Sierra's Hike Day 4: Frenchy turns American

TOP LEFT: Crew (minus Karen) atop Colby Pass - 12,000 feet (Joanna, Cliff, Frenchy, Lumpy, Bob)

TOP RIGHT: Sunrise looking up towards Colby Pass from Colby Lake camp

BOTTOM LEFT: Cliff "swimming" in Colby Lake

Definitely the most eventful day to date. We broke camp to an incredible sunrise coming over the top of Colby Pass, the incremental 2,000 feet switchbacked climb that awaited us after breakfast. Joanna's feet had finally stopped bleeding, and everyone else was getting used to their aches and pains. We dressed, broke camp, and started our trek alongside the lake. At the far end, just before starting up the pass, Cliff stops, drops pack, and trousers, and just dives in the lake. He said that he couldn't leave without one more dip! So, we all joined him, which led to us taking about 2 more hours to begin the day's hike (joanna's feet take about an hour to tape up alone!)

The hike up the pass was tough, but better than that up Avalanche pass, so we must finally be getting acclimated to the elevation. We spent a few minutes up top enjoying the incredible view, then started down the far side. We were making good time, and wanted to not only get down the far side of the pass, but try to crest a smaller intermediate crest before heading up towards the John Muir Trail (JMT).

The intermediate crest turned out to be an absolute bear of a climb, very rocky, exposed, and vertical. As we approached the top, the trail got narrower and narrower, until finally it was almost a scramble to a "keyhole". Basically this is when you crest over a mountain top, then immediately drop back downward, with no place to "hang out". It was scary, exposed, and coming at the end of a long day when you're already tired, very, very tough. We decided that this would be a bad place to camp, and pushed towards the bottom of the pass, where there was water, some ground cover, and hopefully something other than exposed rock to sleep on.

On the trek down, Frenchy, who to date had been invincible, stepped onto a rock and seriously twisted her ankle. It was not a good situation; we were at the most remote spot of the trip, we still had about 1,000 feet to hike down that evening and darkness was fast approaching, and she was carrying a very heavy pack that we'd have to unload off of her. And, along with blowing out her ankle, the sole of her shoe at toe had torn free, basically leaving it flapping off the bottom of her boot. All in all, not a good situation.

We couldn't afford to tape her up, as removing her boot would allow her ankle to swell, and there was no running water nearby to chill the ankle. So, we had her drop pack and start a VERY slow hike down the hill, while the boys hiked ahead to drop gear, setup camp, and then send cliff back up the mountain to pickup her pack. It took a couple of hours in total to get her down, along with the gear, and by then we were in darkness. Camp setup in darkness is much more difficult, we had one less person to help (as we stuck Frenchy's leg in the nearby ice cold creek), and we had no time to scout campsite, bear evidence, etc.

This was the low point of the trip; we talked about our options that night if she was unable to hike out. It would mean that at least 2 of us would have to break off, and hike ahead, out the east side of the mountain range, and get ahold of rangers, who would have to helicopter her out (no radio or cellular coverage for probably 20-30 miles). Time consuming, fraught with logistical issues, and expensive. Nobody had a restful sleep that night. And if Frenchy was no longer invincible, what did that foretell for us mere mortals?

The next morning, the swelling was down some, and she felt that she could proceed, at least for a while. We unloaded her pack, she taped up her ankle, and off we went. Our destination today was the John Muir Trail, where we would have turned south for the Mt Whitney climb; now we'll be turning north on our way back to Road's End, via a bear of a pass called Forrester (at 13,000 feet).

It was a very long day again, slowed by joanna's foot pace, and michelle's ankle pace. Well, and my jelly-belly pace, and bob's doing calculus in his head pace, and...

More to come...

Lumpy out

Sierra's Hike Day 3: "We're going to get bloody on this one, Rog"

Title Quote courtesy of Warner Brothers (Lethal Weapon)

LEFT: Ascending Colby Pass looking down on Colby Lake (we climbed up through the saddle in the picture top, this was taken the next am when we're climbing up towards Colby Pass)

RIGHT: Lumpy in his usual position, just before leaving the forest and going above treeline

The climb today was substantial again, another 5,000 foot uphill, over rocks, with switchback. But, the view was priceless. We were basically ascending through a saddle in between a series of 10-12,000 foot peaks. Our destination today is Colby Lake...which could be anything from a field of sand, to a lovely mountain lake...you really don't know till you get there, as there's little snow left on the peaks, and the creeks coming out of the lakes are draining them down quickly. Ah, hydrologics in motion...

On the way up the pass, I pause to do the "one finger blow" with my nose, known as the most effective way to clear trail dust out of ones nostrils. I continue on hiking, and a few minutes later notice that my shirt is covered in blood; as is my hand, my hiking pole, my watch, and my short. In fact, I'm bleeding worse than a steer at a slaughterhouse (I put that in for all my vegeterian friends). Blood is just pouring out of me, like a lamb at Yom Kippur (I put that in for all my jewish friends). In fact, blood is pooling on the ground, like...oh well, you get the idea. Lots and lots of blood, probably 4-5 quarts or more. I holler up to Dr. Karen, who's a bit uphill of me, "Help, I'm dying". In her usual compassionate doctor voice, she yells back "Well, hike your lumpy ass up here and I'll take a look at it". Like it's not worth her while to hike back DOWN to me to make sure that I'm not dying. After working on it for a few minutes with toilet paper and such, she says "Well, we're going to have to stick a tampon in your nose to stem the bleeding".

OK, not I've done a bunch of really weird and dumb stuff in my day (breaking a table in half with my head at an indoor water fight while dressed in a pink ballerina outfit with a helmet on comes to mind, as an example) but NO FREAKIN' WAY am I going to stuff a tampon up my nose. I don't care if there's no humans for 20 miles in any direction. Upon hearing this, 4 other hikers (named Cliff, Bob, Karen, and Frenchy) appear from nowhere, camera's in hand, all waiting for that "special moment" when the tampon is hanging out of my nose. Didn't care a bit about me beforehand, didn't care that I was bleeding to death. But, hey, have a "Kodak Tampon Moment" and they're all there for me!

Anyhow, the gods must have taken pitty on me, because as Karen is getting the tampon out, low and behold, the bleeding stops. Or, maybe I just ran out of blood. Whatever, I'm happy, the tampon is happy, and the camera crew is in tears.

Continuing on up the pass, 20 lbs of toilet paper stuffed up my nose (and let me tell you HOW MUCH FUN it is to try to hike up a vertical wall, at 10,000 feet, with just one usable nostril), we come across "Shovel Boy". Shovel Boy was a 20 something hunking stud, on summer ranger detail, hiking around shirtless on the trails, and resetting rocks where trails were collapsing into canyons. After prying Dr Karen off him, he told us all kind of good stories, like the time sweat dripped down his chest and he had to wipe it off himself, and the time back when he only had a six pack, instead of his current 8 pack, oh, and the time that his biceps were still under 20 inches.

Frankly, I was ready to pit Cliff against him in a battle to the death, well, except for the fact that cliff is under 120 lbs, and his six pack is basically the imprint of his liver and spleen popping through his skin. So, we decided to let him live THIS TIME...

So, we ended up loosing a couple of prime hiking hours, but it was worth it just to quell Dr Karen's libido (you say lib-e-do, I say lib-i-do). Perhaps now the moans won't be so loud all night from her tent.

We make Colby Lake by nightfall, and it was incredible. As turquoise as any lake I've seen anywhere, crystal clear, and even warm enough for a (short) dip. We all get a good swim in, get cleaned up for the first time in a few days, and lay outside for a while watching the most incredible starfield. Nothing like sleeping "2 miles high"!

From near the top of the world (or at least CA)

Lumpy out

Sierra's Hike Day 2: The Dream Fades Away...

LEFT: Hiking crew in their natural state...Note that they couldn't even get off the trail to pass out cold!

We awoke this morning refreshed, but still in all troubled by the impedements to our trip...Joanna's feet, our lack of mileage, lack of elevation acclimation and our food overage. Cliff and I had a long talk in the tent about how to handle things; we were especially concerned about Joanna. She had the stamina to make the trip, but with her feet torn up so badly on day 1, we seriously doubted that she could ever make the 8 days. Hamburger's tough to hike on. And, once we got in, we're in, with the only way out hiking back out. We discussed whether one of us should hike her back out now, while we were only a day in, or whether we should have everybody hike out, and just spend the week doing day hikes with the group, instead of one big hike.

Additionally, we were already 5 miles down from our day 1 goal, only getting in 9 miles instead of the planned 14. We had based our mileage plan upon our prior year (Lake) Tahoe Rim Trail hike, but clearly this terrain, altitude, and pack weight was a very different beast altogether. Whereas we had numerous days over 20 miles at Tahoe, it seemed like 10 or so was probably what we were going to accomplish here, at least in the early days of the hike.

So, decision time. Do we (1) hike back out, either with just joanna or with everybody, (2) keep on going but make it a shorter loop without Mt Whitney, our trip goal (albeit we had very few alternative routing options), (3) hike to Whitney, come out the East side of the sierra's, and then try to somehow manage logistics to get us the 300ish miles back around to Road's End on the West side (hitchhike, steal a car, horseback/yak, jump a train, piggyback ride on Cliff...). After chatting it over with the whole group, we all felt that we would foresake Mt Whitney, for the sake of getting in a whole week backcountry hike, assuming we could get Joanna's feet through it. Whitney would still be there for another time, and this week backcountry would give us serious training and knowledge for another attempt. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor.

So, Joanna dropped a roll of duct tape on her feet, along with various ointments, and away we went, deeper into the mountains. No turning back now!

As we came off the 10,000 foot avalanche pass, we came upon a group of boy scouts, apparently waiting for a priest to come by get them their "pedophile victim" merit badge and...no wait, different blog....anyhow, they were out for a week also, but were doing it via resupply. Their resupply had not come in, and they were out of food. WHAT LUCK....WE HAVE COUS-COUS FOR YOU!!!!! So, we dropped (literally) 15 lbs of cous-cous off with them; they were thrilled (probably never haven eaten cous-cous before I suppose), we were thrilled (less weight, less cous-cous), and the scat-eating critters were thrilled, as cous-cous makes you blow out like Mt St Helens. Win-Win-Win all around! Karen of course tried to stuff 2 of the cuter ones in her pack for "use" later in the hike, but we were able to release them while she slept.

We're headed towards Colby Pass next, our first 12,000 peak. It's a long hike (1 1/2 days), with 7,000 ft of elevation in front of us, but at least cous-cous was behind us. And as they say, no cous is good cous.

Lumpy out

Sierra's Hike Day 1: Are those feet or hamburger?

Top Left: Michelle, Karen, Bob on bridge over Bubbs Creek (our last sign of human infrastructure for 7 days)

Top Right: Joanna's feet after 1 day on-trail (not to be confused with a McDonald's Big Mac)

Lower Right: Crew at trailhead - Cliff, Karen, Gary, Gary's stomach, Joanna, Bob, Michelle

We're up and out of the motel by 5am, just a few minutes late from plan. We were delayed by Michelle having to do her makeup, and Bob having to practice his morning "scream therapy". Apparently it's something he does 5x daily (kind of like praying to Mecca) ever since "the incident". But, it seems to work for him, as it keeps his otherwise whispery voice up to a level that everyone within 200 yards can hear him. I can say with good faith that the truckers and migrants at the motel were REALLY happy when the first "YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYA" came out of Bob at 3:34am. As was his roomate (me), since he didn't bother leaving the room before letting the first yodel out.

After a painful (being kind) drive up to Roads End (yes, the real name of the trailhead. apparently they just stopped building the road at this point in the mountains...maybe WWII intervened or something) we arrive at the trailhead. There's several other groups heading out this morning alongside us, including a set of boy scouts, with their portable nintendos and machette's (to fight off the bear, I guess). Damn, we NEVER got to carry machette's when I was a boy scout.

We leave with the guys carrying ~ 70 lbs each, and the gals carrying ~ 50 lbs (higher % of body weight, except for Joanna who probably weighs around 230 lbs...well, with a 200 lb weight strapped on her waist anyways). This is big weight for a hike, but we have trained hard and, ah hell, I can't say that in good faith. Other than cliff, we're all just slovenly middle age people. That's if end age is 100 years old!

Today's goal was avalanche pass, (up 5,000 feet of vertical, from our 5,000 foot starting point), with a stretch goal of the valley just beyond. We've found over the years that you have to have a realistic goal and a stretch goal for every day, else you tend to meander or break too much. The first few miles of the trail were nice and gentle, mostly sandy terrain, with little vertical to speak of. Then, we crossed the Bubbs Creek bridge. It's call this because sometime back in history, a ranger used to poke you on the shoulder and say "Hey Bubb, what are you a MORON or something wanting to climb this rockface". But, alas, the ranger is no longer there, and we had no clue what we were in for. It was basically 5 miles straight uphill, 4,990 feet of vertical, over rocks, with each switchback getting steeper and steeper. After about 6 hours of climbing, we finally topped off at Avalanche Pass (at 10,000 feet) and nearly dropped over dead from exhaustion. Michelle, who we've now named "Frenchie" (see earlier blog reference to French Canadian Chicks) blows us all away, and is first over the top. Unfortunately, she stops there to refresh her makeup and do her toenails, and Karen passes her and wins the "first up the mountain award".

We're all carrying bear bells, which are basically little bells that ring continuously while you're hiking, ostensibly to ward off bears. We run into a fellow from Alaska while ascending, and he tells us "do you know how you can tell it's bear scat (poop)? from all the bear bells in it!". Apparently, the bear bells just let the grizzlies know where you are so it's easier for them to eat you. Plus, it provides nice dinner music to accompany your screams.

So, we get to camp at days end, only to find out that (1) Joanna's feet have turned to hamburger (apparently wrong socks), (2) a bear stole Karen's new pair of sunglasses (I bet there's one damn cool bear out there somewhere, (3) Cliff felt he wasn't carrying enough weight, so he added a sequoia tree to his pack along the way, and (4) Bob REALLY likes cous-cous (which is a grain made from the exotic Cous plant, found only in northern minnesota). We get dinner prepp'd only to find out that we have enough cous-cous for 60 people, not 6. And that's if they eat it morning, noon, and night, with cous-cous shakes for dessert. After taking inventory, we decide that we have to shed some food sometime soon, or we will all die from exhaustion. Our bear cannisters (big round plastic jug-like things) are packed, and we have to hang some 50 lbs of food from ropes in the trees. That takes the rest of the evening till nightfall, when we all fall dead asleep in our tents.

To minimize tent weight, Joanna had the pick of the litter guywise (3 tents for 6 people) to bunk with. She, unfortunately for her, choose bob. I think she was a bit shaken up when he did his scream therapy on Day 2 morning... As did cliff, but I think it was from waking up with my socks on his face.

Quote of the day (from Karen): Gravity's a Bitch...

Lumpy out

Trader Joe's is Heaven

LEFT: Michelle spends the day hard at work sucking down margaritas while we all shop and pack. Note brazillian pool boy running over with another round in background










The day before a big adventure is always filled with nervousness and errands. Today in Fresno was no different, except for the fact that it was ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE DEGREES OUTSIDE!!! And, that's just ambient temperature. It was probably 130 on the blacktop. Luckily we had an open-top Jeep with no air conditioning.

I stopped in the motel office to check on some things, and found the funniest sight. There was a mexican couple checking in, and getting a room for two. About 10 minutes later, 3 pickup truck loads of mexican kids pulled up to the motel, and went with them to the pool, where they proceeded to spend about 8 hours owning the place. I guess that's the mexican equivalent of a theme park - adults pay $60, kids get in free. Cute kids though; they even came with their own battery powered margarita mixer.

We spent the day shopping for food and gear. Karen, had purchased a pair of $200 sunglasses (can you say too much disposable income?) on her last day in Boston. Unfortunately for her, she placed them on the TSA security belt at the airport, where they were confiscated for looking "to arabic". They did however look nice on the TSA screener. So, Karen had to go buy a new pair Fresno, which involved 4 shops, trying on about 150 pair, one salesperson who had heat stroke from going in the stockroom so many times, and us sitting in the jeep at 130 degrees waiting on her for 4 hours. But, in the end, they did look nice on her, and should help her marketly in her quest for the perfect Brazilian pool boy.

My favorite store of the day was Trader Joes. If you're unfortunate enough to live in a city without them, think the Armani of Food. Everything top notch, but 6 times the price of regular groceries, with hairy legged women working the registers, and earthy-crunchy, teva-wearing shoppers. I barely got out alive with my Buffalo jerky (the animal, not the city), and chocolate covered expresso beans. NOTE TO SELF: Taking chocolate covered express bean on a hike when it's 130 degrees was not my smartest move. Took me hours to wipe the chocolate out of the pack...

We're leaving at 4am for the drive up the mountain to Roads End (the real name), so I'm off to beddy-by with visions of bears eating my chocolate-covered express bean coated backpack.

Lumpy out

Garlic; No, Garleeek!

(Clockwise from Top Left): X-Games stunt rider "riding the rail"; Garlic mushrooms, soaking in garlic oil, with minced garlic covering; The Gilroy Garlic Festival mascot; Wonder why it's FREE??? Because you need a colonoscopy when you finish eating it!!!

Last day before I head into hike mode, and all eyes (noses, mouths, and colons) are on the Gilroy Garlic Festival. I'd heard about this for years, but never had the pleasure of attending before, so I just HAD to make it a part of my trip this year. The festival was awesome; bands, stunt boarders/bikers/bladers, and garlic everything. Anything that you could ever think of dipping in garlic was available. Various meats, vegetables, things on a stick, things in a bowl, and, of course, ice cream.

One of the funniest sights was the parking "lot". It was a HUGE furrowed field (where I assume they grow garlic) that everybody had to drive over. While in the jeep, I had no issues, but nothing funnier than watching car after car of porsche's, BMW's, etc having to drive through a field. Thank god I didn't bring my mini cooper along; the plow lines were higher than the car.

The X-Games exhibition was awesome. A 30 ft ramp, with competitors on stunt bikes, rollerbaldes, and skateboards all doing their tricks. 360's, 720's, and the boarder even pulled off a 1080 (3 full revolutions). A "flatlander" stunt cyclist actually flipped his bike completely over and "rode" upside down on his rear wheel. Very cool, and an awesome display of talent. Plus, they had cheerleaders. What more could you ask for?

Bands included a solid C&W band playing standards like Mustang Sally, Folsom Prison Blues, and Sweet Home Alabama. The rednecks were out in force, dancing up a storm. Somehow I think C&W music and dancing should be distanced from each other. Then there was a gal who I saw in the play Love, Janis (about Janis Joplin, an awesome stage show if you get the chance) doing a gig with her band. They were killer, and her Joplin was spot on.

After a full day at the garlic festival, and thanksfully to humanity with the jeep top down and a 4 pack of TP onboard, I drove up to Stanford in Palo Alto, met my new hiking buddy Michelle, and headed up the long drive to Fresno to rendezvous with everyone for the hike prep. The drive was uneventful by CA standards, given the 4 HOUR backup going over the hill for an accident, and roads named "15 3/4 mile road" (what drug were they on when they did these naming conventions?).

We arrive in Fresno late night, meet up with Karen and Bob, and go to sleep with visions of switchbacks dancing in our heads.

Tomorrow's Post: Hike Prep in Fresno..

Lumpy out!

Go West Young Man!

LEFT: Gilroy Garlic Festival runway

Monday morning, 4am, and I'm exhausted from my recent weekend training activities. But, off I go to the Rochester International Airport (International because apparently some Canadian once got off here) to wing my way out to California. Upon arrival, I fight the Bay traffic (ughh, back in a "big city" again), and head up to Mt Tam. It's actually Mt Tamaupululahiaimkahanamanamaiaiasteinbergshalom, but the locals all just call it Mt Tam. It's kind of sacred ground to us cyclist, as it's considered the place where the first mountain bike race occurred. As I drive up the mountain to go hike, I come across an old mexican man selling produce roadside. I stop and buy some cashews, banana chips, and other assorted fruits. He gives me a handful of cherries as thanks; they were incredibly juicy, so I buy a big bag of them and devour them, singing as I'm climbing up the mountain, and tossing cherry pits out the window at the porsche's driving by. Seems like everyone on Mt Tam drives a porsche (well, maybe the hired help drives BMW'ers). Lot's of money out here. I'm in a jeep (original, not some pansy-ass SUV) and driving over every object I can; bushes, concrete barriers, small children.

I hike a few hours out on Mt Tam, then head to my friends house in Sausalito. Now Sausalito, for those of you who have never been there, is a nirvana kind of place; situated right on San Francisco bay, populated with scores of little touristy stores and restaurants, and, when it's not under fog (which is basically 12-14 hrs/day), has incredible weather. I have dinner with my friends Deb and Ed, and stay at their shack on the bay. It's embarrasingly small (you'd think that they could have something more than a trailer after all these years), and only the addition of the elevator to take you up and down the FOUR floors makes the visit worthwhile. Well, that and the 187 smoke alarms that all went off simultaneously at 4am. I thought a freighter ship was driving right through the house. Ed was his useful placid, thoughtful self, as he ran through the house tearing the smoke alarms out of the ceiling one after the other, and tossing them into the Bay. He must have been a pillar of stability in the San Fran hospital ER working on the hermaphrodites!

Tuesday I head down to one of my favorite little seaside towns, Santa Cruz (SC). SC is kinda the consumate surfer-dude town, with an old amusement park, a VERY liberal downtown (the bookstore sells Al Gore books under "Conservative Manifesto's"), yoga studios, surfing beaches, and, of course, smoked hippies. Not smoked as in "I had some of that smoked jerky this morning", no, smoked as in "shouldn't have done that 27th tab of LSD last night". They were scores of them walking and laying around the downtown area, harmless, but a sorry sight nevertheless. I think this is where the slogan "A mind is a terrible thing to waste" was coined.

There's lots of interesting sights as I troll around SC; low-rider pickups totally crack me up, they seem so totally dysfunctional. Hey, I can put 4 head of lettuce in the back, and STILL have room for my Goya beans. Spanish radio is on full-volume in about half the cars; every other song has mariacha guitars and is about "mi corazon, mira mira" which (for those of you who don't speak spanish as fluently as I do) roughly translates into "My heart, it is exploding from the refried beans I ate for lunch". I eat stuffed burritos every meal (god, I miss real mexican food), and then try to get through the evening without a reverse colostomy. You get the visual.

It's interesting that the weight problem is not as pervasive in CA as it is back East; I'd forgotten how much better looking all the people are, as they actually get out of the house and do activities. Maybe there's hope for the 90% of kids who are going to be diabetics before their 16th birthdays after all. I stop at one diner for breakfast, and they have "not kidding here" the "migrant breakfast" - a 5 (five) (FIVE) egg omlette, hash (eatable, not smokeable), a 6 oz steak, 2 slices of toast, 4 slices of bacon, 4 sausages, and (my favorite) a small juice. I down two...hey, BP is finally under 200 since I've quit working, might as well live the wild life.

Along the culinary line, I also get to stop at my favorite snack shack, In-N-Out burgers. I never miss stopping on any trips to CA; they have the best burgers, fries, and shakes on the planet, bar none. I could live there.

After a few days R&R in SC, I head up to Gilroy, for their nationally famous Garlic Festival. More on that next post...had to be there to believe it

Lumpy

Back to Civilization

Hi all,
Just back to civilization today, after a grueling 20 hour return trip from CA to NY (ain't airlines great...). Will start the Sierra's post this week. Stay tuned, great stories!!!

Lumpy