Sipsey Wilderness Hiking Odd-n-Ends

Recently, a fellow hiker wrote me to say, among other things, that I hadn't written anything in my blog since 2015. My response was that, besides being a lazy writer, I hadn't really had any new experiences in the Sipsey Wilderness. Since my first trip into the SW in 1995, I've hiked/camped there more than 70 times. I usually hike/camp alone and, in recent years, taken to hammock camping to shorten my back's warm up time in the mornings.

I love that wilderness area and try to camp there every month of the year ... except when it gets really buggy in July and early August. Lately, I've started trying to camp during the week instead of weekends because of the large crowds that gather there most weekends. One week my vehicle was only the second car at the Thompson Creek TH, and the other vehicle was that of a day-hiker. When I hiked out on Saturday morning there were 28 vehicles parked up and down the road at the TH. Some of the vehicles had horse trailers, so, though I had planned to hike up FT 208, I changed my plans so as not to have to hike in the muck left by the horses.

And speaking of FT 208, about half a mile up the old road, most of the road has slid down the hill with trees and soil. The last time I went up that way, you had to hike on that old concrete drain to get around the slide area.

Which leads me to another story ... One night when I was hiking in on FT 208, my headlamp reflected on, what appeared to be a big golden eye ... I mean, seriously, a big golden eye ... I crept closer and closer and it turned out to be a Whip-Poor-Will. He flew away, but I hoped he wasn't going to light near where I was camping for the night. Once over near Ship Rock I had to get out of my hammock during the night and throw sticks and rocks at a Whip-Poor-Will who was driving me crazy. He finally flew off far enough for me to get back to sleep.

LNT means everyone must pack out their junk ... I recently found two make-shift hammocks still hanging, full of leaves (so I know they had been there for a while), made from those 10X10 poly tarps you can buy at most big box stores. They had been hung with paracord and it took me a while to get them down without damaging the trees; and then I had to pack them out for the lazy coots who left them there.

Shocking information: soft drink/beer cans will not burn! Do not throw them in your fire ring and expect it to disappear. Why do I feel stupid saying that and then see so many drink cans in a fire ring?

Question: How does the NFS determine where/how many campsites to allow along the trails? One day I was leaning against a bluff enjoying the afternoon sunshine and the rent-a-rangers came along and rolled the rocks of a fire ring of one of the more popular campsites down in the creek. At another campsite just down the trail, they didn't disturb the fire ring and it was in an area with two more nearby campsites and it is an area the fire wood has been picked over terribly. The area looks like the woods around a shelter on the AT after the bubble has gone through. I can't think of a reason to destroy one site and leave another. Their logic eludes me.

Several years ago I bushwhacked up the tributary to Borden Creek--you know the one that everybody hates to cross on FT 200? I thought I went about a mile and a half or so up the draw and came upon the remains of an old moonshine still right by the creek. About a month ago I bushwhacked up the same tributary and couldn't find the remains of the old still. Curious, huh?

There is a campsite a couple of miles up White Oak Creek that the boy scouts used to frequent. I've been up there a couple of times over the past year and can tell that the scouts haven't been up there lately. It's a pretty good group camp site with lots of wood and right by WO creek. I guess the scout masters who knew how to get there have moved on. Too bad, because it's an area way away from crowds and a good place for scouts to earn a coup of knot-tying merit badges ... however, it is in an area with a lot of coyote traffic, so maybe the scouts got nervous and decided not to go back ...

Has anyone hiked all the way up FT 207? If you have, please leave me a comment and tell me how it was and if there are any good campsites along the way.

Later on ...

Hiking with Younger Legs

Let me first assure you that "Hiking with Younger Legs" is not a reference to MY legs, but to my son's ... and his dog. My legs are old and worn ... and the reason this entry in the blog is six months after the hike is--although I would like to have a good excuse--because I'm basically a lazy writer. If I could write each day as I hike, I would keep my blog up-to-date, but I haven't figured out how to type faster on my smaller devices.

It all started when my son and daughter-in-law hiked in the Goat Rocks Wilderness in Washington months earlier and after seeing their photos, I decided that would be my next destination. At 72, I have a bucket list of places to hike, but keep adding to it. My son, Jeff, and I were able to work out our schedules for a July 2016 hike up through the Snowgrass Flats area and connect with the PCT. 

After Jeff got off work on Tuesday, we drove up to the Berry Patch Trailhead in Washington where there was a small camping area and pitched there for the night. Jeff's Blacknose Cur dog, Vyda, was making the trip with us. The camping area there is kind of rough--they were doing some work on it--but there is a picnic table and a parking lot. Knowing that I would be hiking uphill at altitude most of the next day, I turned in early.

Old man and a yellow dog

The next morning we were up and packed shortly after daylight and drove back down to the Snowgrass TH and began our hike. We were hiking in on Wednesday hoping to avoid some of the crowds that come to this area on the weekends. We hiked up the Snowgrass Trail a little over 3.5 miles and took the cutoff east over to the PCT before getting to Snowgrass Flats. I think that cutoff is there to give PCT hikers a way off the trail when Old Snowy gets a big snow dump late in the PCT season. This was my first hike using GaiaGPS and I messed up several times when I would take a break on the trail. Sometimes I would forget to stop the recording when I sat down for a while, and sometimes I would forget to restart the recording when I got up and started hiking. Through no fault of the GaiaGPS app, I didn't get very accurate readings on the times or the distances between stops on the trail. I've gotten better. It's not a terribly long hike up to where we were going, but on old legs, it was a workout.

At the intersection of the cutoff with the PCT we ran into some PCT section hikers who had run into a mountain lion over near Cispus Pass. Jeff had hiked on ahead (as he often did) and talked with several PCT hikers who had come over Cispus Pass and had seen a cat. One guy saw the cat stalking his dog and yelled at it before it could overtake the dog.

Vyda, cooling off

[I never worry about mountain lions because they usually like to chase down their fast-fleeing prey and there is no way they will mistake my slow pace for a fast-fleeing prey.] The only critters we saw/heard on the hike were marmots whistling at us. We both saw a very large marmot watching us on our hike down the trail. Almost at the same time we both said, "Did you see that marmot?" As you can see in the photos below, there are a lot of rugby football-sized boulders for them to hide in. I really hadn't seen a lot of marmots since my hiking days in Colorado.

Mt Adams

Jeff and I had decided that instead of hiking to Goat Lake, which hikers had told us was still frozen, we would hike the PCT up under Old Snowy and base camp out of there. It was a good choice. From our campsite in a small wooded area just off the PCT we could see that Goat Lake was still snowed in and the camping sites over there were very limited. We decided that we could hike over there fairly easily if we had the time and the inclination.

As I alluded to, several times Jeff and Vyda hiked on ahead because the younger legs were having trouble hiking as slowly as the old pair. Vyda got tired and hot one time and lay down in a snowmelt stream to cool off. Of course she was hiking twice as far as we were hiking because she kept wanting us to throw a stick she could fetch and bring back to us. We would throw the stick, she would run ahead or off the trail, grab the stick and bring it back to us. She was putting in a lot of additional miles.

Old man crossing snow

We hiked over several broad patches of snow, but the snow was beginning to melt and it was interesting to see how close the snow crossings were to the actual PCT. I hadn't hike on snow since leaving Denver in the early 90s, so I was careful about my footing. On the way up we had great views of Mt Adams to the south and Mt St Helens a little to the west of Adams. 

View from our campsite

 Although we found several campsites around where campers had built short stone walls to block the wind, we chose a site that would have a windbreak from trees. Jeff and Vyda pitched his Tarptent backed up to the a small stand of trees and I pitched my LightHeart Solo down in the midst of a small patch of trees. There were four guys/two tents about a hundred yards from us in a well-used campsite that Jeff had seen on a previous trip. Our grove of trees was large enough to provide us a place to nap in the sun and out of the wind.

Father and son

At night we ate Packet Gourmet meals, gumbo and Chicken-and-Dumplings, prepared with snowmelt water. I had packed in chopped chicken breast which I added to the gumbo. For breakfast we ate home-prepared oatmeal that I had vacuum sealed in Mississippi. For lunch we ate mostly junk we had crammed in our packs before leaving.


The second day we hiked up to the PCT above us and followed a trail in the rocks up to the western slope of Old Snowy. As we were looking up we saw what appeared to be a cross planted on the edge of the slope. When we got there we found that it was a sign saying that the trail we were actually on was the PCT and the trail below was actually the horse trail part of the PCT. We wondered how many PCTers hiked across the snow fields on the horse trail instead of catching the edge of Old Snowy. We sat up high in the rocks and looked at the view I knew I would never get to see again: Adams, St Helens, and Ranier to the west. What a gorgeous, gorgeous view! And of course we could look down on the Goat Lake area and see some elk grazing in a field below it.

PCT sign on Old Snow

Goat Lake in the cirque

My son and I always do well hiking together and get into some heavy political discussions, although he's pretty much a liberal like me. Mostly we have fun discussing gear. Jeff works for the Oregon Mountain Community in Portland and is on the cutting edge of knowledge about gear, so I have fun asking him "which do you think is better" questions. We discussed stoves, packs, tents, and everything in between. He's very patient hiking with me, but sometimes overestimates what I can do in my 70s. I guess one always thinks of his/her father as younger. 


After waking up in a thick cloud the second morning, we packed up without hurrying since we were hiking down hill most of the day. Jeff was going to take us back down the Snowgrass Trail so I could see the popular Flats. The cloud burned off and we began our downhill trek. When we got to the intersection of the PCT and the Snowgrass Trail I thought of all of the NOBOs Hummingbird and Bearclaw in 2013 who had to bail on their thru-hike because of the early season snow dump that caused them to make a decision to end their hike. I also thought of Rockin' hiking through this beautiful section with her daughter, Stealthy. Rockin' has hiked so many beautiful trails that this section of the PCT might only be a distant memory to her, but, to me, it was my last chance to get here.

Mt Ranier from the western slope of Old Snowy

The team

Jeff and I hiked back down uneventfully and drove back to Portland, continuing our conversations about the state of the world since he moved up from Mississippi. I am eternally grateful to him for hiking slowly and putting up with my sometimes peculiar ways. I love the guy dearly and am deeply thankful for our adventures together.

Mt Adams from near our campsite

Age and Altitude

That's where I'm going ...

A year ago my son/daughter-in-law hiked some in the Eagle Cap Wilderness in the Wallowa Mountains of eastern Oregon. When I saw their photos, I began to make plans. Conveniently, my son and d-in-law bought a house and needed some furniture that we were storing for them ... so I volunteered to drive a truckload of furniture from Mississippi to Oregon. 

After taking care of the furniture I made my way from Western Oregon back to Eastern Oregon near Enterprise and Joseph in the Wallowa Mountains. I arrived just after the middle of the afternoon in time to go to Terminal Gravity Brewery in Enterprise for a brew and a salmon burger. After checking out the Wallowa Lake Park, I drove to the trailhead and picked up a registration tag to complete and save time the next morning.

There may have been more signs I missed

My plan was to sleep in my car at the trailhead to save both time and money. Fortunately, my rental car had a passenger seat that slid far back and reclined sufficiently to get reasonably comfortable for the night. The forecast was for 45º weather, so I just covered with my quilt from my kit and went quickly to sleep.

I woke up about 5 o'clock and by the time I had changed clothes, checked my pack, loaded up, locked my car, and relaced my boots, it was 5:30. I turned on my headlamp and headed up the trail, stopping to put my registration paper in the box. I had studied my topo maps and looked at Google Earth so much that I was pretty familiar with the trail, and even in the dark, felt confident that I was headed up beside Adam Creek. The trail description on http://www.oregonhikers.org/field_guide/Ice_Lake_Hike says that you will be hiking through "a forest canopy of Douglas-fir, Engelmann spruce, and western larch with ponderosa pine, western white pine, and grand fir." I took their word for it, because, at 5:30 AM in that canyon it was pitch dark outside the reach of my headlight beam. When I got to the first fork I knew to stay left, having read the trail descriptions for a year.

Typical trail

That lower part of the trail is a mess because it is frequented by backpackers, day-hikers, and horse-packers. Most of the time I didn't get to do much looking around with my headlamp because I was studying where my feet were about to go, not only to keep from tripping over the abundant rocks, but also to keep from stepping in piles and piles of horse poop ... did I say piles and piles (yes, I did). I spent the first 3.5 hours cursing the horse people and their messy animals, and, after starting the relentless uphill portion, I spent the last 3.5 hours wishing I were a horse person.

At about 2.5 miles, the Ice Lake Trail (#1808) peels off right, crosses a log bridge, and begins the ascent to Ice Lake. About the time I got to the bridge I was able to turn off my headlamp and continue on with the available light of the rising sun. It would be a while before there was actual sunshine in the canyon, but there was plenty of ambient light to hike the trail. The trail from the beginning was pretty dusty with the red dirt common in that area. Not long after "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.." - Henry David Thoreau"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.." - Henry David Thoreaucrossing the bridge the trail begins seven switchbacks that are shorter than the higher set of switchbacks. That's because when the trail bends around the mountain to the south, there is a deep canyon of cascades and waterfalls on Adam Creek.

The "new" log bridge

I was pretty tired when I got through the lower set of switchbacks and I grumbled at the people who had made shortcut "suicides" to connect the levels of the switchbacks. One of my pet peeves is the idea that people care so little about the trail maintenance and wilderness ecology that they just want to make their hike quicker, so they leap off the trail and cut straight down the mountain, opening a steep section where the rains and snow-melts are going to wash out the mountainside and create more work for the trail maintainers. I can understand children running ahead on the downward sections and thinking that it would be cool to make a shortcut, but I cannot understand an adult person's total disregard for the LNT ethos.

One of Adam Creek's falls

There was much less horse poop on this upper section of the trail, meaning that either, by this time, the horses were all pooped out (which, judging by the amount of horse shit on the lower sections, was a real possibility), or the horse people had continued up the West Fork Wallowa Trail and not headed up to Ice Lake. Anyway, I had much less poop to avoid when I was hiking this section. I was grateful for small things ...

Near the top of the seven lower switchbacks was evidence of a forest fire that had charred several hundred trees. I haven't had much experience with forest fires up close, so I can't accurately judge how may months or years prior had there been a fire. It didn't appear to be a really large burn area--compared to what we're seeing on the news these days, so either it was a lightening strike fire that had been followed by a hard  rain extinguishing the flames, or the fire crew had caught it early and put it out. It was probably only a couple of acres.

A beautiful trail

After the seven lower switchbacks and some cliff-side photo ops of the several falls on Adam Creek, the trail traversed--still climbing, mind you--across a meadow and through a couple of washed out ravines (Zig-zag in miniature). This meadow crossing was a nice respite from the switchbacks, but still continued on uphill. The meadow trail is something that I had seen on the Google Earth capture of #1808, so I knew I wasn't anywhere near the top.

And, at this point let me make it very clear that from the time the trail crossed the log bridge, it was unrelentingly uphill. I don't mean mostly uphill; I mean it was 100% an uphill climb. The trailhead is about 4500' in elevation and the lake where I was headed is 7900' in elevation. That's almost a 4K feet elevation gain (I figured I'd do the math for some English majors who might be reading this). I wish I knew the elevation at the log bridge over Adam Creek, but the trail from that point does not have even a short downhill stretch ... nor even a level stretch that I remember. It. Is. Uphill.

A burned out area along the trail

Not only were these 70-year old legs trying to carry about 38 lbs of gear, but trying to carry the gear constantly uphill, and at an altitude I rarely see. I think my home is about 300 ft in elevation, but the highest point in Mississippi (Woodall Mtn ... mountain?) is only 600 ft above sea level. I get over in the Georgia mountains a couple of times a year, and I get to Mt Mitchell in North Carolina once a year--if I'm lucky; but I never get to 7K or 8K feet ... so, I was sucking for oxygen to get to these old muscles. I know I was barely making one mph going up that trail ... plus, I was stopping frequently to lean on my poles. Whenever I get in these situations where my legs are almost giving out I think of Stephen Katz's AT hike from the Bill Bryson book ... remember when he "flung" all of the food and heavy gear out of his pack? One of the reasons I like hiking with a hammock is that I can almost always find a couple of trees between which I can hang ... and, believe me, I was so tired that I constantly looked around for possibilities of hangs if I completely broke down on that climb to Ice Lake.

 

Aspens are gorgeous in the fall

After the meadow was crossed I began another set of switchbacks ... twelve this time. I fought up the twelve switchbacks singing "Amazing Grace" in my head ... Good grief!!! Where did that come from? (Maybe it was the part about "a wretch like me" that I was feeling at that altitude and distance ... or the part about "When we've been there 10,000 years ..." was what I was thinking .... ) Anyway, the slow 4/4 beat was about all I could muster going through those twelve switchbacks ... it was really hard, and every time I stopped to let some blood pump back into my legs I looked for places I could hang my hammock for the night. From the bridge to Ice Lake was actually the hardest hike I've ever done ... I actually began to doubt my ability to finish ... (am I sounding pitiful?)

... but then, I was getting to swichback nine ... then ten ... then eleven ... then twelve ... and finally the trail kind of plateaued and I knew that I was almost there. I find it hard to explain the relief and exhilaration I felt when I knew I was close. I had read enough trip reports to know that the lake sneaks up on you after the trail plateaus ... and it did. My energy picked up slightly and I began to think about where I would claim as a campsite. As Faulkner said, I had not only survived, I had prevailed!

First view of Ice Lake from trail #1808

When Ice Lake first came into view I stopped in the trail to take it all in. (I realize that if any of the hikers that frequent Ice Lake and the Eagle Cap Wilderness are reading this, they probably think I'm overly dramatic in my first view of the lake.) I have seen beautiful lakes and mountains in dozens of national parks and wildernesses, but I've never had such a hard time getting there, so this place took on an extra element of meaning. Interesting how that works, isn't it?

... and now to find a camping spot ... I had discussed with my son/daughter-in-law about where they camped. In the heat of the summer I probably would have found the shadiest spot I could find; but this was October and I wanted to be somewhere that the sun would shine on till the final moments of daylight. Instead of crossing the outlet and heading over to the popular peninsula, I veered up to the right (north) and went up from the level of the lake. 

My bedroom

Experienced hikers know that, at night, the cool air comes down from the high elevations and settles in the low spots. Consequently, when you're expecting cool/cold nights, you want to go up higher than the low spots of the camping areas. I found a couple of trees between which to hang my Blackbird XLC, but I was not overly thrilled with the whole campsite. I was so excited to be at Ice Lake that I settled for a view rather than looking around more for a really good campsite.

Log-jam at the outlet of Ice Lake

Shortly after getting my camp site organized I headed down to the lake for a couple of tasks: to get water and to soak my ankle (which I had rolled a couple of weeks prior). I sat on the log jam at the outlet of the lake and stuck my foot in the water. Yikes! I couldn't believe that liquid could be that cold. I could only endure the cold for 45 seconds or so and then I had to pull my foot out and let it warm in the sun. After soaking my ankle 10 or so times, I put my boot back on and went to another edge of the lake to filter some water. I collected a four-liter bag, and 750-ml hard bottle, and about two liters in the dirty water bag of my gravity system. I was pretty sure that would be enough for the next two days. The rest of the afternoon I putzed with my gear, took some photos, adjusted my hammock several times, and went through my food supply to think about supper.


I wasn't worried about bears in this area, but there were rodents, sheep, goats, deer, and probably an elk or two that would be into my food cache if given a chance. I found a limb on the old tree and tossed over a cord to hang my bag for the night. I knew deer could stand on their hind legs up to about eight feet, so I got it up about 12 feet above a little slope covered with scree (of course, critters that live in scree aren't slowed up by it like the two-legged critters).

I went back into some trees to set up my stove and I boiled water for supper, suddenly very hungry, realizing that I had only had a Snickers bar all day. Supper was pleasant ... mac-n-cheese, I think. It was delightful to be sitting in a spot looking down on Ice Lake after a hard climb. My cooking/eating area was not wonderful, but it was away from my sleeping area, which was a good arrangement. After supper I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and got ready to climb into my hammock. 

Afternoon at Ice Lake

I got out and adjusted my hammock straps on the tree a couple of time, unsatisfied with my hang. I finally realized that I had tied my hammock between two trees that were small enough to be pulled in by my weight. When that happened, my center line that held my netting up off my face drooped very low, so I didn't have much room in my hammock for all of the getting situated that I usually do. Finally, I got situated and comfortable and fell asleep ... until about 2:00 AM ... when I was awakened by a horrible smell of animal-produced methane ... a giant fart that wasn't mine! The smell was horrible and I could see out of my hammock enough to see shadows of deer/goats/sheep/whatever passing by to get to the lake for water. I had seen deer droppings all around where my hammock was hanging, but never thought that I was in a freeway to the water for creatures propelled by methane.

The smell finally dissipated and I fell back to sleep only to be awakened a short time later by another breath-taking (and not in a good way) smell. Well, this was certainly a new experience for me and I guess I deserved it by hanging my hammock in a deer trail from mountaintop to water.

Good karma with an old tree skeleton

I woke before daylight, but drifted in and out until the sun peeked over the eastern ridge line and began to warm up. After an oatmeal breakfast I determined to move my campsite to a better location with bigger trees and one that was not in the methane highway. About 50 yards up the hill I spotted the sun-bleached skeleton of an old tree and the perfect campsite. The tree provided more than enough hooks for my gear to hang and a breeze-blocking space in which to cook. After a little analysis I found a larger tree and a solid stump between which to hang my bed. It didn't take me long to move my camp to the campsite I should have found the day before. 

When my son/d-in-law had been up at Ice Lake the previous October they climbed up to the top of Matterhorn and either on the way up or the way down had stopped on a rock bump to sun and eat lunch. I had determined that it was the perfect vantage point to see the whole lake ... and certainly do-able for an old man. I wasn't disappointed ... the trail up was a bit of a scramble, but the reward was enormous!

I had a powerbar and a drink and made a couple of videos and took lots of photos. Wow!

Ice Lake from up on the western slope

When I got back to my campsite I had a tortilla and some peanut butter and continued to be awed by the beauty of that area. In the spirit of old age, I decided to take a nap--but only a short one--to rest my tired bones from the previous day's pull uphill. After my power-nap I putzed with my gear a little and then decided to hike over to the peninsula to see where most people camp. There had to be at least 30-40 campsites over that and a few fire rings (even though fires are prohibited). Most trip reports say that, during the summer months, the campsites are full and late-comers search to find spaces to camp. On this day there was only one tent for a couple of backpackers who were fishing around the lake's edge as I walked over. The campsites on the peninsula were spectacular, but I was glad I was there at a time when I had the place pretty much to myself.

By the time I got back to my big tree the sun was setting to the south of Montezuma and the western slopes were already in the shade. One of the treats about hiking in the western mountains--as opposed to the Appalachians where I usually hike--is the mornings and afternoons when the sun has some of the terrain in the shade and some catching the bright rays. I still remember sitting with my son on the edges of the Grand Canyon watching the sun set and all of the changing shadows ... but that was only 30 years ago ...



After supper I fixed a cup of decaf and leaned back against the old tree and just watched the sun set over the top of the western peaks. Feeling much better about the quality of my hang I put on my long-johns and snuggled in under my Warbonnet Mamba quilt. 

Looks like a turkey skeleton to me ... maybe a zombie turkey

 I was not awakened during that night with the smell of goat farts, but I did wake several times as the winds picked up. There had been breezes throughout the days, as there usually are in the mountains--but these seemed to be heavier than usual breezes. In the south I would have thought that a front of some kind was blowing in/through, but I didn't know my western weather well, so I wasn't sure. Shortly before daylight I heard misting rain hitting my Superfly.

After climbing out of my hammock and checking on my gear hanging on the tree (as I normally do, I had covered my pack with a waterproof pack-cover). It was all dry. I grabbed some Tyvek, my stove, a waterbag, and my food bag and took it over to my Superfly to eat breakfast.

During breakfast I made a command decision to hike out that morning. I had taken provisions to stay three nights, but not knowing the weather patterns of those mountains, I decided to hike on out ... with two options. Option 1 was to camp at the big horse camp next to the bridge over Adam Creek; option 2 was to hike all the way back to my car. I determined that I would make that decision when I go to the horse camp.
 
It took me a bit longer to pack up sitting under my tarp, but it all worked and the tarp was the last thing I stuffed under my pack cover. I put on my Luke's silnylon rain jacket and my Z-pack kilt and got ready to head out. I took my prayer flags off the tree and stuffed them under my pack cover and looked back over the lake valley. Even in the mist it was breath-taking.

Rare beauty in October

I got a little teary hiking back down the trail when I first left the lake area. I'm not sure exactly why ... and I'm not a particularly emotional person (although I cried at My Dog Skip ... and stories about soldiers in Vietnam), but it was probably knowing that I would never be back up there to see that place that was so breath-takingly beautiful. When I turned 70 last year I began to much more earnestly consider my own mortality. It's interesting how one's perspectives change--or, at least mine have. Now every time I go someplace I consider whether or not I'll ever get there again. Most of the places I go in the Sipsey Wilderness are not hard to get to and I know I'll get there again if I live longer (Dang! I sound like I'm on my last leg ...). Ice Lake, though? I'm pretty sure I won't be able to make that climb again. I've enjoyed these photos, though, and the memories ... always the memories.

My son said  he was taking me to Goat Rocks next year ... it's in Washington, near Mt. Adams ... I can't wait!

I hit the tree cycles at their prettiest

Early morning sky just before it began to sprinkle

Adam Creek

Six goats up on the mountain .. squint harder ... see em?

Ice Lake, Wallowa Mountains, Eagle Cap Wilderness

Musings on a Quote from Carrot Quinn: Recent CDT Completer

I followed the blog of a young woman name Carrot Quinn (http://carrotquinn.com/) as she hiked the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). Carrot started at the Mexican border in the spring, but when she got to Cumbres Pass (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cumbres_Pass), to start the San Juan Mountains in southern Colorado, the snow was still too deep--and, according to most CDT hikers, the trail is not well-developed or -maintained, so, it's difficult enough to follow on good days--so, Carrot flipped up to the Canadian border with Montana and hiked south on the CDT.

On day 133 (14 September 2015) she finished her thru hike back at Cumbres Pass and wrote about some of her mixed feelings as she was finishing. Carrot is a pretty good writer and wrote in her blog about leaving the trail ... she said, "Tomorrow I return to the land of chairs, the land of things made by humans, the land where you don't hear elk bugling every night or notice the ptarmagins turning white or listen to the coyotes yip as the sun sets. The land where it doesn't matter if it's raining or if the wind is too strong for a tarp or how many hours you have before dark comes. The land where water doesn't flow magically out of a hole in the mountain and the nights don't rotate between silver-white and pitch-black as the moon waxes and wanes. The land where animal/nature magic is smothered beneath the asphalt, and a little part of you dies as well. The land where the stick-breakers don't dance around you while you sleep, in a circle, holding hands."

Carrot's quote is really special in capturing the downside to finishing a thru hike or any long hike. Versions of her expressions are how I feel every time I come out of the woods back to "civilization." We do occasionally get torrential rains and lots of thunder and lightening storms. We do get some snows in the mountains, which is always wet and heavy and dumps off the trees down your collar as you hike. We do get lots of ice that forms on the trees and melts and falls on your head as you look down for the trail. There aren't many bugling elks in the deep south, but there are hundreds of owls competing for territory, coyotes howling and yipping in the night, grunting feral pigs turning over logs for grubs and crunching on beechnuts, the ubiquitous crows telling everyone that you're nearby, and, of course, the stick-breakers who "dance around you while you sleep ...."  

Thanks, Carrot, for capturing those feelings we all feel when we get off the trail ... I hope you'll keep long-hiking and writing about your experiences ...

Colin Fletcher, in The River, wrote of the conflict between "civilization" and "wilderness" ... "Dedicated urbanites "know" beyond shadow of doubt – because doubt never raises its disturbing head - that civilization is the real world: you only "escape" to wilderness. When you're out and away and immersed, you "know" the obverse: the wilderness world is real, the human world a superimposed facade... The controversy is, of course, spurious. Neither view can stand alone. Both worlds are real. But the wilderness world is certainly older and will almost certainly last longer. Besides, the second view seems far healthier for a human to embrace.”

The continuing conflict between the "land of chairs" and the land of the "stick-breakers" is, perhaps, only in our minds ... but it always adds a level of reality that can only be understood and appreciated by those who have lived in both lands ... I am grateful that I have lived in both ...

Random Thoughts on the Wilderness Experience

I saw a quote by John Muir the other day that really grabbed me. It was, 

"So abundant and novel are the objects of interest in a pure wilderness that unless you are pursuing special studies it matters little where you go, or how often to the same place. Wherever you chance to be always seems at the moment of all places the best; and you feel that there can be no happiness in this world or in any other for those who may not be happy here."   

A bluff near FT 206

 The part of the quote that says, "... it matters little where you go, or how often to the same place ..." is particularly meaningful to me because since 2007 I've camped in the Sipsey Wilderness in the Bankhead National Forest of north Alabama more than 50 times ... I've gone there in each of the 12 months of the year at temperatures between 14º and 97º ... and each time I go, I have a different experience; sometimes very memorable, and sometimes not so memorable, but always glad to be in the woods ...


I've gone by myself most of the time, but occasionally with groups--usually students. I took students in at midnight one night and asked everyone to turn off their headlamps and hear the thousands of night sounds. The students were in awe of the dark night ... that is, until a large barred owl roosting above us screeched like a banshee and flew off through the night. (I think some of them might still be screaming!)




Sometimes there are leaves on the trees and sometimes the hardwoods are barren. I think I love the woods more when there are no leaves on the trees, but when the wildflowers are blooming it takes my breath away because of their beauty. I see blooms each spring that I haven't ever seen before.


Sometimes it's pouring rain, and sometimes I have to work hard to fill my water bottles because it's been so dry. I have about five bluffs I like to camp under when I know there is rain in the forecast. I love to sleep in a tent or hammock in the rain, but cooking in the rain is sometimes too fiddly. Sitting under a bluff and watching it rain nourishes my soul and refreshes my spirit. 

Camping near Borden Creek

Sometimes the trails are cleared of blowdowns, and sometimes I have to scramble over, under, and through fallen trees. I once went to Big Tree and had to fight through a recent blowdown that was not fun to negotiate--remnants were still there months later. After the tornadoes of several years ago, the woods changed dramatically from all of the damage. I still struggle to see the beauty that existed on FT 206 years ago.

Waterfall on FT 209

Sometimes the trails are crowded with hikers and backpackers, and sometimes I've not seen a human the entire four or five days I've been there. One Sunday morning when I was hammock camping on Ship Rock I woke to a professional-quality baritone voice singing, "How Great Thou Art," and echoing up and down the Sipsey canyon. Once I ran into a couple of college students who were carrying their gear in big, black garbage bags because the owned no packs ... they thought they were lost, but they were only 100 yards from where they wanted to go. Once I ran into a little old lady who was trying to hike on every trail in the Wilderness, but had gotten lost when she missed a trail intersection. I was happy to set her on her way up 206 where it crossed the creek. She called me her trail angel.

Waterfall on FT 209

Sometimes I hike on well-maintained trails that have been cleared for horse-riders, and sometimes I bushwhack several miles to my campsite. Once I thought I would take a "shortcut" to my campsite and ended up bushwhacking an extra four and a half miles because I was on a bluff 300' above my trail and couldn't find a place to get down. I never feel like I'm lost in the Sipsey Wilderness because I know the map so well I can find my way back to a main trail or road from anywhere.

I've hiked into the Wilderness early in the morning, and I've hiked in after midnight. During the hot summers, it's much more pleasant to hike at night. I've bushwhacked through briars and deep grass, and I've bushwhacked with snow on the ground.



I've seen deer, feral pigs, snakes, mice, squirrels, and have had a pack of coyotes howl no more than 40 yards from where I was camping. I was frightened the first time I ran into a very large coal black feral hog--the kind with tusks and all--right on the trail I needed to go down. I've run into so many of them over the years that I've learned how not to surprise them and how to shout and scare them away--so far, a confident shout rules the day. 

Big Tree

Now, in all honesty, when I was sitting by my fire one night and an alpha male coyote howled the traditional wolf-sounding howl just 40 yards away, and then his little pack of five or six (it sounded like a dozen) took up the howling and yipping, I leaned up and put a couple of more sticks to build up the fire. I usually hear the coyotes up on the ridge tops, but they must have been hunting down by the river. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck for a few minutes ... at first I thought, WOLF!, but then I thought, there aren't any wolves in Alabama (are there?). Coyotes are generally skittish and this guy and  his pack moved on down the trail. (And, yeah, you're probably thinking of the Stephen King novel ...)



On one two-day trip I saw four copperheads in the trail, but now that the pigs have gotten more numerous, the snake population is smaller, I think. (I always think of the snake-eating pigs in the book/movie Lonesome Dove.) I never kill any snakes I come across ... they help to control the mouse and frog population ... and copperheads are, for the most part, non-aggressive. Watching a snake once, I learned the snakes have a reverse gear in their crawling muscles ... I came upon a large black runner crossing the trail ...black runners generally don't do the zig-zag movement some other snakes to, but just move in a straight line (sometimes very fast) ... When I saw him moving across the trail I stopped ... he stopped ... then when I moved, he put his crawl mechanism in reverse and backed right off of the trail ... it was pretty cool ... except he didn't have the beeper to warn others that he was backing up ... 

I always take ear plugs when I go to the Sipsey Wilderness because the cicadas and tree frogs are sometimes so loud they keep me awake.



I continue to be amazed at the number of people who do not want any part of a wilderness experience. Me? When I get in the wilderness I always wish I had a sign to put up on a nearby tree that says, Home.