long-distance hike was not a good idea right now - hitchhiking, passing through rural, vulnerable communities, and arranging transportation before/after a hike just wasn't responsible. Before things got any worse, I hopped on a plane and headed back to Michigan, where I could stay for a while.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3522yBiZDMiXs-a-DUnX6epZnw7FS8r6ftj6ZIoSh5wrTFJ6hkyPRT-spGBnJcF-WuAxyra1TmBbO8bkN1e7MtnkJd8YYrUqKDOY26J2ynSqQ2rLVFeFMxEk1NCVBCuliaGx6CJkZ3mN/s2048/20200316_102202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3522yBiZDMiXs-a-DUnX6epZnw7FS8r6ftj6ZIoSh5wrTFJ6hkyPRT-spGBnJcF-WuAxyra1TmBbO8bkN1e7MtnkJd8YYrUqKDOY26J2ynSqQ2rLVFeFMxEk1NCVBCuliaGx6CJkZ3mN/w640-h480/20200316_102202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />In <b>April</b>, I took a quick hike on the North Country Trail in Michigan's Manistee National Forest, not too far from home.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQCXWQ1kkOjW3mwlr7pHm0agsUnvQUfGGrTepxXdFn3yfsSdlrXPfS-31butJTSev9lald10AF843TLv3IBg-rVZM2S7GbcEGaQ5ejxXZ99Wf8D6675ptDeyBNT_P-CAmupFa5lsxdLUg/s2048/20200423_110031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQCXWQ1kkOjW3mwlr7pHm0agsUnvQUfGGrTepxXdFn3yfsSdlrXPfS-31butJTSev9lald10AF843TLv3IBg-rVZM2S7GbcEGaQ5ejxXZ99Wf8D6675ptDeyBNT_P-CAmupFa5lsxdLUg/w640-h480/20200423_110031.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>In late <b>May</b>, I came to grips with the fact that my planned PCT hike wasn't going to happen. Covid-19 wasn't going away any time soon. Rather than rotting indoors however, I planned a long-distance hike that would be Covid-responsible - no transportation, no hitchhiking, no towns. I would drive to the trailhead, walk in a circle, and cache my food beforehand.</p><p>I headed west, doing a few warm-up hikes. First up was an exploratory jaunt on Boulder Mountain, scouting a re-route for the <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2019/12/dhr.html">Deseret Hiking Route</a>.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-xef2JJWTigmhbqH5YetOt_LavvjP0XW9QlNKcdlehBaSH_3NQPpdRtI9ELzGjbpFA6g8n59FrQpbgltSvokfig7-aK24o79MqX0my7YJXLKAMnJwtizCTJOehzV0XMSL-Z-4Hh5_mNh/s2048/20200602_113141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-xef2JJWTigmhbqH5YetOt_LavvjP0XW9QlNKcdlehBaSH_3NQPpdRtI9ELzGjbpFA6g8n59FrQpbgltSvokfig7-aK24o79MqX0my7YJXLKAMnJwtizCTJOehzV0XMSL-Z-4Hh5_mNh/w640-h480/20200602_113141.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>In <b>June</b>, I did a quick trip through the Tushars of south-central Utah, summiting all of the 12,000-foot peaks in the range.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4gBGVXbyVNsLRy4tJjZuyJ91BhmTySz29TnB4RSKbqUuLum7xk8nwiWjhqNj0h5VXmmuPu6VqCaih5Zk708OtyPmr-KPcJEoYmuWIXHuyt_QLjOejE5oKlClISOicr7G_9oDxfmUPl0T/s2048/20200611_100003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4gBGVXbyVNsLRy4tJjZuyJ91BhmTySz29TnB4RSKbqUuLum7xk8nwiWjhqNj0h5VXmmuPu6VqCaih5Zk708OtyPmr-KPcJEoYmuWIXHuyt_QLjOejE5oKlClISOicr7G_9oDxfmUPl0T/w640-h480/20200611_100003.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Later that month, I did a pair of trips in the Uintas - one in the western part of the range...<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi00R1Lu8GzQFnSer9htr3xarc1Wmpc2-IwQPTbQVz2KCfUdBq7TyVcwygPt_XPZLmn3FwhfjvtdvOQUfoUpMeINz-HfGM3IT-SAjXLRI4Hw-TNME2UDmpn8deybTuHaiMqPF-rGNJJstM2/s2048/20200614_181044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi00R1Lu8GzQFnSer9htr3xarc1Wmpc2-IwQPTbQVz2KCfUdBq7TyVcwygPt_XPZLmn3FwhfjvtdvOQUfoUpMeINz-HfGM3IT-SAjXLRI4Hw-TNME2UDmpn8deybTuHaiMqPF-rGNJJstM2/w640-h480/20200614_181044.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> ...and one right along the spine of the range, the main Uinta crest.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ3uus9X2DWTw9LdTe0UxkI8O9Si16lfdXBsNYoLHJREaqIwbytvmAx-17VR8LnIRQPN14g66jINH2NZTDlewmnk5ptmIZuIKFUR6sHheXB_P9Cr0GAxxjni1cRg4_-Jwj2JBkejRlwCnD/s2048/20200622_095647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ3uus9X2DWTw9LdTe0UxkI8O9Si16lfdXBsNYoLHJREaqIwbytvmAx-17VR8LnIRQPN14g66jINH2NZTDlewmnk5ptmIZuIKFUR6sHheXB_P9Cr0GAxxjni1cRg4_-Jwj2JBkejRlwCnD/w640-h480/20200622_095647.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>All the while, I was living that #crappybeatupsubarulife, avoiding towns and sticking to wild places.</p><p>On the first of <b>July</b>, I began a <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/09/a-greater-yellowstone-loop.html">Greater Yellowstone Loop</a> near West Yellowstone, MT. I trudged through plenty of snow in the Tetons, but the views made it all worth it.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglsPKVmdiOW18fp5MYWCFv1LipBoFGucIR6uUXEury3Bvld-VrWzefn-s7WP5Vg_9pPmHeQP1lchES8s7wqyJhbiLZ3eiqaI09jBRGYA0-i7_HGWXvjpAe4Ga-f0Yy9Y-9F8fi6YU5XuXe/s2048/20200705_135755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglsPKVmdiOW18fp5MYWCFv1LipBoFGucIR6uUXEury3Bvld-VrWzefn-s7WP5Vg_9pPmHeQP1lchES8s7wqyJhbiLZ3eiqaI09jBRGYA0-i7_HGWXvjpAe4Ga-f0Yy9Y-9F8fi6YU5XuXe/w640-h480/20200705_135755.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The Snake River and Wyoming ranges were slightly less spectacular, but still filled with beautiful alpine flowers. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0bSn0ZRTJVL67uyKISS3PWkk7cPfmF8F7zeh0j8z9BcYhJDhLJW1V4mvISdkMsAu-av0jxjpFtOR2SN3xDcQjZeO3cOFvLmhmZAWfwsyfgEqZXnQJSLYvhdxty0E7mUx8HwosrVZbLKEc/s2048/20200709_120519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0bSn0ZRTJVL67uyKISS3PWkk7cPfmF8F7zeh0j8z9BcYhJDhLJW1V4mvISdkMsAu-av0jxjpFtOR2SN3xDcQjZeO3cOFvLmhmZAWfwsyfgEqZXnQJSLYvhdxty0E7mUx8HwosrVZbLKEc/w640-h480/20200709_120519.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I had picture-perfect weather in the Gros Ventres, ideal for for walking the crest and recently-glaciated shelves.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7Hjs_8ALStO5nUO0nj4jS68Iyg8Qn92eHK5KLjS9Mh_Amhg8sTfCYVEq60EGbxHzFLY-YXzgwOaOyPZPxRNttZK_sD94MDn4uj0jensYqFFQS5V8NVgKWg48c88ZZNKw8qPVOuwJjVM7/s2048/20200715_153459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7Hjs_8ALStO5nUO0nj4jS68Iyg8Qn92eHK5KLjS9Mh_Amhg8sTfCYVEq60EGbxHzFLY-YXzgwOaOyPZPxRNttZK_sD94MDn4uj0jensYqFFQS5V8NVgKWg48c88ZZNKw8qPVOuwJjVM7/w640-h480/20200715_153459.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>The Absarokas, true to form, were wild, rugged, and full of grizzlies, one of whom <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/07/grizzly-bear-attack-breakdown.html">objected to my presence</a>.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxce6yDoTnDiCD5mk8IkbkHdJc2L7g7WW0eTemB22JnpJQ_VHWforvonsMhpeSNNz2xvRI_suWLIx8fySci_DEgGXN7UQ1aiMLSMBz6p0Cd_79Iz3DaBr15ghW-tXQQxm2zsFHGoag0A4H/s2048/20200720_131609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxce6yDoTnDiCD5mk8IkbkHdJc2L7g7WW0eTemB22JnpJQ_VHWforvonsMhpeSNNz2xvRI_suWLIx8fySci_DEgGXN7UQ1aiMLSMBz6p0Cd_79Iz3DaBr15ghW-tXQQxm2zsFHGoag0A4H/w640-h480/20200720_131609.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>The fine hospital staff in Cody, Wyoming stitched me up and sent me on my way. It took a few weeks before I was healed up enough to continue the route.</p><p>In <b>August</b>, I resumed the route, passing through the Beartooths, still one of my favorite ranges of all time.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVHBvdWTc0zD0icCQcMqTjLHsOWcIHtoiR3iIqZUVMFKkhM0OIIrv3OW6mCIvhFIVwKU2QqWa5FxsL31NHAz3x0X0eqezGDd4sezcn7M34ohF0b1N0P8TK7Sq-UrVgwpjvUfC115h-zh_/s2048/20200816_142859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVHBvdWTc0zD0icCQcMqTjLHsOWcIHtoiR3iIqZUVMFKkhM0OIIrv3OW6mCIvhFIVwKU2QqWa5FxsL31NHAz3x0X0eqezGDd4sezcn7M34ohF0b1N0P8TK7Sq-UrVgwpjvUfC115h-zh_/w640-h480/20200816_142859.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I sashayed through the northernmost Absarokas, and later passed through the Gallatin Range, choked in thick smoke by wildfires burning on the West Coast. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1efxRJk849LRGoL3rU5Nhs_Cm6Lr9Vb6_t2omR5QULtmtv3qRe76gQCmyApVET3hpM1FbWf4o1xT5k2aBq7TNYzcEhdU6_woWnw6pdUBYOZ0IWtDu1DkhkwiEFxJLVpJ6W0IC1K5dXG_w/s2048/20200823_132059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1efxRJk849LRGoL3rU5Nhs_Cm6Lr9Vb6_t2omR5QULtmtv3qRe76gQCmyApVET3hpM1FbWf4o1xT5k2aBq7TNYzcEhdU6_woWnw6pdUBYOZ0IWtDu1DkhkwiEFxJLVpJ6W0IC1K5dXG_w/w640-h480/20200823_132059.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The trek concluded with a jaunt through the Madisons. I completed the loop near West Yellowstone on the last day of the month, just as the season's first snowflakes began to fall. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDIuWTcpjSVu9hcS6jQ1MZn9pYN6g7P0O3XQozqjpuwzO7lcSDPzuFfHRLUT7xvB1CXYeB2qeBEmfLg7EzQ-E1x0b3Qvki6H6jWesSsmv9ugmjjD-kf9C2r5-P5V9UwMCxRE8Y2yDvmbG/s2048/20200828_175618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDIuWTcpjSVu9hcS6jQ1MZn9pYN6g7P0O3XQozqjpuwzO7lcSDPzuFfHRLUT7xvB1CXYeB2qeBEmfLg7EzQ-E1x0b3Qvki6H6jWesSsmv9ugmjjD-kf9C2r5-P5V9UwMCxRE8Y2yDvmbG/w640-h480/20200828_175618.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>In <b>September, </b>I did a short jaunt into the northern reaches of the Wind River Range...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RaSUpemMlp_NTGAPG2ro-OeyhIkq2mPsbCt0CtUSDgzBRtwS_nf_OdgVbde3_tbufYE5iD-PQFYzDU5ibHEX3Hm9qFvl_J2iud1agO4t2WVSgfuoYEp84d3DtK2DZEPmwKQNP0a132Ip/s2048/20200906_065818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RaSUpemMlp_NTGAPG2ro-OeyhIkq2mPsbCt0CtUSDgzBRtwS_nf_OdgVbde3_tbufYE5iD-PQFYzDU5ibHEX3Hm9qFvl_J2iud1agO4t2WVSgfuoYEp84d3DtK2DZEPmwKQNP0a132Ip/w640-h480/20200906_065818.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>...and celebrated my thirtieth trip around the sun with a quick overnighter in the Wasatch.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk9DtO2wl3vzlcP0Tue5M62frj-VUKlJKvZTakYtkutUxsV3hcp7ngvLVWee5jnMrMhyphenhyphenOt4gMvJdOdl1Yf7L0IDjsjE9ROgrH4nMTqoNu0Z8UO-ypwTKnqAd4PhivNmCG0Ct6W7z2unOFV/s2048/20200922_190530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk9DtO2wl3vzlcP0Tue5M62frj-VUKlJKvZTakYtkutUxsV3hcp7ngvLVWee5jnMrMhyphenhyphenOt4gMvJdOdl1Yf7L0IDjsjE9ROgrH4nMTqoNu0Z8UO-ypwTKnqAd4PhivNmCG0Ct6W7z2unOFV/w640-h480/20200922_190530.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Spot the moose!</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>I didn't get out too much for the rest of the year - car trouble and the practical realities of re-establishing myself after a couple of years on the road played a role - but I anticipate getting out a lot more in 2021, particularly if and when coronavirus dies down due to vaccination.</p><p><b>A Year of Failure - Kind Of...<br /></b></p><p>I <a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2019/12/2020-its-always-adventure-time.html">originally intended</a> to do four long hikes in 2020 - the Florida Trail, Ouachita Trail, Grand Enchantment Trail, and the Pacific Crest Trail. Of the four, I only successfully completed one. I completed the Florida Trail, and quit the Ouachita a couple days early because the weather, and the upcoming forecast, combined to make it a bit miserable. I don't regret quitting it.</p><p>The Grand Enchantment and Pacific Crest trails are a different story. I quit the GET after 4 days due to the worsening Covid-19 situation, and my PCT hike was entirely a no-go. While I acknowledge that "having to skip a vacation with a fancy title" is pretty far down the list of coronavirus-related hardships, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bummed about not being able to do those hikes.</p><p>Still though, I managed to see plenty of beautiful things, and I am happy with how quickly I changed gears to pull off a Greater Yellowstone Loop, which is probably the most beautiful hike I've ever done.</p><p><b>What's Next</b></p><p>The end of the year marks a significant shift in lifestyle for me. Since spring of 2018, I've been on the move constantly, never spending more than two months in a single place. I've probably walked 10,000 miles in that time, road-tripped across the country several times, and<b> </b>generally enjoyed adventuring full-time.</p><p>But living out the the back of a car or a backpack does get a little bit old. And as much as I enjoy adventure, it's not the only iron I have in the fire. Lord willing, I plan to return to full-time employment in 2021. I will have an apartment, rather than a Subaru and a storage unit. My outdoor trips will be measured in days, not months. And you can be sure that I'll document those trips on this blog as irregularly as I always do!<br /></p><p>It's been a rough year, in some way, for just about everybody. But our hope isn't merely in the turning of the calendar to 2021, the promise of a Covid vaccine on the horizon, or the end of the malignant Trump administration. Our confidence is that whether it's the year 20, 202, or 2020, that the same God is in control and we can depend on his goodness... even when there's a bad-tempered bear heading our way.<br /></p><p>Happy New Year.<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3JroEIwf-TsrKYMrZpW_E6wkqhMbjpAVpbgTaZMYlY9qzXy-7h1d5Jkda56v-p7VjclD9ixEYpO5Iv6yLCYSn0jfUsG_KYtl_jqshyphenhyphen0P4-wuHBJ6AIVuQEcysJNmO48BNXM2MmPKhLoCb/s2048/20200906_070519.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3JroEIwf-TsrKYMrZpW_E6wkqhMbjpAVpbgTaZMYlY9qzXy-7h1d5Jkda56v-p7VjclD9ixEYpO5Iv6yLCYSn0jfUsG_KYtl_jqshyphenhyphen0P4-wuHBJ6AIVuQEcysJNmO48BNXM2MmPKhLoCb/w640-h480/20200906_070519.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /><b></b></p><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-29046920475669507972020-12-19T15:05:00.005-07:002020-12-20T17:27:02.869-07:00From Whence Did the Grinch Steal Christmas?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz4tnPBU000RWevo5EHfMOMHbLaNaHqBDIyFqhUadcSer190n4h1mQqYGrPc0ndKQh-QfdO95r2o9siNBCUyuSDIj-H3_P-IiavlF4Q4T1tMAbqMxFP_TDG3lp3toIhMyMfJhOB8LpXep/s2048/fromwhence.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1506" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz4tnPBU000RWevo5EHfMOMHbLaNaHqBDIyFqhUadcSer190n4h1mQqYGrPc0ndKQh-QfdO95r2o9siNBCUyuSDIj-H3_P-IiavlF4Q4T1tMAbqMxFP_TDG3lp3toIhMyMfJhOB8LpXep/w470-h640/fromwhence.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><br />Like many children, I grew up reading Dr. Seuss's holiday classic, <i>How the Grinch Stole Christmas</i>. Seuss (also known by his birth name,Ted Geisel) spins the heartwarming yarn of an irascible hillside hermit who tries to steal Christmas from the neighboring town of Who-ville. But his heart "grows three sizes" upon learning the true meaning of Christmas, and he abandons his Grinchy ways, even sharing in the town's celebration himself.<br /><p></p><p>When I got older and developed a quasi-obsession with mountains and wild places, I noticed that there really aren't that many places - anywhere on this <i>planet </i>- that fit Who-ville's locale as described in the book. I began to wonder - where exactly is Who-ville?<br /></p><p><i>TL;DR: With a reasonably high degree of confidence, I believe that Glacier View, Alaska is the only plausible match for the fictional town of Who-ville. </i><br /></p><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Background </span><br /></h2><p>A crash course on the Grinch, in case your childhood was sad and stunted:<br /></p><p>The Grinch, a grumpy green recluse, lives in a cave in the mountains north of a village called Who-ville. The Grinch's general misanthropy is manifest most overtly in his abhorrence of the Whos' annual Christmas celebration. Having putting up with their singing, feasting, and general merrymaking for "fifty-three years now", the Grinch decides, one Christmas Eve, to steal their holiday accoutrements while they're all sound asleep. </p><p>After dressing up as Santa Claus and disguising his dog Max as a reindeer, the Grinch rides a sleigh down into town and, sliding down each chimney, systematically burglarizes the Whos' houses, stealing their gifts, foodstuffs, decorations, and Christmas trees. He's spotted only once - by a two-year-old, Cindy-Lou Hoo, who believes
he's Santa Claus. The Grinch prevaricates, telling the child that he's
taking the tree back to his workshop for repairs. He then dispatches her back to bed. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8huqstppv4Va4iQlBSTklCc5eavFBSUn0ECKBFF37m_THe_Txk_mgd-JX6M7oYYFQteHu3EhwK4b5o9Uc5AmmmRhtVrMaJBHtbkqL_PI5l_okVRKPItnAdxBdXoE5TIrXU6LNTpDEjkC/s640/tree+up.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="640" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8huqstppv4Va4iQlBSTklCc5eavFBSUn0ECKBFF37m_THe_Txk_mgd-JX6M7oYYFQteHu3EhwK4b5o9Uc5AmmmRhtVrMaJBHtbkqL_PI5l_okVRKPItnAdxBdXoE5TIrXU6LNTpDEjkC/w640-h432/tree+up.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>The Grinch shoves the Christmas trappings up the Whos' chimneys and loads it all onto his now-overflowing sleigh. With much protestation, Max pulls the sleigh thousands of feet up to the peak of nearby Mt. Crumpit, where the Grinch plans to dump the cargo over the side of a cliff. Before completing his crime though, the Grinch pauses to observe the reaction of the townspeople, who are just now waking up and realizing that their Christmas has been stolen. But to the Grinch's horror, he hears not weeping, but singing! Despite their lack of gifts, decorations, or food, the Whos are celebrating Christmas all the same. The Grinch concludes that Christmas must mean "a little bit more" (though exactly <i>what</i> is not specified). His heart changed, the Grinch rides back down the mountain into town, bringing back everything he had stolen. The Whos magnanimously accept him, even granting him the honor of carving the rare roast beast.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDQM-6BD8xA_ikAmcsiaVtCfMhVbnOG3Hrwnxepxk_Ea8EyFKHXfXj1bYPNZtw4ic87icRiEK01CJiuXR16O3pMFpaQRXpL6imvzf7-NGXeXSxfAn9NijxLSPKDqlgUNQcj-MjSkeFxYZ0/s838/roast+beast.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="838" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDQM-6BD8xA_ikAmcsiaVtCfMhVbnOG3Hrwnxepxk_Ea8EyFKHXfXj1bYPNZtw4ic87icRiEK01CJiuXR16O3pMFpaQRXpL6imvzf7-NGXeXSxfAn9NijxLSPKDqlgUNQcj-MjSkeFxYZ0/w640-h330/roast+beast.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Sources and Canonicity<br /></h2><p>Unsurprisingly, Hollywood has done several re-treads of the original Grinch story. Not all of them should be considered "canon", though. For example, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0170016/"><i>How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (2000)</i></a>, starring Jim Carrey, contains an elaborate backstory for the Grinch's malfeasence featuring childhood bullying and unrequited love. None of this is even alluded to in the original. For the purposes of this analysis, we will take two sources as canon:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>First published in 1957, Ted Geisel's original story <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/113946.How_the_Grinch_Stole_Christmas_">How the Grinch Stole Christmas!</a> (hereafter "the book")</li><li>The 1966 animated special, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0060345/">How the Grinch Stole Christmas!</a> produced by Chuck Jones and Ted Geisel (hereafter "the movie")</li></ul><p>I see these two resources - and <i>only</i> these two - as canon because they're the only productions to which Geisel actually contributed. All other adaptations and remakes may be entertaining, but they're not authoritative.</p><p><a href="https://docs.google.com/document/preview?hgd=1&id=10yulrehQodGE7jqCt6AT0W_gclURWfo4q0HryBjTxVw"><i>Link to book text</i></a></p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0aJcmOm9J1U&list=PL_iybbChsunupZNxYkgiD-tAowMT6k6e-"><i>Link to movie </i></a></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Observations <br /></h2><p><b>1. Who-ville is located in an anglophone country. </b>We know this from Cindy-Lou's name, as well as the fact that the Grinch speaks English in rhymes and <a href="http://www.mickmichaels.com/2012/08/the-basics-of-seussian-verse.html">anapestic tetrameter</a> - something that would be highly unlikely if Geisel were translating from another language. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhUH8t4YjXEooDpFvb7cEyc55iW3UO6AUylq_9CEyJ-8eLpJZ2qaeNRMozm2JhDUUk9lzwACg4e2QzAYV15ZPEq2oIUETTMSRnuFITORRWTGENlyWHlYLAwq661XSuc6sD-hW4-6R3QAH/s743/Light+on+this+tree.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="428" data-original-width="743" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhUH8t4YjXEooDpFvb7cEyc55iW3UO6AUylq_9CEyJ-8eLpJZ2qaeNRMozm2JhDUUk9lzwACg4e2QzAYV15ZPEq2oIUETTMSRnuFITORRWTGENlyWHlYLAwq661XSuc6sD-hW4-6R3QAH/w640-h368/Light+on+this+tree.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOpKuQO1FkA"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Source for illustrations</i></span></a><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b></b><p></p><p><b>2. There are mountains to the north of Who-ville. </b>The book states explicitly that the Grinch in a cave above and north of Who-ville. From the movie, we can see that the cave is located in the mountains.</p><p><b>3. At least 42 people live in Who-ville. </b>Forty-two figures are visible, joined hand-in-hand, during the song that stirs the Grinch's cold heart.</p><p><b>4. Mt. Crumpit is located to the south of Who-ville. </b>This is admittedly an inference, however it seems to follow naturally from the way that animated features are typically shot. We know from #2 that the Grinch lives north of town and we see him whizzing down to Who-ville (before he steals Christmas) going from left-to-right across the page/screen. This means that the camera is pointing <i>east</i> as he journeys south through the frame.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIC898A1OXsifIOOP5hJk9NV1Gs8V-5BZJsXfU1sly1zebBqDLGGKm1yCgxK65VCEZhpp2d2d5wVI2XgFPZ9_TguwPPspTPptKJeG81md7iAKTEOSDMtreTq75yFRK-iLBlr8vuhBGUU9k/s637/first+ride.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="429" data-original-width="637" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIC898A1OXsifIOOP5hJk9NV1Gs8V-5BZJsXfU1sly1zebBqDLGGKm1yCgxK65VCEZhpp2d2d5wVI2XgFPZ9_TguwPPspTPptKJeG81md7iAKTEOSDMtreTq75yFRK-iLBlr8vuhBGUU9k/w640-h432/first+ride.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5qMn_d21y4&list=PL_iybbChsunupZNxYkgiD-tAowMT6k6e-&index=3"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Source for movie stills</i></span></a><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>After stealing Christmas and begins climbing up to Mt. Crumpit, he continues to move left-to-right across the frame - presumably using the same camera angle. And upon his repentance and his return to town, he now moves from right to left across the screen - now going northbound. It seems that in all of the "travel" scenes, the camera is pointing east.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBVXHkWNeTE2aef58dS0_uHi3m6iZcem0W2JBvO_mf_-Hk1qKQDutl1pyxys9b1AOGzTyS9FxqBAdNE_U2K15hu2VyX2gZIhPW_RLPJAHmddDnnefisr_4MV1-iwgtl6Hdx1GCLy_rQHe/s635/return.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="635" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBVXHkWNeTE2aef58dS0_uHi3m6iZcem0W2JBvO_mf_-Hk1qKQDutl1pyxys9b1AOGzTyS9FxqBAdNE_U2K15hu2VyX2gZIhPW_RLPJAHmddDnnefisr_4MV1-iwgtl6Hdx1GCLy_rQHe/w640-h434/return.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>5. Mt. Crumpit towers over Who-ville by at least ten thousand feet.</b> The book says that the Grinch climbed <i>three </i>thousand feet up the side of Mt. Crumpit, however the movie says <i>ten</i> thousand feet. It's certainly not <i>wrong</i> to say that you climbed three if you climbed ten, but it is wrong to say you climbed ten if you climbed three. Therefore, we defer to the movie on this point - ten thousand feet it is!<p></p><p><b>6. Mt. Crumpit lies within ~30 miles of Who-ville. </b>The book says that it was a "quarter <i>past</i> dawn" when the Grinch finally made his getaway. The movie slightly contradicts this - a "quarter <i>of</i> dawn", meaning a quarter before dawn. In either case, the Grinch certainly couldn't get too far - perhaps a couple hours - before the Whos woke up and discovered that their Christmas had been stolen. </p><p>So, with Max pulling the sleigh, how far could they have gotten? The answer, of course, is "almost nowhere" - ten thousand vertical feet in two hours is pretty much unthinkable for any wingless animal. However, to be charitable, we'll use typical dogsled speeds - <a href="https://hettahuskies.com/en/our-farm-dogs/our-dogs/frequently-asked-questions">10-14 mph</a> - and assume that the Grinch could have made it at most 30 miles. Sure, Max wouldn't be equal to an entire team of sled dogs, especially with his gigantic load. However, he certainly did have adequate motivation, in the form of the Grinch's cracking whip.<br /></p><p><b>7. Who-ville has snow on the ground, in town, at Christmastime. </b>This is shown in both the book and the movie. Using the <a href="https://academic.oup.com/astrogeo/article/52/5/5.33/254038">Principle of Mediocrity</a>,a sort of probabilistic argument used in speculative cosmology and philosophy, it makes most sense to assume that this is an ordinary year and that Who-ville generally experiences a white Christmas.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pT26v7886CisFi_6335hLa_Mjw4fLYtBIdF0tOon6YcwmcaJnQyDJU4tNP6hPCphHMkcXD09LNOyyJZShzCMxsw3_BVw-j7fCPp1XVmzjQWtxroCAzwkYtdXACs0TDOybyb5KrWsRNds/s639/approaching+whoville.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="639" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pT26v7886CisFi_6335hLa_Mjw4fLYtBIdF0tOon6YcwmcaJnQyDJU4tNP6hPCphHMkcXD09LNOyyJZShzCMxsw3_BVw-j7fCPp1XVmzjQWtxroCAzwkYtdXACs0TDOybyb5KrWsRNds/w640-h434/approaching+whoville.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Analysis</h2><p>Almost immediately, we notice that the story must be set in either the United States or Canada. There are plenty of places that speak English, but most of them don't have mountains high enough (i.e the UK) or Christmas snowfall at elevations where people live (i.e. Australia). We could consider nations like Pakistan, which certainly has mountain/climate factors working for it, but while English has official-language status and is widely spoken as a <i>second</i> language, virtually nobody speaks it as a <i>first</i> language - muttering to themselves as the Grinch does.<b> </b><br /></p><p>We therefore narrow our search to the US and Canada. A number of places look initially promising, but turn out to be duds. For example, Lone Pine, CA is out - though Mt Whitney towers more than 10,000 feet above town, it's rare that snow falls in the town itself. Farther north, wintertime snowfall continues to be a problem. Greenwater, WA lies within the requisite distance of Mt. Rainier, but once again, it doesn't typically see snow in the winter. Put simply, there are very limited number of towns where you can climb 10,000 feet in thirty miles <i>and</i> get wintertime snowfall at all elevations. For that, you have to go north - very far north.</p><p>Farther north though, towns become a lot more infrequent. The majority of the high peaks in the Canadian Rockies lie within vast areas of National Park land or de fact wilderness. The coast ranges of British Columbia are even more desolate - there are a few towns, but in all cases, the towns are a little too far away from the peaks, or are in the wrong direction. The ranges here run in a generally NNW-SSE direction, which means that the high peaks are either east or west of the towns, not south of them. </p><p>That brings us to Alaska. The land of the midnight sun is sparsely populated, but does have a few hardy hamlets worth discussing. Helpfully, many of the ranges in southern Alaska run east-west, which means that towns are north or south of the peaks. One of those ranges is the famous Chugach Range. It's one of the snowiest ranges in the world, and tops out at more than 13,000 feet.</p><p>Paralleling the Chugach to the north is the Talkeetna Range. In between the two ranges flows the Matanuska River, paralleled by the Glenn Highway. There's a tiny town along this stretch of highway - <b>Glacier View, Alaska.</b></p><p><b></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_CtVbSE2ZIVKK2KPLGdneXDDJ7TWUu7KYNjXNPXyFc2GoDOBLcN2Ybrm2JsKxrzq0HbN4cPfNfnahun-YxLscvp_0XLlv2D-cycz2u8HuFFA3KR1WFTgfaItcK1dycnOu37nO7J725LL/s925/map2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="925" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_CtVbSE2ZIVKK2KPLGdneXDDJ7TWUu7KYNjXNPXyFc2GoDOBLcN2Ybrm2JsKxrzq0HbN4cPfNfnahun-YxLscvp_0XLlv2D-cycz2u8HuFFA3KR1WFTgfaItcK1dycnOu37nO7J725LL/w640-h414/map2.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>All maps via Caltopo</i><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><b><br /></b><a href="https://www.glacierview-alaska.com/">Glacier View</a> lies at the foot of the huge Matanuska Glacier, at an elevation of about 2,400 feet. Its economy is based around the tourism industry - local businesses include a pizza parlor, zipline facility, and several lodges. The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glacier_View,_Alaska">population </a>was
234 as of the 2010 Census, though that number undoubtedly includes some
people who live miles away from town, but are nonetheless classified as
part of Glacier View for census purposes. Glacier View is 26 miles NNE of Mt. Marcus Baker, the best candidate for Mt. Crumpit. The town isn't a tightly-clustered idyllic village like Who-ville is - but hey, we're applying critical analysis to
a Dr. Seuss book. You can't have it all.<p></p><p>Glacier View is furthermore the <i>only</i> eligible town anywhere in the US or Canada that I've been able to find, despite hours upon hours of pouring over maps. If anyone has an alternate candidate that fits the evidence, please let me know! <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QkxO0OEOrtUh_a0hCk9d-PQ-89zYE1iaO26IyP06k5rby7E8md1NDIv1DVxH3RoeKW8Fojs5t9mYkWxVDBKwAMfLthLVaBBYLFxfIS_RRL7BxvwU9WDE1igk1VL11UEQxx7GFm3KMwWu/s1027/Glacier+View.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="582" data-original-width="1027" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QkxO0OEOrtUh_a0hCk9d-PQ-89zYE1iaO26IyP06k5rby7E8md1NDIv1DVxH3RoeKW8Fojs5t9mYkWxVDBKwAMfLthLVaBBYLFxfIS_RRL7BxvwU9WDE1igk1VL11UEQxx7GFm3KMwWu/w640-h362/Glacier+View.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>via Google Earth</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>There are two candidates for Mt. Crumpit in the Chugach:</p><p><b>1. Mt. Marcus Baker.</b> <a href="https://www.peakbagger.com/range.aspx?rid=1042">Marcus Baker</a> is the highpoint of the Chugach, at a staggering 13,176' above sea level, and 10,700' above Glacier View. By Alaska mountaineering standards, Marcus Baker is looks like a benign climb via the NNW approach - from Who-ville - and features a sheer drop-off on its south side. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6c0Dx4rpurlAvKojzYmcXyfnSv2GWjbJRiX2kQtLOFt7LAT8383ZfoWfEsyQtf3ttoLRBZ_Z2vrIa6LDthXkn2i3V6C9PMRk946pux9EfLWMO4ngh2nQPwPENsIHUFIMZ8WJGYLdEWSQV/s641/Marcus+Baker.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="641" height="592" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6c0Dx4rpurlAvKojzYmcXyfnSv2GWjbJRiX2kQtLOFt7LAT8383ZfoWfEsyQtf3ttoLRBZ_Z2vrIa6LDthXkn2i3V6C9PMRk946pux9EfLWMO4ngh2nQPwPENsIHUFIMZ8WJGYLdEWSQV/w640-h592/Marcus+Baker.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>2. Mt. Thor.</b> <a href="https://www.peakbagger.com/peak.aspx?pid=442">Thor </a>has a cooler name than Marcus Baker, but that's about all it has going for it. Thor tops out at 12,251 feet above sea level, or about 10,100' above Glacier View. But in contrast to Marcus Baker, Thor's north (Who-ville) side is guarded by some seriously nasty-looking cliffs. Even with the strength of ten Grinches plus two, Thor would have been a grueling mountaineering objective - too much for the Grinch and Max, weighed down with many tons of Christmas trinkets. Mt. Thor is also another two miles farther from Glacier View than Mt. Marcus Baker is. For these reasons, I believe we can safely discard Mt. Thor in favor of Mt. Marcus Baker.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zNok8gwqc2tQ_uEyhAV89_GIX53XfLngdPuhlBGs0ix5q9xBhYJvamv35fz8tyXY3t29MlFF_8TjYHvhG3PCJqt09W7Pzval44N34fFbfZChJxLtsrctXhDZa3CaUENUfjVEaIlVHC6a/s894/Thor.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="894" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zNok8gwqc2tQ_uEyhAV89_GIX53XfLngdPuhlBGs0ix5q9xBhYJvamv35fz8tyXY3t29MlFF_8TjYHvhG3PCJqt09W7Pzval44N34fFbfZChJxLtsrctXhDZa3CaUENUfjVEaIlVHC6a/w640-h430/Thor.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>As a bonus, Marcus Baker has a more gradual north slope and a sheer drop-off on its south face, matching the description in the book and movie.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClav9G8xuTiSH178t8WPi_mUMiFFYHBXzYHwqMWJSQv1-vlykPT8JcM9n70W7Ft2BI5OvYK8DoMu0ghfIYUFb1QXdU8zbItJ4XGBk8L2rybaiYNh2uiCH51e8bZtn_4DN075En8DNaTbx/s833/crumpit2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="833" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClav9G8xuTiSH178t8WPi_mUMiFFYHBXzYHwqMWJSQv1-vlykPT8JcM9n70W7Ft2BI5OvYK8DoMu0ghfIYUFb1QXdU8zbItJ4XGBk8L2rybaiYNh2uiCH51e8bZtn_4DN075En8DNaTbx/w640-h326/crumpit2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Conclusion<br /></h2><p>I was surprised at just how few Who-ville candidates there were. Peaks reaching ten thousand feet above sea level aren't exactly uncommon - but peaks that reach more than ten thousand feet above their surrounding terrain sure are. And as we get farther north, those immensely-tall peaks become less common, as glaciation erodes them quickly. And even if they <i>do</i> exist, there's probably not a town nearby.I guess that Glacier View is just special. If I were part of Glacier View's tourism council, I'd certainly promote my town as the Real Who-ville!<br /></p><p></p><p>Thanks for joining me on this silly, fun excursion. It's been a difficult year for many people, and in such a year, it's particularly important to stop and celebrate our traditions, our families, and most importantly, the birth of Christ our savior.<br /></p><p><i>Welcome Christmas, bring your cheer to all Whos, far and near. Christmas day is in our grasp, so long as we have hands to clasp. Welcome Christmas, while we stand, heart to heart and hand in hand.</i></p><p>Merry Christmas.</p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixz5RwQLwkmhjccJWMhOy6PoCM4GZOXwr2Fe5EchAkHvQMfbH5bBVgz81ShW9XQvRaAjQoG7BMN4OG9AJbLSARilZqZatjOijlgKcJQs_e2Lj0TnQ8N08O4KcAw5615i46N91JueUKUOX/s637/theend.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="637" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixz5RwQLwkmhjccJWMhOy6PoCM4GZOXwr2Fe5EchAkHvQMfbH5bBVgz81ShW9XQvRaAjQoG7BMN4OG9AJbLSARilZqZatjOijlgKcJQs_e2Lj0TnQ8N08O4KcAw5615i46N91JueUKUOX/w640-h434/theend.JPG" width="640" /></a></i></div><i><br /> <br /></i><p></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-5308246627332179072020-10-19T12:59:00.004-06:002020-10-20T14:06:33.172-06:00Signs From Above<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZ98tT1f0Vszb_2HnGgEkeQJisHqhGb2ot90cYhfCnsbn-xPuBFBRqnmGe9AVDCUAxWzIXYAYJt9FiuNxm8Dv-Suu8OkiSM20XbG4pjmv0qHJFji96z95w4sukgZJ8kua-hJFkYycoUzN/s4032/20200210_095545.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZ98tT1f0Vszb_2HnGgEkeQJisHqhGb2ot90cYhfCnsbn-xPuBFBRqnmGe9AVDCUAxWzIXYAYJt9FiuNxm8Dv-Suu8OkiSM20XbG4pjmv0qHJFji96z95w4sukgZJ8kua-hJFkYycoUzN/w640-h480/20200210_095545.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>What exactly are these vaguely foreboding "management activities", and how can I know what kind of caution to use?</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Spend enough time on long-distance hiking trails, and you're bound to see a few interesting signs. Here are a few favorites from over the years. Most of them are found on roadwalks in urbanized areas, though the backcountry has its fair share too.<br />
<br />
Some signs are meant to encourage hikers...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtSOnUj5AyIRrRkB7LW1LKDgn5uBvGpAnTrHlHUzSfQwAGWpUmuXpy2JIoT5__I_vf3VsfEfo9lMEQkzgy7Nb8u2Cm4H1aYFOS-fRl-xYE_08lBbpdmxuoDS9-HZ5xc-Ee5qbtIz8qd8c/s1600/DSCN0577.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtSOnUj5AyIRrRkB7LW1LKDgn5uBvGpAnTrHlHUzSfQwAGWpUmuXpy2JIoT5__I_vf3VsfEfo9lMEQkzgy7Nb8u2Cm4H1aYFOS-fRl-xYE_08lBbpdmxuoDS9-HZ5xc-Ee5qbtIz8qd8c/s640/DSCN0577.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>A pep talk from a byzantine bureaucracy. Only on the Appalachian Trail!<br /></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span><br />
...and some just do it by accident.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJyI3tfSZ4PWMHXtMRfmb1k7nvHKsYiZKvbsWxmg6gLcQY7flwtTJpuA_0VbPcbOIxUI3jGg-G0aV_O9EXLxuW5qzphm76_2fV9ZeLuJscK9YsL3vdEpK_6Cq72D_RTIo8WtHshxst22P-/s1600/20190513_111453.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJyI3tfSZ4PWMHXtMRfmb1k7nvHKsYiZKvbsWxmg6gLcQY7flwtTJpuA_0VbPcbOIxUI3jGg-G0aV_O9EXLxuW5qzphm76_2fV9ZeLuJscK9YsL3vdEpK_6Cq72D_RTIo8WtHshxst22P-/s640/20190513_111453.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Undoubtedly originally intended to help Aunt Betty find her way to the family reunion.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Other signs aren't quite so welcoming. These signs are rather, uh, strident...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4YYXqRpRPsgIVqUaW2ip-C6aRBQpi8By6_fgS-KMxSruHgCXI6fRDAz496rx5E3KyorVHNtVUw0liMnDWQR-YHgUS0umIu7T1aIsaSJge0-txqjV7bmvHQs-EBnMetYAUCLUjSfpYJV8/s1600/20190616_091016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4YYXqRpRPsgIVqUaW2ip-C6aRBQpi8By6_fgS-KMxSruHgCXI6fRDAz496rx5E3KyorVHNtVUw0liMnDWQR-YHgUS0umIu7T1aIsaSJge0-txqjV7bmvHQs-EBnMetYAUCLUjSfpYJV8/s640/20190616_091016.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Yeah. We get it. </i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmGoxiIOHv1h3VQ2nw6t2X92_fEQaa4cR6rVH51rQ22ol8-lzWeuvBCDsyVsecp9GCbhnKFWsnw46dL-l-UjOTBCqdPGR0hRWgSQdET8HBwrVN4ToUi-Q0GZNLfUcW803aR7yU72VHF7Q/s1600/20190118_090623.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmGoxiIOHv1h3VQ2nw6t2X92_fEQaa4cR6rVH51rQ22ol8-lzWeuvBCDsyVsecp9GCbhnKFWsnw46dL-l-UjOTBCqdPGR0hRWgSQdET8HBwrVN4ToUi-Q0GZNLfUcW803aR7yU72VHF7Q/s640/20190118_090623.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
..and others are downright homicidal.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QZRt8vlCkAjYHGDMaV_SBt7bjbi2gXhiKRsBtLExMRxVfS65xc6SsoQMnZ80sa7HgJNvhSIGV79NrjsuBXtii1JIawCBvvFIQq_-eXDVdjy2UlPVz6152ElA7vVjLjE9g7DVOeovIRvl/s1600/20180427_135028.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QZRt8vlCkAjYHGDMaV_SBt7bjbi2gXhiKRsBtLExMRxVfS65xc6SsoQMnZ80sa7HgJNvhSIGV79NrjsuBXtii1JIawCBvvFIQq_-eXDVdjy2UlPVz6152ElA7vVjLjE9g7DVOeovIRvl/s640/20180427_135028.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTnbVFGkAW2Lj5SEehdue6xshUtqx5yS1KTMhl3t-diBU1SjSYVatY7d60zwY8PwDIEkkYLkGBAOZ77pN_jdvYSLCdXuQQ0-jJT5lYe5E_fRobr8lOEFdDNCdCqfbBc-_j256Ch0I-h2i/s1600/20190119_071309.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTnbVFGkAW2Lj5SEehdue6xshUtqx5yS1KTMhl3t-diBU1SjSYVatY7d60zwY8PwDIEkkYLkGBAOZ77pN_jdvYSLCdXuQQ0-jJT5lYe5E_fRobr8lOEFdDNCdCqfbBc-_j256Ch0I-h2i/s640/20190119_071309.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip6E7-ujGBGie4xXGLULoHBP4M4M41F9lzm6UjCm09w0GSC8vL7Pv7Td3krQzhbmnVF49x5UB-HvKTPcJPrrN7uOC7EfhkUrc-Jb-MG-iPk5f1rD28wbBg3eP75BiR5aQrqhHnOrsR0QLN/s1600/20200422_125123.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip6E7-ujGBGie4xXGLULoHBP4M4M41F9lzm6UjCm09w0GSC8vL7Pv7Td3krQzhbmnVF49x5UB-HvKTPcJPrrN7uOC7EfhkUrc-Jb-MG-iPk5f1rD28wbBg3eP75BiR5aQrqhHnOrsR0QLN/s640/20200422_125123.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Not all dangers involve firearms though. Danger lurks everywhere in the backcountry. Let us count the ways!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtQ2AJQrmP4YPQvc3zIXr9n3262cv7C1PffBfQVVHTeDCt1wMAZ4xY4HV7VgZBFbI33FnOtNLqpCiz_fD1hNZ-JWHRxp1-QUW12NwaRmv-eELBAfVfSIDxN6cElN0afJvFGllCb7BVpEZ/s1600/20181012_070808.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtQ2AJQrmP4YPQvc3zIXr9n3262cv7C1PffBfQVVHTeDCt1wMAZ4xY4HV7VgZBFbI33FnOtNLqpCiz_fD1hNZ-JWHRxp1-QUW12NwaRmv-eELBAfVfSIDxN6cElN0afJvFGllCb7BVpEZ/s640/20181012_070808.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1w2ZgXAP1k-dDIPqu853HjsbY63SxjfZCSGNFq1lXk21qqb48acAgb5MF7HNehynwbtKDaiO2NU5SRJrb7LFHr31QPsMssaRF-Kl818P01Y0UegSQVZnd3NNtxJHGbLtMeEr1TAppiLMa/s1600/20190110_114654.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1w2ZgXAP1k-dDIPqu853HjsbY63SxjfZCSGNFq1lXk21qqb48acAgb5MF7HNehynwbtKDaiO2NU5SRJrb7LFHr31QPsMssaRF-Kl818P01Y0UegSQVZnd3NNtxJHGbLtMeEr1TAppiLMa/s640/20190110_114654.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>BRAIN-EATING AMOEBAS DUDE</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ_DA8LcJWtxMR2HETxb9w0peSHcv-0BlO0p7dMkXT7qlf7Q36YSOEHi2qUrPSX-Y3G3T_anqtYeP-xomZbVwi8tJ_v19mRYCkH5TxlO5cQabi45X4LAEqpDzN__Z7FtJyXVW7LrgAfecF/s1600/20190226_093343.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ_DA8LcJWtxMR2HETxb9w0peSHcv-0BlO0p7dMkXT7qlf7Q36YSOEHi2qUrPSX-Y3G3T_anqtYeP-xomZbVwi8tJ_v19mRYCkH5TxlO5cQabi45X4LAEqpDzN__Z7FtJyXVW7LrgAfecF/s640/20190226_093343.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhln0QPCZYQ7AlI9edm_g3arEYfT4_CzCL2YT5XUsZiNa-rf4bg95t4dVvJUNMggAtOmXaEsY_6NIrl-RQla4O6Vh-xjL8nftnbkhrdz9dGPO96o8aR72drsK2wH97wp2jmLolz0ccC-IZz/s4032/20190127_135511.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhln0QPCZYQ7AlI9edm_g3arEYfT4_CzCL2YT5XUsZiNa-rf4bg95t4dVvJUNMggAtOmXaEsY_6NIrl-RQla4O6Vh-xjL8nftnbkhrdz9dGPO96o8aR72drsK2wH97wp2jmLolz0ccC-IZz/w480-h640/20190127_135511.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCR6WU2wsjshWF2kTgl14STnCKJSJnTZgs2Sqmbi3QpgYbyunyZ0eDm5yJn_qqYY3_qTGAJhT2qP_ooIT6XBsJQf_5HQZhNfzN3FkKYdJeSnyx_odzlqTNJwg5t7_iXZ37MPRDvk2FiLl/s5312/20150718_110613.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2988" data-original-width="5312" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCR6WU2wsjshWF2kTgl14STnCKJSJnTZgs2Sqmbi3QpgYbyunyZ0eDm5yJn_qqYY3_qTGAJhT2qP_ooIT6XBsJQf_5HQZhNfzN3FkKYdJeSnyx_odzlqTNJwg5t7_iXZ37MPRDvk2FiLl/w640-h360/20150718_110613.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>In truth, the Hundred Mile Wilderness is probably the easiest stretch of the AT in Maine. Also, there's a hostel in the middle.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> Heck, it can even be dangerous to pump your own fuel, at least if you live in Oregon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsGreJMLrxlgKBfomnMkCRyB4OFcxrnWITr_OHGtlZ9m0CWUpgbzROlqM2YAOES7wakplek6sq4c1TMLWrpYhhjZil3I-OZnLQFPXXzPAS_B-5b5uwErgJZQ1DqZWfCW6jpFg2ifocPhAa/s1600/20190609_063558.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsGreJMLrxlgKBfomnMkCRyB4OFcxrnWITr_OHGtlZ9m0CWUpgbzROlqM2YAOES7wakplek6sq4c1TMLWrpYhhjZil3I-OZnLQFPXXzPAS_B-5b5uwErgJZQ1DqZWfCW6jpFg2ifocPhAa/s640/20190609_063558.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Deer crossings signs are just so passé these days...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguyoOmpPUfWK_hylBuIzBf7ZaDZ2ZDj8dh_cXQJUqWH1CeLansaoXLi6v_pCa40ZlORD-RY2jGGcWRUuptB9hN2hCDzBaJ381uJ2rQA5bcnsQUXWcVpSpcCjZJeV29zNyrN-0l3kQBJIkO/s1600/20190614_124259-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguyoOmpPUfWK_hylBuIzBf7ZaDZ2ZDj8dh_cXQJUqWH1CeLansaoXLi6v_pCa40ZlORD-RY2jGGcWRUuptB9hN2hCDzBaJ381uJ2rQA5bcnsQUXWcVpSpcCjZJeV29zNyrN-0l3kQBJIkO/s640/20190614_124259-COLLAGE.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p> ...except when that deer is named Rudolph.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SzH4utYVj-gOk_aB7YvtRtGe8EwgbrVINcg8H8WD0vdi1M9M-Jh6qQqpjr3gQWvtlZrHYiQgTgwJvx45MyqlevCgr1fCukiTTv8RiIg1f4gNWSD-9xjBnohX4hRh0a19g1XF2SVfTsfM/s1600/20200217_103318.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SzH4utYVj-gOk_aB7YvtRtGe8EwgbrVINcg8H8WD0vdi1M9M-Jh6qQqpjr3gQWvtlZrHYiQgTgwJvx45MyqlevCgr1fCukiTTv8RiIg1f4gNWSD-9xjBnohX4hRh0a19g1XF2SVfTsfM/s640/20200217_103318.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Found in Florida, no less!</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><p> Sometimes signs try and rope us into to their political squabbles...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwFpBX8jAfHjdJYJJoRR30bCTTliRNdb-8bQn8zYSaofEsytSZ89gzXeAHC46bE85KdGX6iGW0SYB_bHWFYaH4veV0q5l7kLfwbzv_NiCwgaPtdLHss9ngdVPVpEGOBpnV3uGVdCPR6IA/s1600/20190601_070746.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwFpBX8jAfHjdJYJJoRR30bCTTliRNdb-8bQn8zYSaofEsytSZ89gzXeAHC46bE85KdGX6iGW0SYB_bHWFYaH4veV0q5l7kLfwbzv_NiCwgaPtdLHss9ngdVPVpEGOBpnV3uGVdCPR6IA/s640/20190601_070746.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uSEmzf1z8zK4TQ7ho1L9T4lOXOwiRR4R1X2wR4fSZ0nzIBK6vYCNHLpmWFH-xDMEueAZxghrMdOR3K5XP9n1EzS1H5xeXi7E7eRRaGEy80P2_QmYcZUuGlJzBO5Tuk-5vH3iEKsPdAzw/s1600/20190829_132344.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uSEmzf1z8zK4TQ7ho1L9T4lOXOwiRR4R1X2wR4fSZ0nzIBK6vYCNHLpmWFH-xDMEueAZxghrMdOR3K5XP9n1EzS1H5xeXi7E7eRRaGEy80P2_QmYcZUuGlJzBO5Tuk-5vH3iEKsPdAzw/s640/20190829_132344.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>You gotta fight! For your right! To parrrrrrrrr-tay! This strike shut down most of the town for over a year.<br /></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><p> ...and sometimes, we get a taste of good-old-fashioned evil.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBipnlS1tmM33DnvbLubV11q9psFdgPgJr71b8ggKOzuytEmM3b3SLbqzyd-tSlhfumqwraNeagSjbnkWYBu8ZwNOvyWs33cZbu2aOLNOc4GRS4WIA4bCOSNkdw-LTCpBG-mVvaZdUP3am/s1600/20190312_155854.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBipnlS1tmM33DnvbLubV11q9psFdgPgJr71b8ggKOzuytEmM3b3SLbqzyd-tSlhfumqwraNeagSjbnkWYBu8ZwNOvyWs33cZbu2aOLNOc4GRS4WIA4bCOSNkdw-LTCpBG-mVvaZdUP3am/s640/20190312_155854.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>In next week's Tournament of Terrible, 2-seed Overt Racism looks to fend off a tough challenge from 15-seed Ambulance Chasers!</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><p>
</p><p>Sometimes, signs are just plain confusing...</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCNSHu6aYYzftskjhImTmt7Bs7pABv2vbeo2feWZdiTNQaDpqqlCypYq9_IgSFO6pZSJi3fPz2ZIyEwUBDfVNtbgzRji9XREwV6d8DjqZqMYb79D7b6gdGQf9OClmnZTBocNhKqWrxYjX/s4032/20190119_165108.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCNSHu6aYYzftskjhImTmt7Bs7pABv2vbeo2feWZdiTNQaDpqqlCypYq9_IgSFO6pZSJi3fPz2ZIyEwUBDfVNtbgzRji9XREwV6d8DjqZqMYb79D7b6gdGQf9OClmnZTBocNhKqWrxYjX/w480-h640/20190119_165108.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Contradictory arrows. Maybe they want me to do the hokey-pokey.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmt_pGYyEHz55_B36yJkyP83PQG1RDQ63ZCNhZmQBT-5b90ZWj4PHj93Od4OqLodQW6rJYauyMJrvOqzH3cgTDM83fwMw80zmhVuCP-K5ePVEkSbN9Bj67NY2E4qquXQPu6vTHEXgqMQpS/s4032/20200301_092514.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmt_pGYyEHz55_B36yJkyP83PQG1RDQ63ZCNhZmQBT-5b90ZWj4PHj93Od4OqLodQW6rJYauyMJrvOqzH3cgTDM83fwMw80zmhVuCP-K5ePVEkSbN9Bj67NY2E4qquXQPu6vTHEXgqMQpS/w640-h480/20200301_092514.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I have a feeling the bus won't be on-time today. Or ever.</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> ..and sometimes they've been install by Captain Obvious.<br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidzQTjJY_jqmLzFlY3XHap5G-VN4p4g4Yg8ORVHpe1w0mq3Ot58kCCzl4jW5X9md_UJOaYbH4_cBsYW16jB1gz_o615Usi-5vDpIFlPOSm7NbeHk0FFkdqlfeEYwBiuS3OwSvRDWzg0gLZ/s4032/20190614_191233.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidzQTjJY_jqmLzFlY3XHap5G-VN4p4g4Yg8ORVHpe1w0mq3Ot58kCCzl4jW5X9md_UJOaYbH4_cBsYW16jB1gz_o615Usi-5vDpIFlPOSm7NbeHk0FFkdqlfeEYwBiuS3OwSvRDWzg0gLZ/w640-h480/20190614_191233.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yep, it's a street. Not to be confused with a road, a lane, a highway, a highway, or a boulevard.</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Finally, a few random fun signs:</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIn_DomRl6kzHXL3FKkaaB-OQ0uatIAT1lMgD7f_BR9iApJKKbxhlRkiEfmN2afijrtKB0Z6hksYz6I49163R72ZCx1Pw2X5RS3_EGneAeICux09d7JOxwlqZmlLDJ1376WMPiJy3eNv6-/s2046/2015-04-26+12.34.03-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2046" data-original-width="1535" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIn_DomRl6kzHXL3FKkaaB-OQ0uatIAT1lMgD7f_BR9iApJKKbxhlRkiEfmN2afijrtKB0Z6hksYz6I49163R72ZCx1Pw2X5RS3_EGneAeICux09d7JOxwlqZmlLDJ1376WMPiJy3eNv6-/w480-h640/2015-04-26+12.34.03-COLLAGE.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The offerings to the Chicken Corners Deity have gotten more elaborate over the years. Top is 2019, bottom is 2015.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpQjyjUYyJN-J9PZ3211fiIaeh85XA83Opkypl60tay3aA26HgN0xf8XkDG94zzgfWzCcZYdDVhP4PYTVgwuZqgASVgeNlqaA0UPZozUdwYGJ9zteze-iiEp2uv9eKEZX-TmFOs-rvHWe/s4032/20190618_061736.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpQjyjUYyJN-J9PZ3211fiIaeh85XA83Opkypl60tay3aA26HgN0xf8XkDG94zzgfWzCcZYdDVhP4PYTVgwuZqgASVgeNlqaA0UPZozUdwYGJ9zteze-iiEp2uv9eKEZX-TmFOs-rvHWe/w640-h480/20190618_061736.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Choices, choices: stale beer at the Backstreet Bar or lukewarm beer at the Chetco Brewing Co.</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Let's conclude with my favorite trail sign of all time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlGCDDLkXPognFcDuSP0xvKxQIhTrWOPPNMD4KacfOvZmofyssk4EIOI7zYhO_88vIls3NUf08begD7xnhfbda3GTuCsw_gqKPwy_nuj0hQ0SdloeF1aG_SAwTjO3jQU6KfQxhZbcG_m5/s2560/20130307_113453.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlGCDDLkXPognFcDuSP0xvKxQIhTrWOPPNMD4KacfOvZmofyssk4EIOI7zYhO_88vIls3NUf08begD7xnhfbda3GTuCsw_gqKPwy_nuj0hQ0SdloeF1aG_SAwTjO3jQU6KfQxhZbcG_m5/w640-h480/20130307_113453.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-32407859974153766992020-09-17T09:42:00.002-06:002021-02-17T18:43:35.862-07:00A Greater Yellowstone Loop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrF9HNirVFcF60bgm4EemkITz_9GhldyRmZvFslgQy9ELFyYGvAHpWUf5tlNXPbY-2xNw35SG0SqaMqwc-csWyZNM14mLH6MgWv7Wp2Ld3e0jwQidT9O3nx6xkDSDgqAjrYDUF-2HENYLz/s4032/20200705_131535.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrF9HNirVFcF60bgm4EemkITz_9GhldyRmZvFslgQy9ELFyYGvAHpWUf5tlNXPbY-2xNw35SG0SqaMqwc-csWyZNM14mLH6MgWv7Wp2Ld3e0jwQidT9O3nx6xkDSDgqAjrYDUF-2HENYLz/w640-h480/20200705_131535.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Yellowstone National Park is iconic. Tourists pour in by the busload to catch a glimpse of bison munching grass in a meadow, watch Old Faithful erupt, or fish in the crystal-clear waters that flow through the park. Yellowstone is classic Americana.</div><div><br /></div><div>But for the backcountry wanderer, Yellowstone really isn't that great. When I hiked through the park in 2018 on the Continental Divide Trail, I observed that most of the route was either burnt (remnants of the disastrous wildfires of 1988 and more recent burns) or crawling with tourists. I know I'm not the only CDT hiker to have been disappointed by Yellowstone. Even the areas of the park well away from the CDT aren't particularly great backpacking destinations.</div><div><br /></div><div>But what if we expanded our view of Yellowstone? The park itself is large - 2.2 million acres - but it's dwarfed by the huge complex of National Forest land that surrounds it. The park therefore is merely the centerpiece of a vast ecosystem that's almost entirely wild. For my money, the <u><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://www.summitpost.org/greater-yellowstone-ecosystem/231352">Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem</a></span></u> is the largest chunk of mostly-protected land in the Lower 48. </div><div><br /></div><div>The park itself isn't very mountainous - that darned supervolcano keeps blowing them up every million years or so - but it's ringed by jawdropping ranges. Some of these mountains are well-known, like the Tetons or the Beartooths. Others, like the Wyomings or Absarokas, are more obscure. Regardless of popularity though, the ranges of the Greater Yellowstone are all magnificently beautiful. In the summer of 2020, I combined them all into an 800-mile Greater Yellowstone Loop (GYL).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXjc8sa9bi8bH0X6RFmHNl2JND7bNkYjQURbCdhyVjJEyE7UB0GQzisJQ6e1l0NORLOLSGRlNubKmCttmj79QbnMfrqAAkjPt1SB0WgKF4gKAP_HZxGeW8M_zEUGq97D5QEy6MDGUE8dQ5/s728/Rt+Overview.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="728" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXjc8sa9bi8bH0X6RFmHNl2JND7bNkYjQURbCdhyVjJEyE7UB0GQzisJQ6e1l0NORLOLSGRlNubKmCttmj79QbnMfrqAAkjPt1SB0WgKF4gKAP_HZxGeW8M_zEUGq97D5QEy6MDGUE8dQ5/w640-h526/Rt+Overview.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Fast Facts:</b></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Miles: 800</li><li>States: 3</li><li>National Parks: 2</li><li>National Forests: 5</li><li>Wilderness Areas: 9</li><li>Wilderness Study Areas: 2</li><li>Backpackers seen: 5 (excluding National Parks)</li><li>Bears seen: 7</li><li>Backpackers attacked by: 0</li><li>Bears attacked by: 1</li><li>Days: 61</li><li>Zero-days: 19 (all bear-related)</li></ul></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA_N20aBF6azSva45Xxbzab3VtzyL_H-S5MnraZZMTET5EVe6K3XgfXBAjjQHsVBoI6T63SctEK7F0c7yS-yeh6B3WHFHEHxEWn189H0SIrikYKUL_Iza5CqJQXUj0SFkUhzU-bv8gcCt8/s4032/20200816_112517.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA_N20aBF6azSva45Xxbzab3VtzyL_H-S5MnraZZMTET5EVe6K3XgfXBAjjQHsVBoI6T63SctEK7F0c7yS-yeh6B3WHFHEHxEWn189H0SIrikYKUL_Iza5CqJQXUj0SFkUhzU-bv8gcCt8/w640-h480/20200816_112517.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div><b>History of the Route</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I spent a week or two backpacking in the Greater Yellowstone each summer from 2014-2017. In 2017, while searching for information on an extremely remote corner of the Absaroka Range, I came across a book by Phillip Knight, <u><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Into-Deepest-Yellowstone-Philip-Knight/dp/1608136906">Into Deepest Yellowstone</a></span></u>. Knight and his wife Alaina are the first hikers on record to walk a loop of the Greater Yellowstone, having completed a 640-mile trek in 1991.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>In 2018, my pal <u><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://kdsoloaward.wordpress.com/the-greater-yellowstone-loop/">Pepperflake</a></span></u> set out to do a Greater Yellowstone Loop. His route meandered a bit more than Knight's, visited more mountain ranges, and included a huge amount of scrambling, peakbagging, and rugged travel. His route clocked in at over 1,000 miles.</div><div><br /></div><div>As with any iconic landscape, there have been many other Greater Yellowstone routes proposed in recent years, many of them conforming to the current "High Route" backpacking trend. None of those point-to-point routes grabbed my interest though. I wanted to do a full loop of the Greater Yellowstone for two reasons:</div><div><br /></div><div>1) To illustrate the underlying unity of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem - to walk all the way through the mountains that almost completely encircle the park</div><div>2) To avoid the need to arrange transportation to the termini - I could simply park my car and walk in a circle, ending back at my car. </div><div><br /></div><div>As May turned to June and it became clear that my planned Pacific Crest Trail hike simply wasn't possible in the midst of a pandemic, I contacted Pepperflake, who graciously shared the maps from his 2018 hike. I spent a few weeks familiarizing myself with the maps and updating the route to fit my own preferences. The result was an 800-mile loop, starting and ending near West Yellowstone, MT. While much of the route was on-trail (at least in theory), a significant minority of the mileage (at least 30% was off-trail, usually along ridges and over peaks. I planned for slow travel due to snowpack, bushwhacking, and off-trail navigation.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was not the only hiker on the GYL in 2020. About a week after I finished, a group of three hikers (Stargate, The Darkness, Jukebox) finished their own loop, also having riffed off of Pepperflake's route.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nl0qi383pS2q8mWkgO3ywJhMNpGoi7DXcd5d-RnxMzxJ2HL3WTpLcQtYEaefYJssoWpKtU4MVM0Vw6N_kA_aThqj27bRweHmNKvd3quCTfqgnKBR1hFE9v8u1WW2DdQx4sE7EkNdUqIW/s4032/20200827_082730.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nl0qi383pS2q8mWkgO3ywJhMNpGoi7DXcd5d-RnxMzxJ2HL3WTpLcQtYEaefYJssoWpKtU4MVM0Vw6N_kA_aThqj27bRweHmNKvd3quCTfqgnKBR1hFE9v8u1WW2DdQx4sE7EkNdUqIW/w640-h480/20200827_082730.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Coronavirus Considerations</b></div><div><br /></div><div>For me, COVID-19 required a significant re-thinking of what a thru-hike looks like. While hiking itself (being outdoors and away from other people) is very low-risk, all the ancillary parts of a of a thru-hike aren't quite so simple. I was unwilling to put myself or others at risk of infection just for the sake of a vacation. I identified solutions to three problematic parts of a thru-hike - where social distancing is impossible or unrealistic:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>1) Transportation to/from the termini</i>: This one was easy. I'd simply drive to the trailhead (a fairly quick trip from my home base in Salt Lake) and hike a loop back to my car. I contacted a local private landowner, who graciously allowed me to park my car for a couple months.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>2) Hitchhiking into town for supplies:</i> Rather than hitching, I spent a few days before my hike driving to various trailheads and caching supplies. I placed everything inside odor-proof bags, closed them up in <a href="http://igbconline.org/certified-products-list/">bear-proof containers</a>, and buried them underground. I cached not only food, but other supplies as well: replacement shoes and socks, DEET, headlamp batteries, toothpaste, toilet paper, first aid supplies, etc - in short, everything I needed for two months in the backcountry.</div><div><br /></div><div>On a few occasions, I contacted guest ranches that were directly on my route, and they were happy to hold packages for me - where I could mask up, walk in, grab my package, thank the owner, and walk out - all in thirty seconds. These maildrops worked well and seemed very low-risk from a COVID standpoint, but in retrospect I would have preferred to just place caches there instead. In addition to marginal COVID risk reduction, I could have left myself more niceties instead of jamming the essentials into a USPS flat-rate box.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>3) Hanging out in towns: </i>Hikers love to loiter in towns - spend a few hours in the laundromat, get a hotel room, drink 17 cups of coffee at the local diner, etc. I figured that the only way that I could resist these temptations was to avoid town entirely. Instead, I was careful to leave "Town-in-a-Box" in my caches. </div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Restaurant: I cached a couple thousand calories of heavy, impractical, yummy food (pop, canned fruit, pudding cups, etc) - things that were shelf-stable but not my normal lightweight backpacking food. I could eat that food right there at my cache.</li><li>Laundromat: I left myself extra gallon-sized zip-lock bags and little tiny vials of Dr. Bronner's soap to wash my filthy clothes in the backcountry (well away from the water source, mind you!).</li><li>Post office: I used my cache boxes to swap out clothing and gear. Anything I no longer needed I simply reburied in my cache and picked it up at the end of the hike.</li><li>Grocery store: I intentionally cached a little extra food so I could "shop" in my box as my tastes changed over the course of the hike. In retrospect, I wish I had done even more of this.</li></ul><div>There was one town I had to pass through - Mammoth Hot Springs, WY - only because that section of route was in the National Park itself, which prohibits food caches. But Mammoth Hot Springs is a crappy nothing-town, with not much more than a post office (in-and-out in thirty seconds!) and a to-go short-order grill where I phoned in an order outside the building. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, my preparations for the Greater Yellowstone Loop were more akin to a polar expedition than a backpacking trip. I tailored both the route itself and my hiking style to be compliant with every conceivable social distancing guideline or best-practice.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>An Important Caveat</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>As most readers of this blog already know, I was attacked by a bear at about the midpoint of the hike. This resulted in a trip to the hospital, and nearly three weeks of recovery before I could resume my trek. During that interregnum, I let my social-distancing standards slip a bit. Part of that was unavoidable - I had to rely on the generosity of folks to get a ride to the hospital, find a place to mend up, etc - but part of that was me just getting a little sloppy with my choices. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even though a bear attack is a literal one-in-a-million event, the experience showed me just how easy it is to backslide when it comes to rigorous social-distancing austerity measures. Even for the best-intentioned, most iron-willed folks, it's somewhat likely that we'll let our guard down if given the opportunity. Given this experience, I'm not sure whether or not I'd try another austerity-style hike during the pandemic. While my experiment was largely successful while I was on-trail, that off-trail interregnum does gnaw at my conscience a little bit. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdiytSdqt5iojloO8c2N_HnX_D2cm1f4S7CwryIuJtujnBjJEycsCeNKJMvUxpXpIn5zklL8ZJIM-x8IoYa3HYN-i1BVVlRx57ZEi-wEP6CpNzAPanB-aarNTD2wFNVOxlveDaQcEe-95Y/s4032/20200715_095545.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdiytSdqt5iojloO8c2N_HnX_D2cm1f4S7CwryIuJtujnBjJEycsCeNKJMvUxpXpIn5zklL8ZJIM-x8IoYa3HYN-i1BVVlRx57ZEi-wEP6CpNzAPanB-aarNTD2wFNVOxlveDaQcEe-95Y/w640-h480/20200715_095545.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Section 1: The Tetons</b></div><div><br /></div><div>After parking my car near a manure spreader on a ranch near West Yellowstone, I hopped on my old friend, the Continental Divide Trail for a few days. These days were spent walking over largely featureless plateau, one of only two gaps in the mountains on the entire GYL. I had timed my start strategically, starting in a lowlands environments to give the snowpack a few extra days to melt before I entered the Tetons themselves. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg81AF9wwTzSbwomFkVmzx7834sYLxTQ5G2mKmfTCKhqv1rIzOhZn15xi8znvs7COjQcDQ1wim-ztoQAfIKSos4ASIFiaN9VY-Hw70HT0QGtz1io2m-kS4Jir9yY_FuFZc4Qk2iSMHGpY4c/s4032/20200703_133133.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg81AF9wwTzSbwomFkVmzx7834sYLxTQ5G2mKmfTCKhqv1rIzOhZn15xi8znvs7COjQcDQ1wim-ztoQAfIKSos4ASIFiaN9VY-Hw70HT0QGtz1io2m-kS4Jir9yY_FuFZc4Qk2iSMHGpY4c/w640-h480/20200703_133133.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>This turned out to be a horrible miscalculation. In early July, those lowlands were swarming with the worst mosquitoes I've ever seen. At one point, right after I fording the Bechler River in the southwestern corner of Yellowstone, I killed seventeen bugs with a single handclap in front of my face. I covered up from head to toe - long pants, long shirt, headnet, and even rain mitts for my hands - and sweltered in the hot July sun. I am not exaggerating a bit here: I had to keep waving my hand in front of my face just so I could see through the cloud of bugs trying to land on my headnet. It was <i>that</i> bad.</div><div><br /></div><div>After a few days though, I climbed into the Tetons, where the bugs and the views improved dramatically. I walked along the crest, at points walking a knife's edge with spectacular scenery all around. After a few days of storms, including decent-sized hail, the weather improved and I wouldn't see another drop of rain for weeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>The snowpack was burly in the Tetons and progress was slow. I was prepared for the snow with ice axe and microspikes, but I still couldn't make quick progress, particularly once the snow softened up each afternoon. It was so beautiful though that I didn't care how slow I was going. After more than a week in the backcountry, I popped out at Teton Pass and dug up my first cache, tired, but confident I could tackle what lay ahead.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh070lVHIkmfdnY-qbrail_espLqUrwpz2CBtTu4yK_5iL06qS_HqbmYQWxdtqMl669InSrCtCSy_b6AFs1kZGkjeDXUjvESv9ItSIMsZH1ZiD2R4Hc2wrGIzRUiBXQzhygy7m8emnZoAVl/s4032/20200707_083950.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh070lVHIkmfdnY-qbrail_espLqUrwpz2CBtTu4yK_5iL06qS_HqbmYQWxdtqMl669InSrCtCSy_b6AFs1kZGkjeDXUjvESv9ItSIMsZH1ZiD2R4Hc2wrGIzRUiBXQzhygy7m8emnZoAVl/w640-h480/20200707_083950.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBs7XAfmwT_qAvOmscSYoo0OrXFTnby7l9nJii8OgLhWpw0wr_A0Z15MFDAaNBOUVRQkY7E_KnxGD2-fkb6jDFODBjxZAObH_amdqI6pTTYijY2q6u8Y_B-kFCXADXo8ygUjz7VbN_gN5O/s4032/20200706_125733.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBs7XAfmwT_qAvOmscSYoo0OrXFTnby7l9nJii8OgLhWpw0wr_A0Z15MFDAaNBOUVRQkY7E_KnxGD2-fkb6jDFODBjxZAObH_amdqI6pTTYijY2q6u8Y_B-kFCXADXo8ygUjz7VbN_gN5O/w640-h480/20200706_125733.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Section 2: The Snake River and Wyoming Ranges</b></div><div><br /></div><div>This section contained a pair of often-overlooked ranges south and east of the town of Jackson. I didn't find the Snake River Range to be particularly enthralling, though I took a sub-par route after correctly deducing that Pep's route followed a trail that was in horrible shape/didn't exist at all. Still, I cruised plenty of ridgelines and glided through ridiculous fields of wildflowers. On most other trails, this section would have been a highlight, but by GYL standards, it was pretty humdrum.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJLix7_0cID8CaGwDgQ5J782SmlS-9dh6lBSG0IxpHgcqEdaCJ9i4n60MX8Ki8-gq8Y74-riMXwYyyzn1-8ppjEhCaNSq7pi_B35ajoygSitdKKhNOPQiBa52QLx7uNzpZUgmtOYWvXDe/s4032/20200709_121903.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJLix7_0cID8CaGwDgQ5J782SmlS-9dh6lBSG0IxpHgcqEdaCJ9i4n60MX8Ki8-gq8Y74-riMXwYyyzn1-8ppjEhCaNSq7pi_B35ajoygSitdKKhNOPQiBa52QLx7uNzpZUgmtOYWvXDe/w640-h480/20200709_121903.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>By contrast, the Wyoming Range was magnificent. I followed a circuitous route through the area, but it was unquestionably worth it. I walked a sharp ridge that was two-toned in color - gray and orange - with spectacular views of the Tetons, Snakes, Gros Ventres, and even the Winds to the east. While this section of the Wyomings doesn't carry any special Wilderness protection, it was one of the most wild sections of a hike that had no shortage of them. I also glimpsed massive numbers of elk - so numerous in fact that they seemed to be damaging sensitive alpine areas with overgrazing. So if you happen to draw a Wyoming elk tag, maybe help a brother out and hunt there please!</div><div><br /></div><div>The section concluded with the nastiest bushwhack on the GYL - a 4,000-foot trail-less descent down a ridiculous steep ridge with ridiculously thick vegetation, ending at the Hoback River, which divides the Wyomings from the Gros Ventres to the north.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC_4sMjWKfOyk9vCKiK4xZGTd4t7gw1FYnQmIPme-NtUp_WFXbSTQuKserajICAgF_TUG1wTwR-Y-UP7EUtrNgADYeTUC56NTeG6l6i_I1rDeG4e7bbCUMrQP0a3B9GGOwGcp1qUwydKw/s4032/20200712_094448.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC_4sMjWKfOyk9vCKiK4xZGTd4t7gw1FYnQmIPme-NtUp_WFXbSTQuKserajICAgF_TUG1wTwR-Y-UP7EUtrNgADYeTUC56NTeG6l6i_I1rDeG4e7bbCUMrQP0a3B9GGOwGcp1qUwydKw/w640-h480/20200712_094448.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirq1R27sxvkgk-uvcJU2zR9QBXFBBbp6PbNTZknGlOs3VvqgAKssis9BLPtC8w2x_FvMIwyZnY0qBKnrMJYjRraXea1X9voR6cs6GH2gB8O748BdOJrx_dQ3UfuqUr5AoiNlUfOLXln6tV/s4032/20200712_123015%25280%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirq1R27sxvkgk-uvcJU2zR9QBXFBBbp6PbNTZknGlOs3VvqgAKssis9BLPtC8w2x_FvMIwyZnY0qBKnrMJYjRraXea1X9voR6cs6GH2gB8O748BdOJrx_dQ3UfuqUr5AoiNlUfOLXln6tV/w640-h480/20200712_123015%25280%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Section 3: The Gros Ventres</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The Gros Ventres flank the town of Jackson to the east, opposite the Tetons. Because they're not the Tetons though, they're obscure and seldom-visited. In my opinion though, they're nearly as spectacular - but without the people and the red tape associated with National Parks. The ridgewalk along the crest of the range, followed by some more off-trail travel on incredible "shelves" just below a series of jagged peaks, proved to be one of the highlights of the entire trip. I cruised through recently-glaciated terrain, across lingering snowpack.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLXVucKo3ovi2pAOn1EqOWmBSWRXIHS5w27m0s96XxHZ7Tx5fIojJ5RLCjpOKppsWzekQAgING4lsTZjv3b_hYwF9OOP1og_r_A7s-CScqsDpuPrVsNZXHMveuBy5lWQWFjopwehqpD2C0/s4032/20200715_153459.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLXVucKo3ovi2pAOn1EqOWmBSWRXIHS5w27m0s96XxHZ7Tx5fIojJ5RLCjpOKppsWzekQAgING4lsTZjv3b_hYwF9OOP1og_r_A7s-CScqsDpuPrVsNZXHMveuBy5lWQWFjopwehqpD2C0/w640-h480/20200715_153459.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8WPpFdwVTwFfz3xlfstqLgfaChAWuDoc1MvpggjDC1TYzrlxAMbhcOYa0XJrCN424SNHyVsB9rqMvTjk9PqHd0oKtUYi__Eo-_V0aMyjXR9wNZ2FS6fvTT-nGxIHO8zb6ZwyE84y36bs/s4032/20200714_151421.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8WPpFdwVTwFfz3xlfstqLgfaChAWuDoc1MvpggjDC1TYzrlxAMbhcOYa0XJrCN424SNHyVsB9rqMvTjk9PqHd0oKtUYi__Eo-_V0aMyjXR9wNZ2FS6fvTT-nGxIHO8zb6ZwyE84y36bs/w640-h480/20200714_151421.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>I was reluctant to leave the heights of the Gros Ventres, but all good things must come to an end. The last two days of the section involved the longest roadwalk on the entire route, followed by a few miles on the CDT through relatively low terrain. I've long held that the CDT through the Greater Yellowstone takes the worst of all possible routes; the Divide itself just isn't very scenic. The GYE bore this out: the least interesting parts of the route were where it joined the CDT in Sections 1 & 3. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Section 4: Absarokas South</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The Absaroka Range is the largest single sub-range of the Rocky Mountains, stretching from west-central Wyoming all the way into southern Montana. They're beautiful mountains, almost entirely protected by designated Wilderness areas, and a wanderer's paradise. It therefore seems strange that the Absarokas are so obscure that nobody can pronounce them correctly (the "o" is silent). As befits a huge range, I spent several sections there. </div><div><br /></div><div>The section began with an incredible walk along the Continental Divide on the expansive Buffalo Plateau, an expansive tabletop above treeline, cut by deep glacial valleys. On day 3, I left the Buffalo Plateau behind, climbing Thorofare Peak, the most remote peak in the Lower 48 (as measured by distance from a road). Atop the peak, I peaked at my phone and - yep, I had a bar of 4G. Thanks Verizon... I guess. Needless to say, I put that contraption back in airplane mode. No need to spoil a wilderness moment with technological intrusion. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ujmUN3bVBMqpdjmmNjfnHewtj8mzctG0pNxOhjJ36ICo3swfCpv5vSACrI2AnZr24FB9qhcRIDrODCzgHpaBZWNyfRphZlv2P6uv9-khDP55yKVnGCRzUUVSJKZkZRRGi304HxXIrvHb/s4032/20200719_184508.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ujmUN3bVBMqpdjmmNjfnHewtj8mzctG0pNxOhjJ36ICo3swfCpv5vSACrI2AnZr24FB9qhcRIDrODCzgHpaBZWNyfRphZlv2P6uv9-khDP55yKVnGCRzUUVSJKZkZRRGi304HxXIrvHb/w640-h480/20200719_184508.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYpF2l15DclJQ291HfbjaenpcVK9XuRqdoxOzHnceBDl6TTnHDTgzVUAfhX0d1U_AGFOVthRrFa6AfcJXMlMaKL6VKVbkt-6HV26TPb92wUV3pITZWLuD9WJ3f-oam0RtlTQ5wDxchFoEg/s4032/20200720_093808.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYpF2l15DclJQ291HfbjaenpcVK9XuRqdoxOzHnceBDl6TTnHDTgzVUAfhX0d1U_AGFOVthRrFa6AfcJXMlMaKL6VKVbkt-6HV26TPb92wUV3pITZWLuD9WJ3f-oam0RtlTQ5wDxchFoEg/w640-h480/20200720_093808.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Following my ascent of Thorofare, I dropped down into a series of large valleys, connected by vague scraps of trail-like substance. After a while I joined good trail briefly before veering off onto a nifty elk trail beneath some cliffs on an off-trail pass. I'd previously scouted this area in person a few years ago and knew the elk trail to exist. I was surprised, though, that Pepperflake was able to find it (presumably on satellite) and knew to route himself that way. </div><div><br /></div><div>On that elk trail, I turned a corner and met an <u><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2020/07/grizzly-bear-attack-breakdown.html">unhappy grizzly</a></span></u>. I was stitched up by the fine folks at the hospital in Cody. I had to take about three weeks off before I could carry a backpack comfortably enough to continue hiking. After healing up, I resumed my trek at the beginning of Section 5. I missed the last 40 miles of Section 4, but I think a bear attack qualifies as a pretty good excuse. I really do want to go back and do those 40 miles at some point though; the scenery looks outstanding and it's the very quintessence of "big wilderness". Someday, hopefully. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcsZFdoaAVz3b3dXjcNW9F_rkrhnpjTUzxGw_ifSFCTaRKgbdl6pU6Zzn1pSwHpeaEs-TyqjLilKeZ-HO63vvRzHZw_UXJhgKXdT1ssEYV7rxYxSVQKAz1r31Q_nQkKz9kaL2OIkiz0gAI/s4032/20200721_081039.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcsZFdoaAVz3b3dXjcNW9F_rkrhnpjTUzxGw_ifSFCTaRKgbdl6pU6Zzn1pSwHpeaEs-TyqjLilKeZ-HO63vvRzHZw_UXJhgKXdT1ssEYV7rxYxSVQKAz1r31Q_nQkKz9kaL2OIkiz0gAI/w640-h480/20200721_081039.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_WzOMr22uWwXeVYNQ1Uv2NZjRJSa9YJb-PCQzbkq9OTk_vo_NgcepPUKcbTYSoJVgXxbYs-s2PoyO7h2aMjoyBMoxDF63lZZ7v2WoyEcyFQE1F0RZNuY_lWuRowxKbJRfud8jdOk1ZXRn/s4032/20200720_122001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_WzOMr22uWwXeVYNQ1Uv2NZjRJSa9YJb-PCQzbkq9OTk_vo_NgcepPUKcbTYSoJVgXxbYs-s2PoyO7h2aMjoyBMoxDF63lZZ7v2WoyEcyFQE1F0RZNuY_lWuRowxKbJRfud8jdOk1ZXRn/w640-h480/20200720_122001.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Section 5: Absarokas North</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>In truth, this section was a bit of a dud. The first half of the section was in nice montane terrain, but much of it was burnt and nasty. I must say, though, that a brief walk along the eastern border of Yellowstone was fantastic. A nice trail follows the crest of the Absarokas for a few miles before the route dropped east off the main ridge through a huge burn area and down into some unremarkable lowlands. </div><div><br /></div><div>The latter half of the section entailed a circuitous detour down the Clark Fork of the Yellowstone River. The Clark Fork is a marvelous canyon that cuts deeply through the Beartooth Plateau, but for the most part, the trail I was on stayed out of the inner gorge and just wasn't that scenic. When it finally dropped down to river level, the mosquitoes were so hellacious (Bechler River-bad!) that I couldn't really slow down and enjoy the scenery. If I did this route again, I'd probably stay up on the Absaroka crest. While I had off the ridge due to "sketch factor" a few years prior, I think I'd probably give it another go in the future in a better mental state. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpMWd-xLBEE1R1F-1PzHZjwtU5d6VNRsxHpy9-KQJTAutzf9OlBVw2jGgAaiRiv6NEPUIp-kJiZdZ44b0OSYb7FYlvg2XU2k-nrmOOIlWQFqXA4Yc_uYIrNQl7CsuJBMPn2N8HfiUM_Fr/s4032/20200811_134021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpMWd-xLBEE1R1F-1PzHZjwtU5d6VNRsxHpy9-KQJTAutzf9OlBVw2jGgAaiRiv6NEPUIp-kJiZdZ44b0OSYb7FYlvg2XU2k-nrmOOIlWQFqXA4Yc_uYIrNQl7CsuJBMPn2N8HfiUM_Fr/w640-h480/20200811_134021.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVk6EbcD4MiozVsd9AnX6YfyOOQi8LI3BAVJxWMhC_yVx20TyMAwQnzczsDkK676oUKqaP2D3PD60a_Pr0obIjKE0JYunEOlOE3i5LdPjtkVPZYu0_oG57KkgAhoWpBI2e5HbKryl1G7sy/s4032/20200812_084748.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVk6EbcD4MiozVsd9AnX6YfyOOQi8LI3BAVJxWMhC_yVx20TyMAwQnzczsDkK676oUKqaP2D3PD60a_Pr0obIjKE0JYunEOlOE3i5LdPjtkVPZYu0_oG57KkgAhoWpBI2e5HbKryl1G7sy/w640-h480/20200812_084748.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZwAXTz7aQ6zvnXwPMkwvbN8JO54scZVHHvTmB2ndDjvX8G89w8aCRSeiLOK1LjoJbbHnaHoVfgxONvf4tqHXqa3bypjqwmWpwd1ScYXM2MwuaXQ7glqbu9E2jHXnSQSelYF_9ZEShCRO/s4032/20200813_083727.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZwAXTz7aQ6zvnXwPMkwvbN8JO54scZVHHvTmB2ndDjvX8G89w8aCRSeiLOK1LjoJbbHnaHoVfgxONvf4tqHXqa3bypjqwmWpwd1ScYXM2MwuaXQ7glqbu9E2jHXnSQSelYF_9ZEShCRO/w640-h480/20200813_083727.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Section 6: The Beartooths</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>This section was probably the most beautiful section of the entire hike - and considering the competition, that's high praise indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pepperflake's original route through the Beartooths was rugged, demanding, and doubtlessly incredible. It conformed pretty well to a route that I've been itching to do for several years now. But it involved some class III scrambling and a "horrible bushwhack from hell", and given that I still couldn't lift my arm above my shoulder, that was obviously a no-go. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9KmFtGoJQzpofAMHlwKE7am4wpD-h4HoQQBAEYXPWh4DfFcn9drX7SOomKw_qk6muC1DoP6rsyibjFxtuo26Chpw97HyPSQIzNNp0flsFqnOl-1WzjMc2qMA11gvvlwLHxdX7zCEgnAKT/s4032/20200816_110308.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9KmFtGoJQzpofAMHlwKE7am4wpD-h4HoQQBAEYXPWh4DfFcn9drX7SOomKw_qk6muC1DoP6rsyibjFxtuo26Chpw97HyPSQIzNNp0flsFqnOl-1WzjMc2qMA11gvvlwLHxdX7zCEgnAKT/w640-h480/20200816_110308.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmCYs53oXz_4oxe5xIGFxkOikb7m9XcZ1pUWypakbepL00qgHuokmHt3ZGNYTAIVk5f2Wgr6CG5rPkYawI18zt_TnFbDO7_ZS_A2gBEwfZ1HUZLvRXooCyaVpn4R5cBiKnJzCC9USEgfXT/s4032/20200816_111829.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmCYs53oXz_4oxe5xIGFxkOikb7m9XcZ1pUWypakbepL00qgHuokmHt3ZGNYTAIVk5f2Wgr6CG5rPkYawI18zt_TnFbDO7_ZS_A2gBEwfZ1HUZLvRXooCyaVpn4R5cBiKnJzCC9USEgfXT/w640-h480/20200816_111829.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Instead, I opted for a lower, mostly on-trail route across the Beartooth Plateau, a mostly above-treeline plateau dotted with hundreds of fantastic lakes. I got a little carried away through here though, and ended up going off-trail and doing some light scrambling. I just couldn't help myself! It was too enticing! Trails themselves are pretty vague in the Beartooths, and just about everything is passable. Navigating the landscape off-trail is like a maze - but it's a maze where nearly every path is a winner, and every winner is uniquely beautiful. I met a kindly gentleman who's spent 25 years exploring the plateau and he still hasn't been everywhere yet. </div><div><br /></div><div>I planned to traverse a glacier, but it was far too melted out, revealing a 20-foot sheer drop that I just couldn't traverse. This involved a major re-route, and I was glad that I had a large map corridor on my phone. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6OXgbaLtdMSImcMMGJOj26N5X8gB4BJ80F8VsIzakno2xBb6ZNK9sFgwaz_hhxOoyxVWKYENlImZBV1kYUS1mFYny0WUc6OFArrI9dMtiaZVL_sXVr1IKjvW92ZmvJMotwS6iJxiJtT8/s4032/20200816_142859.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6OXgbaLtdMSImcMMGJOj26N5X8gB4BJ80F8VsIzakno2xBb6ZNK9sFgwaz_hhxOoyxVWKYENlImZBV1kYUS1mFYny0WUc6OFArrI9dMtiaZVL_sXVr1IKjvW92ZmvJMotwS6iJxiJtT8/w640-h480/20200816_142859.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LJ9JqRhklheBXFEdCQ7xlq3t173EG6OAy5ZojWtb43xTaF_ZZoLz8Zu2mpHK841n8PwD004zC-w__-rUIlpiyHmc25erUSOPm_AYmu-YvcpTsz05bvp86HhjAbyjIzorrxLF7TutlLV9/s4032/20200816_160907.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LJ9JqRhklheBXFEdCQ7xlq3t173EG6OAy5ZojWtb43xTaF_ZZoLz8Zu2mpHK841n8PwD004zC-w__-rUIlpiyHmc25erUSOPm_AYmu-YvcpTsz05bvp86HhjAbyjIzorrxLF7TutlLV9/w640-h480/20200816_160907.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Section 7: Beartooths West</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>This is a complete misnomer, as this section is actually back in the Absarokas - the northernmost Absarokas, but too many Absaroka names get confusing, so I'll follow Pepperflake's convention and stick with "Beartooths West". </div><div><br /></div><div>No matter what you want to call it, this was an alright section. I'm intentionally damning it with faint praise here, but for good reason. Pepperflake ran into huge issues with blowdowns and torturously slow travel through burnt areas, so I re-routed the entire section onto trails that actually exist. The scenery was good but not great, especially as compared to the majesty of the Beartooths that I had seen in Section 6. Near the end of the section, I entered Yellowstone. I'd been on its peripheries twice before on the hike - both for less than a day, but this marked the only time I'd spend any significant amount of time in the park.</div><div><br /></div><div>One highlight of this section was running into Stargate, Jukebox, and the Darkness, three hikers who were also doing an adaptation of Pep's route. I'd met them in near Jackson while I was healing up, and seeing them again was a treat.</div><div><br /></div><div>I walked into my only town on the route, Mammoth Hot Springs. Most of the place was shut up tight as a button anyhow - closed visitors centers, etc - and I wasn't at all bummed about that. It made it very easy to keep my social distance and stay out of enclosed spaces.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzIGO5r_k4ClhnFsyqZBru6EyhGb_gP3k1hkZqrXlVhWOfnlGiTQrsUnDVBLeAmPaREZSqqEbicy9b20w7bEr_mO_Cw3poEKwarvbck_byaX2DQIyKJWU0RFlhs198C32z_0887T5WnLJ/s4032/20200820_160614.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzIGO5r_k4ClhnFsyqZBru6EyhGb_gP3k1hkZqrXlVhWOfnlGiTQrsUnDVBLeAmPaREZSqqEbicy9b20w7bEr_mO_Cw3poEKwarvbck_byaX2DQIyKJWU0RFlhs198C32z_0887T5WnLJ/w640-h480/20200820_160614.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-tPnpWpVam7LesbHE1YlrkJ2-yfF_iZ5NBvbvJNUrRZj5hmG-RB3Wwc4yAdUkLR6kQYFsO-JOIG3MXkiinZRvLtxAAIVFnZxonZzcWkB5BAqT9B9jGkcdxapl8QThyphenhyphenyLYn-YFVwocW0nX/s4032/20200819_095348.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-tPnpWpVam7LesbHE1YlrkJ2-yfF_iZ5NBvbvJNUrRZj5hmG-RB3Wwc4yAdUkLR6kQYFsO-JOIG3MXkiinZRvLtxAAIVFnZxonZzcWkB5BAqT9B9jGkcdxapl8QThyphenhyphenyLYn-YFVwocW0nX/w640-h480/20200819_095348.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Section 8: The Gallatins</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>This section was entirely on-trail and made for easy cruising along the crest of the Gallatin Range. Despite being up high, I saw almost nothing in this section, owing to thick smoke that had drifted in from fires burning to the west. Everything was tinted with an eerie yellow glow. But the miles came fast and I enjoyed the mental break from the craziness that the GYL occasionally dishes out. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I descended out of the range down to the Gallatin River, I came across a huge field of avalanche debris. Fortunately, there was a Forest Service sawyer crew doing some work with an outrageously large chainsaw, so I didn't have to thrash around for long. It's incredible how much force avalanches can generate - snapping thousands of full-grown trees like pencils. It's a useful and sobering reminder for those of us who backcountry ski, snowshoe, or snowmobile.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIn3uZWsoc9_Xl8eld8KmBB6XAV8_r9C6aKBfYib9lgMFbtjs0wudpcCAhczu4aP7cYGRZGlZ5Sqi0rHSNqw_UUPokk_ztv0IGcwIwwOvO4ZAJRuEjQuzJGft-9q1oC_vOFgECZ9k_vzx8/s4032/20200823_180401.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIn3uZWsoc9_Xl8eld8KmBB6XAV8_r9C6aKBfYib9lgMFbtjs0wudpcCAhczu4aP7cYGRZGlZ5Sqi0rHSNqw_UUPokk_ztv0IGcwIwwOvO4ZAJRuEjQuzJGft-9q1oC_vOFgECZ9k_vzx8/w640-h480/20200823_180401.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BHxAl0VsXLt3JXRwXHMlE67EBLvnbSXE3FA4TJ0QFVtCnGDYKjsedj0MzoO8JPcy0FwiOWeRMaSuXlSX-TXiuFmXDOUDLqD9-_ECQ2ay5LQhMX9JLxQs0XfJ5zoE7ZhrIFh-g8w0QLfG/s4032/20200824_074351.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BHxAl0VsXLt3JXRwXHMlE67EBLvnbSXE3FA4TJ0QFVtCnGDYKjsedj0MzoO8JPcy0FwiOWeRMaSuXlSX-TXiuFmXDOUDLqD9-_ECQ2ay5LQhMX9JLxQs0XfJ5zoE7ZhrIFh-g8w0QLfG/w640-h480/20200824_074351.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><b>Section 9: The Madisons</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>This section was another gorgeous one, but the weather really fell apart on me. I'd had very little bad weather since Day 3, nearly two months earlier, but it finally caught up with me as summer turned to fall. I had a couple of soaking rainstorms, a few days of on-and-off showers, and generally just enough crap to make things a little iffy. That was particularly bad timing, as this section involved quite a bit of very exposed travel over long ridges and steep slopes with no place to hide. On one occasion, I watched several bolts of lightning hit a high peak I was currently detouring around. The weather just wasn't stable enough to allow me to do the route I wanted to do. My lower route ended up being alright, but not the world-class beauty I expected on the higher route. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqtkimBHaXK3bVGgylED35psOOQgni3GQn73HcXzRQsKpIIxeQoxrmMnj78n7gvw-KuCedmynjnPzjHkzc7vn8YlS0Fp0aAB8oHhdfJo4hAlF6yp50-7plEfdYTcub1Yfn890xdRXVEWeW/s4032/20200827_084900.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqtkimBHaXK3bVGgylED35psOOQgni3GQn73HcXzRQsKpIIxeQoxrmMnj78n7gvw-KuCedmynjnPzjHkzc7vn8YlS0Fp0aAB8oHhdfJo4hAlF6yp50-7plEfdYTcub1Yfn890xdRXVEWeW/w640-h480/20200827_084900.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisg8_7bNGoVWffey4Zsi5Yr8vDd3XNmKUBSB8wJuAPJRh-XZipndGbTQ2qmT6NQzjTJ4jEempTbKdvp3963hl82LU4MS4T5U_OFPtXzteaK6CN7XSjF1356bgJSrasDQOhyphenhyphene5JCwBpZ_rz/s4032/20200829_141503.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisg8_7bNGoVWffey4Zsi5Yr8vDd3XNmKUBSB8wJuAPJRh-XZipndGbTQ2qmT6NQzjTJ4jEempTbKdvp3963hl82LU4MS4T5U_OFPtXzteaK6CN7XSjF1356bgJSrasDQOhyphenhyphene5JCwBpZ_rz/w640-h480/20200829_141503.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>On my last morning, I woke up to snow flurries, which quickly turned into a cold, driving rain. I did ten mostly-miserable miles parallel to a highway into the town of West Yellowstone, completing the route. It was an anticlimactic finish to what was the most beautiful route I've ever walked. Nonetheless, I thank God for the opportunity to walk the Greater Yellowstone Loop, and that I didn't become the grizzly's bedtime snack. Some day, I'll go back and do those 40 missing miles in Section 4. For now though, what a journey!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9Fmoeix_xwL2bA_xTgwKyfy7suMga3PCgeqMB92ufOJi_Zsk3iAON5pAO9hgawb9fuD56i5jDq7Wqset5y9Zj890h7aF6yk1tTS7UHAshyphenhyphenDbPkgL6J5p7SakhPdcVafBIg7irv30zMbH/s4032/20200831_122558.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9Fmoeix_xwL2bA_xTgwKyfy7suMga3PCgeqMB92ufOJi_Zsk3iAON5pAO9hgawb9fuD56i5jDq7Wqset5y9Zj890h7aF6yk1tTS7UHAshyphenhyphenDbPkgL6J5p7SakhPdcVafBIg7irv30zMbH/w640-h480/20200831_122558.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Smokey was on hand to welcome me to West Yellowstone... and to warn me of fire danger in a driving rainstorm.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><b>Overall Impressions</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>The Greater Yellowstone Loop was absolutely fantastic. It's without a doubt the most beautiful route I've ever walked, and the only thing that comes close is the Hayduke. That comparison came to mind frequently - like the Hayduke, the GYL is an 800-mile, very difficult route through extremely remote country. The route is entirely on public land, visiting iconic National Parks and equally-astounding places far from the beaten path. Nearly every day there's something that will make your jaw drop. Of course, there are maps and a guidebook and secondary literature available for the Hayduke, and absolutely none of that is available for the GYL.</div><div><br /></div><div>A full loop of the Greater Yellowstone probably isn't in the cards for most folks - it's just too big of a planning challenge and some sections are very arduous. Instead, I recommend that backpackers pick a range or two and research it in great depth. Then go out there for a week and explore! A few bite-sized ideas that come to mind immediately:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Hike the Teton Crest Trail, but instead of dipping down into deep canyons at Hurricane Pass, stay on the Jed Smith Wilderness side of the crest and follow trails all the way to the north end of the range</li><li>Instead of the Beaten Path in the Beartooths, try mapping your own route that wanders around the Beartooth Plateau</li><li>Hike the Gallatin Crest Trail, traversing the length of the range</li><li>Do a 3 or 4-night overnighter in the high elevations of the Gros Ventres</li><li>Make a loop out of the parallel ridges of the Wyoming and Salt River Ranges</li></ul><div>Really, there's no way to go wrong in the Greater Yellowstone (unless you get attacked by a bear, in which case, you've gone very wrong. Trust me!). Dig into Caltopo, let your imagination off its leash, and you'll almost certainly reap the rewards.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQd-jgZ2IGzRJgHisp6h4Y6vbkbVoKzZ9NIfsFUWrXtyO9bRjzlMRFGEVimwnmmvrE6j2JHuSjuvl0MTHqF31Fl0FeR8VUhVci3rYpf-2eckE8wyTkR_WolYsYwXROm7aGEUaNd2Hkgvze/s4032/20200811_114407.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQd-jgZ2IGzRJgHisp6h4Y6vbkbVoKzZ9NIfsFUWrXtyO9bRjzlMRFGEVimwnmmvrE6j2JHuSjuvl0MTHqF31Fl0FeR8VUhVci3rYpf-2eckE8wyTkR_WolYsYwXROm7aGEUaNd2Hkgvze/w640-h480/20200811_114407.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhQjdpH5IIbvzGAP0VBmkyAFe_Fvl9-0Zhf20mxdlckvcA41EF7DUZCDG_oUDTlRbplS1GlwuI6axPYZ46rtG4S_QxYOUNZfLURub1ZdyWiZ0ctR0zkh1KsZl6GRO4aZTewZMLbS9bNo-/s4032/20200811_134249.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhQjdpH5IIbvzGAP0VBmkyAFe_Fvl9-0Zhf20mxdlckvcA41EF7DUZCDG_oUDTlRbplS1GlwuI6axPYZ46rtG4S_QxYOUNZfLURub1ZdyWiZ0ctR0zkh1KsZl6GRO4aZTewZMLbS9bNo-/w640-h480/20200811_134249.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbVJpAeltXcvI-DGwhyHxXS_k4y9oEHGA3DUxnJSpeYGeFao-RYrOxyt7asI8srvjP_4H2IkEDoHGVbHFh_zT1-BAal5f8WApLQKeH9IF4eD-Kh3tuleiOCxvzZcDxMuy6YknNNwPwfMz/s4032/20200714_134242.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbVJpAeltXcvI-DGwhyHxXS_k4y9oEHGA3DUxnJSpeYGeFao-RYrOxyt7asI8srvjP_4H2IkEDoHGVbHFh_zT1-BAal5f8WApLQKeH9IF4eD-Kh3tuleiOCxvzZcDxMuy6YknNNwPwfMz/w640-h480/20200714_134242.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><i>Update 2/27/2021: I previously understated the length of the Phil and Alaina Knight's 1991 expedition, as well as Alaina's involvement. This has been corrected.</i><br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-29819211703465372392020-07-27T18:05:00.005-06:002021-06-07T13:07:49.658-06:00Grizzly Bear Attack: A Breakdown<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVf_3_ikqKLN3Emf9RY2bTVtf3OvcFp__nkuVHWnLUXFzOhDxhUY0guS66uVfjagc5LfjAsL1AUQ5j33UbnT8Mxnssww0LKBptH69cinaQoNrnPDKdXbOsBwv1yia3uzS2x3yYYQ95MoL7/s2048/20200720_192708+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVf_3_ikqKLN3Emf9RY2bTVtf3OvcFp__nkuVHWnLUXFzOhDxhUY0guS66uVfjagc5LfjAsL1AUQ5j33UbnT8Mxnssww0LKBptH69cinaQoNrnPDKdXbOsBwv1yia3uzS2x3yYYQ95MoL7/w640-h480/20200720_192708+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><i>This post details a bear attack I was involved in during the summer of 2020. It's very light on the pictures and heavy on the words. I hope you'll stick with it, as I think it's an instructive incident even for those who never venture outdoors.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal">“But what about bears?” It’s probably the second most-common
question that hikers get, trailing only “do you carry a gun?” While bears are
certainly a real danger in the outdoors, they’re not even close to the top of
the list. Lightning strikes, drowning, getting lost, or getting hit by a car on
a roadwalk are all far more likely to happen than a bear attack.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Reliable bear attack statistics are really hard to come by.
One study I found noted about <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-019-44341-w">14 brown bear attacks per year</a> in North America.
Brown bears (of which grizzlies are the primary subspecies) are distributed
throughout the northern Rocky Mountains and Cascades, large swaths of Canada,
and most of Alaska. While I couldn’t find any good black bear statistics, black
bears tend to be more timid than their bad-tempered grizzly cousins. Though their habitats are more extensive, they pose
less of a threat to humans than grizzlies do.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When you consider the number of recreation-hours spent in
bear habitat each year in North America, and the tiny number of actual bear
attacks, it becomes clear that bears hardly ever attack humans. But on July 21,
2020, I was attacked by a grizzly bear.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>The Attack</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The attack happened at about the midpoint of a
self-supported 800-mile loop hike I was doing through the Greater Yellowstone
Ecosystem. I had staged food and supplies beforehand at various road crossings
so I wouldn’t have to go into town and risk contracting covid-19. This was a
remote hike, full of off-trail mountain ridges, scrambling, bushwhacking, and
all sorts of high adventure. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I descended an off-trail pass in Wyoming’s Absaroka
Range, I picked up a nifty elk trail that wound through a cliffy area. I was
singing, as I often do while in the backcountry, especially in grizzly bear
territory. I ended one verse and paused to recollect the words to the next
verse just as I rounded a corner.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Instantaneous” doesn’t do it justice. The grizzly, camouflaged
behind a scrubby pine, immediately charged from about 7-8 feet away. He swiped
at me, spinning me around as he passed me, slammed on the brakes, and charged
again from about 4 feet away. I jabbed with my trekking pole, catching him
square in the eye as he came toward me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At this point my memory is a little hazy, but somehow he
knocked me down, and I rolled under a tree. Recognizing it as a defensive
attack, I played dead, covering my neck with one hand while deploying my bear
spray with the other. I aimed it behind me, ready to give him a face full of
spice, but by that time he had huffed over me twice and took off. The whole
incident took no more than five seconds.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vXrDTDYg7_95ZBKo-jGcYTOqBPhGV76aJVlUrgfmKXhbt7g04TEyGgW4sDwIRHtIPKyNAbaDWal-WGGpeneqi_J5LuQUttoW_KjAZ9BvwQoBkuUeaYVi0Cee76CTomijyEzxjErTlqUG/s2048/20200721_094816.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vXrDTDYg7_95ZBKo-jGcYTOqBPhGV76aJVlUrgfmKXhbt7g04TEyGgW4sDwIRHtIPKyNAbaDWal-WGGpeneqi_J5LuQUttoW_KjAZ9BvwQoBkuUeaYVi0Cee76CTomijyEzxjErTlqUG/w469-h625/20200721_094816.jpg" width="469" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Boonie hat is no match for a grizzly claw</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><b>The Aftermath</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I laid there, remaining motionless, bear spray at the ready.
But as the sounds of bear faded away, I could hear him whimpering, presumably
from the eye injury. I looked at my watch: 9:46AM. I resolved to lie there for
a full ten minutes to make sure he wasn’t waiting for me to get up. I also took
stock. I could move all my limbs. I was bleeding from the chest. Disgustingly,
I could see flesh hanging out of my shirt. The wounds were deep, but I didn’t
think I was in any danger of bleeding out. As I laid there waiting for my
ten-minute probation to expire, I contemplated three options:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1. Activate my Personal Locator Beacon, aka my “Helicopter
Button”. I figured this wasn’t necessary. My walking ability wasn’t
compromised, I wasn’t going to bleed out, and I felt confident I could
improvise a bandage. Still, it was an option for later on – at any sign of
trouble, I wasn’t going to be shy about hitting it. I’ve been crystal-clear
with my emergency contacts that I will not hit activate it unless it’s a matter
of life-and-death and I need an actual, literal helicopter sent.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2. Clean out the wound, stitch myself up, and keep
going. I was only about 40 trail miles from my next resupply point – a remote
guest ranch along a major paved road. I considered this option for a moment –
until I dared take a second look at my chest and saw how deep the wound was. I
felt confident that I could stitch myself up, but wanted the wound properly sanitized
by medical people with medical knowledge. If you think I’m crazy for even
considering this possibility, I agree with you. More on that later.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3. Bail out a side trail and get to a hospital ASAP.
After thinking for a minute, this became the obvious right answer. Not only did
I have maps for the entire area on my phone, I had actually gone down a nearby
trail a couple of years ago when </span><a href="https://www.lbhikes.com/2017/11/in-which-grizzly-shares-my-lunch.html" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Yogi tried to steal my pic-a-nic basket</a><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> and
ended up ruining all my food. I knew the trail was obvious, well-trod, and popular
with horsepackers – who frequently carry satellite phones. And I had downloaded
cell coverage maps before my trip, which showed I’d have cell service as I
approached the trailhead.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I chose Door #3. My ten minutes expired and I got up, bear
spray at the ready, hollering the whole time so my grizzly adversary would
maintain proper social distancing. He was nowhere to be found thankfully, and I
backtracked along the elk trail, back up to the off-trail pass, and downhill to
the maintained trail I intended to bail on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Once I reached the trail, I finally allowed myself to sit
down and do some first aid. I figured that if I was going to pass out, it’d be
better that I pass out on a well-used trail rather than off-trail where I’d
never, ever be found. I stopped the bleeding, cleaned the wounds as best as I
could, and squirted most of a tube of Neosporin into them. I changed from my
completely-saturated orange shirt into my long-sleeve “bug shirt”, just so I
wasn’t quite so bloody. As I climbed over Deer Creek Pass, I made sure to walk
slowly, keeping my heart rate under control so I wouldn’t bleed too badly. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I descended the other side of the pass, still on excellent
trail, and met a group of horsepackers after about an hour. They looked at me
in sheer horror, suddenly reconsidering their stance on the reality of zombies.
I asked them to borrow their satellite phone, but owing to the narrow canyon,
it had no reception. I assured them that I was fine-ish and kept hiking,
meeting another group of horsepackers about 2 hours later. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Finally, a few miles before the trailhead, I ran into day
hiker named Dave. Like the others, he looked at me wide-eyed and asked what
happened. When I briefly shared the story, he decided that it was probably
turnaround time for him anyway and offered me a ride from the trailhead to Cody,
where I knew there were medical facilities. I gladly accepted and we hiked
together back to his car.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While we were en route to the hospital, we were pulled over
by a Wyoming Game & Fish officer, who’d been paged after one of the
horsepacker groups got out of the canyon, got sat phone service, and called
911. He took one look at me and told us he’d follow us to the hospital. So we all
caravanned to Cody where Dave, my good Samaritan, dropped me off. Thanks Dave!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Five hours, a blizzard of tests, and 37 stitches later, I
was released from the hospital, very grateful to God for sparing my life, to
Dave for the ride, and to the wonderful hospital staff for their hard work in
putting Humpty Dumpty back together again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Recovery<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Almost immediately, I received a huge outpouring of support
from the hospital staff, long-time friends, and people I had literally never
met before. By hook or by crook, people pulled strings to make sure I had
places to stay while I mended up, and one incredible person – former stranger
and now treasured friend – even drove me 5 hours round-trip back to my car when
it became clear that my injuries would be incompatible with wearing a backpack
for a few weeks. Thanks Barb! I can’t possibly credit everyone here – either because
I never caught their name, don’t want them to get in trouble with their bosses,
or whatever, but you know who you are. I thank God daily for his wonderful
providence and you were key parts of that. Thanks, more than I can even
express. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What’s Next?<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Only time will tell. I’m healing nicely, and the risk of
infection has subsided (something the doctors were very concerned about, given
that grizzlies dig around in rotting stuff all day). I still can’t carry a
backpack quite yet, so I’m taking some time off and just letting my body heal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Somebody must be
watching out for you.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Indeed. There aren’t too many people who are able to
literally walk away from a grizzly bear attack. I believe all things come to us
not by chance, but as a result of God’s providence – and this is no exception.
I am very grateful for him sparing my life and further injury – and for all the
wonderful people he put in my path when I needed help. God is good!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">So, why did the bear
attack you?<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Simply put: wrong place, wrong time. “Personal space” is a
big thing for grizzlies, and I was in his. He was just surprised and cornered
on the edge of a narrow ledge, so he attacked. When I played dead,
demonstrating that I was no longer a threat, he got out of Dodge in a hurry.
Other than not forgetting the words to my song at that one very precise moment
in time, I don’t think I could have done anything differently to prevent the
attack.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">And you got him in
the eye.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, yes. That certainly didn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hurt </i>my cause, as he didn’t press the attack after the exchange
where I got him in the eye and he knocked me down, but it’s tough to say if
that helped discourage him from harming me further. The Game & Fish guy
didn’t have a clear answer for me on the question either. I have a sneaking
suspicion that it did help in the very specific circumstance that I found
myself. It seemed like he was more interested in licking his wound than
inflicting more wounds on me. But I certainly wouldn’t advocate, in general,
fighting back during a defensive attack. I think this is the point at which
general principles start to break down and the details start to get murky.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">You should have had a
gun.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A gun likely would have resulted in a claw gash to my chest
and a bullet wound in my foot. He slashed me near where my holster would have
been, and if he had gotten me while I was drawing a gun, I almost certainly
would have shot myself. More generally, study after study has shown to bear
spray to be a <a href="https://above.nasa.gov/safety/documents/Bear/bearspray_vs_bullets.pdf">far more effective deterrent</a> against bear attacks than a firearm.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My driver Dave was carrying a rifle for protection on his
hike. On the way back to his car, he asked me if he would have been able to
stop the attack with his gun. I told him that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">if</i> he had coincidentally pointing it in the exact right direction, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> if he had been hiking with the
safety off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>his finger already on
the trigger, then maybe he could have stopped it. Maybe. But nobody does that,
because it’s incredibly dangerous. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What did you do
right?<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m generally pretty pleased with how I reacted to the attack.
I attribute my responsibility in a good outcome to three key factors:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1. Get the right equipment. I had bear spray. And
although I couldn’t have possibly deployed in time to stop the initial attack,
I had it out and ready in case he followed up once he had knocked me down.
There’s a good chance that, if he had continued to maul me, I would have been
able to dissuade him with some good old-fashioned capsaicin. More generally, I bear
bag assiduously. I had my Personal Locator Beacon. These things didn’t
necessarily help in this particular situation, but had circumstances been
slightly different, they would have been key.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2. Get the information. This is often more
important than equipment. In this case, I knew how to diagnose a defensive
versus predatory attack, and knew what to d</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">o in each situation. I had a huge
swath of maps downloaded on my phone, so when I had to bail down a side trail,
I knew which way to go. I knew that Cody was a town with medical facilities. I
knew that I’d have cell service as I approached the trailhead. All of this
helped me make a good decision and execute on my plan relatively quickly.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3. Practice. It’s incredible how fast the whole
thing happened. There’s no time to fumble with bear spray, try to figure out
how to remove the safety, which way it squirts, etc. I’ve practiced drawing,
arming, and aiming it hundreds of times over the years. Similarly, I’ve
visualized defensive bear attacks many times over the years, and visualized
myself getting on the ground and playing dead. When the real thing happened, my
reactions had to be instantaneous - and they were.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">So basically, you
survived because you did a lot of things right.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not at all. I survived because I did a lot of things right –
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> because God saw fit for me to
keep living. The grizzly slashed my chest/shoulder and my hat. If he had split
the difference and slashed my neck, I would have done a lot of things right and
still bled out within minutes. Doing things right increased my odds of a good
outcome, but they didn’t guarantee my safety. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What did you do
wrong? </b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like I said, I’m generally happy with my actions and
attitudes throughout. But this incident definitely showed me one of my blind
spots: I downplayed the severity of a bad situation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know exactly why I did this: it’s a survival mechanism. In
order to buckle down and focus on what I need to do, I can’t focus on how bad
it hurts, how deep the wound is, or how much medical care will be required to
fix me up. I just need to focus on the important thing – bandaging myself up,
getting out of here, and getting help. But sometimes, not dwelling on the
severity of the situation has its downsides. I offer three examples:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1. When I was playing dead and considering my
options, I seriously thought about just stitching myself up and continuing on
as planned. A stupid, ludicrous idea, but one that I didn’t dismiss as quickly
as I should have. I made the right decision, but shouldn’t have even considered
this option.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2. While hiking out, I was debating whether, once I
got into cell range, I should call 911 or just call a local rafting company or
outfitter to see if they could pick me up. I reasoned that I could walk; this
was not a true emergency, even though it was urgent. I didn’t want to cause
trouble, didn’t want to waste the time of emergency responders, typical Midwestern
diffidence, blah blah blah. DUDE. YOU WERE ATTACKED BY A BEAR. It’s okay to
call 911.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3. When I got to Cody, Dave wanted to take me
straight to the hospital, but I insisted that he take me to Urgent Care –
cheaper, quicker, and less Covid-y. He thought I was crazy, and I was. Urgent
care took one look at me and told me to go down the street to the ER
immediately.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I told myself I was fine so I could do what I needed to do. But
in the future, I need to watch out that my “I’m fine” line doesn’t interfere
with me actually getting the help I need to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">be</i>
fine. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I bet you’re
emotionally scarred from this<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Time will tell, but I really don’t think so. I’ve always
known that it was possible (albeit extremely unlikely) that something like this
can happen. And I’ve visualized it happening, visualized my reactions, just as
basic preparedness that comes with being a backcountry user. I think an honest
acceptance of catastrophe as a remote possibility makes us better able to deal
with such catastrophes when they arise. And frankly, a firm faith in the
providence of God really helps as well. Whatever happens to me – whether I live
or die, I belong to the Lord (Romans 14:8). That gives me great comfort in a
time of great uncertainty.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Let’s talk Covid-19.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Uh, okay. There are a lot of similarities between what I’ve
gone through and what we are going through as a species right now. Allow me to
share a couple parallels:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1. We need to trust the experts, even though they’re
fallible. I listened to expert advice (play dead in a defensive attack, fight
like a hellbeast in a predatory attack) and it likely saved my life. But bears
are individuals with their own proclivities, and expert advice may in some
cases be the exact </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">wrong</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> advice.
Nonetheless, the advice that they’re giving out is a lot more informed than
your opinion or mine, and is </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">certainly</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
more informed than the drivel that Great Aunt Edna reposts on Facebook. Trust
the experts, because they </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">might</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> be
wrong, but you and I are </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">almost certainly</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
wrong.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2. We s</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">hould ignore those opinions that need to be
ignored. There are going to be people who read this post and </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">still</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> tell me that I need a gun. Or I
need two guns, or bigger guns. Or that I shouldn’t hike alone. These people are
not worth listening to – the wise-in-their-own-eyes types. The same thing
applies to the coronavirus – whether it’s people saying that “mask requirements
infringe upon my liberty” on parts the political Right, or the parts
of the Left that demand we abstain from having fun because This Moment That We’re Living
In necessitates that we be somber and morose.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3. Habits are important. I always make sure my bear
spray is oriented the same way within its holster so it’s easy to pull blindly.
I always sing when going through narrow defiles, thick brush, or other places
where bears might be chillaxing. Do we keep our mask laying on the dashboard so
we never forget it? Is there a bottle of hand sanitizer right next to it? Have
we trained ourselves to just skip the busy aisle at the grocery store and come
back to it later? Perhaps these little tiny habits will never change a dang thing.
I don’t even </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">know</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> another human who’s
been attacked by a bear. But it’s an easy change to make, costs nothing, and
could save your life – like it saved mine.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l2 level1 lfo4; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Any final thoughts?<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want to reiterate my gratitude to Dave, Dan from WY Game
& Fish, each member of the hospital staff, each person who picked up (or
offered to pick up) part of my various tabs, those who gave me a place to stay,
and most of all to Barb, who went above and beyond to help me when I needed it
most. I thank each person who’s written a note of encouragement or prayed for
me. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective (James 5:16).
Without a doubt, I was spared by the grace of God.<o:p></o:p></p><br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7763075223255003562.post-73285268586244933222020-04-15T18:56:00.000-06:002020-04-15T19:12:02.350-06:00In Memoriam: Abandoned CarsSurrounded a loving phalanx of jackrabbits and tumbleweeds, Rusty the Janky Jalopy has slipped peacefully into eternal retirement.<br />
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Rusty was born in the Dearborn Assembly Plant just outside Detroit, Michigan in 1951. His parents are unknown, but were said to be of hardy, almost steely disposition.<br />
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During the Korean War, Rusty served with honor and distinction as a maintenance vehicle at the Pinyon Ridge Mine #3 near Panamint Springs, California. He was active in several community organizations including the Panamint Springs Fire Department. Colleagues at the VFD remember him fondly for his machine-like work ethic and outspoken horn.<br />
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In 1967, Rusty joined the household of Stan and Loretta Hendricks, who survive him. Asked to pay her last respects to the venerable truck, the aging, green-haired Loretta exclaimed, "Oh, that crappy old clunker? Maaaaaaaaaaan we had fun with that thing. Drove it to a Jefferson Airplane concert on two flat tires. I don't really remember what happened - I'm sure you understand - but somehow we ended up cruising through Santa Monica with ten shirtless hunks riding in the back handing out acid samples. Groovy, dude."<br />
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We had to cut Loretta off right there, as the rest of the anecdote is not fit to print, but suffice it to say that Rusty was well-loved by everyone who knew him.<br />
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In 1978, Rusty suffered a great indignity when his transmission failed in the middle of the desert during what sources describe as a "mind-bending rager, dude". The gearbox having seized up, Rusty was simply abandoned and left to rot in Death Valley. Stan and Loretta left their vehicle and their wild lives in the desert. Stan became the manager of accounts receivable for General Electric and Loretta began a nationally syndicated column on parlor etiquette, which is just as dead nowadays as the newspapers it's printed in.<br />
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It is a fitting tribute to Rusty that he ended up in the middle of nowhere, far from any road. It is unclear how he got there in the first place, as you'd have to be really, really off your rocker to try and drive him there in the first place. Then again, Stan and Loretta fit the bill.<br />
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Aside from Stan and Loretta, Rusty is survived by his brother Lincoln and his snotty cousin from the big city, Bentley.<br />
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Visitation will be whenever you feel like it. Bring a good pair of shoes, your backpacking gear, and eight liters of water.<br />
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<br />LarryBoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07234828576266704188noreply@blogger.com1