Home ·· News Room ·· Prints ·· Licensing ·· Gallery ·· About Us ·· Contact Us ·· Articles ·· Services Fall Road Trip, September 26 to October 11, 2007 Updated November 6, 2007 Page 3 of 5 Previous page   Next page
	Road trip continued... Donning full rain gear, consisting of a blue Marmot Precip jacket and shell pants and Outdoor Research gaiters to protect my body while a black trash bag was used to keep my backpack out of the freezing rain, I headed up the trail. The immediate objective was to gain enough altitude to get into the frozen precipitation to keep dry. However, the small annoyance of the Achilles yesterday had grown in intensity, slowing me down. Also, the need to keep the hiking speed down to avoid potentially life-threatening sweat caused me to constantly adjust my speed. The wind driven rain forced me to stop and turn my back to the driving wetness more than once for minutes. Soon, the effort paid off and the rain turned to grapple and slush. Another 10 minutes of hiking brought me to a mix of frozen rain, grapple, hail and a few flakes. Thing improved when the wind died or was blocked by rocks and trees. Now that the sky was dropping no rain on me, I wasn't getting soaked. It was only getting colder. It's been years since I'd camped and hiked in wet conditions. I've been in plenty of snow storms but no rain. That's just a reflection of living in California and last minute trip planning. You have a much better chance of avoiding adverse weather. As the rain completely stopped, replaced by snow, my spirits improved. The only thing that cut into my enjoyment of the moment was when the wind picked up to a roar and blasted ice and snow into my face, making forward progress impossible. But, as the wind slackened, I let out a wild laugh at the though of continuing on into the storm, moving uphill toward Lake Solitude. The wind was swirling the snow around to the point that it was impossible to make out the far shore of small Lake Solitude. My self picture at the Lake Solitude sign of 9,038 feet tells the story. Wind, snow and temperatures well below freezing gave me a taste of the real Rockies storm experience. Again, I reveled in the moment and laughed out loud at being attracted to such challenges - the tougher, the better. I yelled into the wind, gave a Jack Nicholson crazed, maniacal laugh and faced into the blasting gale with outstretched hands. Now things were turning fun! Going up toward Paintbrush Divide, the wind was to my back and pushed me along uphill. My shell jacket and hood protected my head and neck from the icy sting of blow snow. It finally paid off carrying all this bad weather gear. Hauling up the south face of Paintbrush Divide took longer than I'd anticipated. Once, it appeared I had reached the crest, arriving at a saddle looking down the opposite side of the hill. As the trail turned again to continue upward, hopes of an easy ascent and keeping under the clouds were dashed. It was a good half hour to the top. Fortunately, the trail direction allowed me to keep my back to the wind, making the bad weather bearable. On top of Paintbrush Divide, the storm clouds completely obscured the trail, making it difficult to follow the path. Falling snow had also nearly obliterated the difference between being on the trail or lost. It looked as though another half foot of snow will make this traverse a route finding exercise. As the clouds blew over and opened up on the divide, the way became clear again. Voices floated up the trail to me and I glimpsed four backpackers coming up the north side of Paintbrush Divide. It was immediately obvious the south approach was far easier and it was educational to watch this crew struggle up the deeper northern slope snow. Going down the steep, ice covered loose rock trail was respectably treacherous. One or two parts turned into a Class II scramble, required me to turn around and kick step into the snow and climb down. Very careful attention was paid to foot placement. Going up in these sections is much easier. It appeared as though much more snow on this side of the slope will make an ice axe and crampons necessary. The group of four coming up to meet me looked like they were carrying enough gear for a week. But, they revealed they were only out for one night, sleeping at the Holly Lake, going over Paintbrush Divide, past Lake Solitude and back down Cascade Canyon. Will was heading up the group of three women, two on their first real backpacking trip. What a deal they had signed up for. This was quite the maiden voyage for those two young women. Now it was all down hill to the trail head at Leigh Lake. I picked up speed to take advantage of the momentarily clear conditions. The entire canyon was soon enveloped in a cloud-filled fog blanket, making it impossible to see the purported grandeur of the canyon. The trade for that loss was the absolute silence of the forest, save the noises I made. It was a surreal experience, being only able to see a short distance but knowing I was surrounded by the vast emptiness of Paintbrush Canyon, bathed in diffuse cool blue cloud light. All the way down, a light snow fall kept me company, dampening the forest sounds even more. It was a wonderful way to welcome the fall season. Later on down the trail, several couples and families passed me, headed toward Holly Lake for the day. That lake seemed to be the day hiking destination, as everyone was interested in how much longer it was to the lake. As I was rapidly hauling down hill, I was unable to provide an accurate measure, so I randomly under-guessed to keep the people happy. No one wants to hear they still are far away from their destination in these conditions. More than one couple was just wearing jeans and nylon windbreakers. That's rather brave considering the current weather. Down at the lake junction, the trail flattened out to a rolling grade and made walking much easier, as my Achilles was starting to develop a warm, almost burning sensation, indicating a more serious problem was developing. Once over the bridge spanning String Lake, a sharp stabbing pain struck my foot and slowed me to a hobble. Whatever was going to happen just did, only one measly mile from the terminus of my backpack. So close. Had I taken a slower pace, whatever just happened might not have. Life is full of those events of speculation. I hobbled over to my bike and prepared to ride back down the park. 26 total hours of actual hiking had brought me these 39 miles through the most spectacular scenery. Amazingly, all the parts of my bike were still attached to the cable and I didn't lose my keys. Things were looking up. Even though the bike ride through the park was permeated with teeth-gritting pain every 5 minutes, the ride was downhill along the park road. All the while, weathered threatened to open up on me. As I rode along, like I did in the Bristle Cone Pine forest in California, I realized riding is an awesome way to see parks. It's much faster than walking but still far more immersed in the raw experience compared to driving. I resolved to experience the outdoors like this more in the future. That is, when I didn't have shooting pains, making me yell into the wind. Stopping at the picnic turnout and setting down my gear, I walked around a little bit and snacked, while a magpie came to inspect my momentarily unattended backpack. Perhaps this was the same wild bird who had seen me off three days before? Other than the feathered visitor, the ride down the park and along the Moose-Wilson road was uneventful. It was good to have the extremely low gears of my Specialized mountain bike, as my nagging injury cut my gear torque to nil. I returned to my truck parked at the Granite Canyon trail head, shed my backpack and tossed the chariot into the truck bed, then sat on the tailgate and rested for a moment. Reflecting on the past three 13 mile days with two steep runs to keep me honest, clouds bounded down the canyon and overhead, oblivious to my ruminations. On the way back to Jackson, I stopped at Teton Village for lunch at the Mangy Moose lounge. The French dip sandwich was in stark contrast to the bland bars I'd lived off the previous three days. A bustling lunch crowd piled in shortly after my arrival and the place came alive. It wasn't like the wild Fridays of the ski season, but it was enough to make the mangy moose hanging above my head smile. The rest of the day was spent limping around and cleaning up gear. With no rain in Jackson, it was easy to dry out gear and spin my body and brain down for a rest. Aunt Nancy treated me a dinner at a great Mexican place to bookend the backpacking trip. Throughout the great mole enchilada, I regaled my experiences and the stunning sights. Sunday, September 30, 2007 Sunday was a construction day at Aunt Nancy's condo. She needed door locks changed, pictures hung, a computer worked on and other projects looked after. It was good to do the low scale work since I could hardly walk on my right foot. We toured all the different commercial buildings of Jackson to make the necessary purchases and get things installed, cleaned up or repaired. For supper, we just didn't get enough of Bubba's earlier in the week so we found ourselves there again. This time, I enjoyed blackened catfish and hush puppies. They were a throwback to the January trip through the south with Alf. After enjoying a hearty meal, we returned to the condo and I was out in mere moments. Monday, October 1, 2007 Anticipating departing for Idaho today, I cleaned up things and got ready. After a discussion of the Photography at the Summit lectures at the National Wildlife Museum with Aunt Nancy, I changed my mind and decided to delay a day. At worst, it was just a change of plans. At best, an educational set of lectures. The latter ended up being the case. Previous page   Next page
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