Tag: backpacking

Light at the End of the Tunnel

 

The afternoon rain nourished the ground,
But left your fingers cold, wet, and numb.
Your hands feel like blocks of wood.
The situation is miserable,
But a hot cup of coffee awaits.

It was only a riffle,
But the canoe turned over anyway,
And all of your stuff is soaked.
There’s a warm and stiff breeze,
So just pull over to the bank,
Unpack your gear, set it out,
And let the wind work its drying magic.

The snow has gotten into your boots,
And your socks are sopping wet.
Your toes are beginning to ache
And lose feeling.
But the cabin is nearby,
And you’ll soon have your bare feet
Propped up on a chair and warming in front of the wood stove.

The early morning rain shower
Was unfortunate, timing-wise.
The tent fly is completely saturated
And it’s time to pack up and leave.
So just stuff it in the bag as is.
Soon enough, you’ll have it spread out
And drying under a blaring sun.

The conditions are brutal above treeline,
But that’s where you are.
High winds are blowing the snow
Directly into your face,
Stinging, burning, and limiting what you can see.
But the calm of the refugio
Is only a few minutes away.

Somehow, you got the tent set up in the rain,
Before the full force
Of the storm arrived.
Now it’s really coming down.
But” glory be!” –you’re warm and dry
Inside the tent and zipped up in your sleeping bag

There’s no moon, and the night is incredibly dark.
You’ve put on all the clothes you have
But are still cold.
You bundle up in your sleeping bag
As much as you can, but your shivering is out of control.
Then, you remember
That dawn is coming,
And tomorrow is supposed to be hot and sunny.

Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere.
You’re alone, it’s late-night, and you’re
Distressed by the thought of all the things you don’t have.
But then, you realize what you do have,
Which includes no pressing schedule
And a pleasantly warm night ahead.
And so, you recline the seat,
Close your eyes, and relax yourself to sleep.

The thunder and lightning are especially terrifying
From your up-close position under the tree.
Thankfully, you got your raingear on
Before the thunderstorm unleashed its torrent.
It begins to rain hard,
But the time between thunder and lightning
Is beginning to lengthen,
And you know that means the storm is moving away.

Rest comes easier,
When you know there is,
Light at the end of the tunnel.

Anchoring the Tent

 

Stranger on the Trail

 

The Tarryall Mountains

He yelled at us to stop, seemingly from out of nowhere. I was startled by the sound, but frightened when I saw the ragged looking man standing only 50 feet to our side, but thankfully across a dry gully. I was leading a group of 9 teenage backpackers down the trail, headed back to our Base Camp facility after a week out in the Lost Creek Wilderness. We’d be back in less than an hour except for whatever was about to happen. The lone man was probably in his 40s, unkempt, and had a Pit Bull by his side.

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Naked Backpacking

 

Backpacking

We were backpacking on the Big Island of Hawaii along the Mulawai Trail. The first night out, we camped in Waipio Canyon. Then, the next day we headed toward Waimanu Canyon and stopped for the night to camp on a rustic camping platform provided by the state’s Division of Forestry and Wildlife. The shelter was conveniently located on a mountaintop within a day’s walking distance of the trailhead and was a welcome sight after our long and hot climb through the jungle and up the Z Switchbacks. We reached the elevated platform in the middle of the afternoon, and since there was still plenty of daylight left and we were all physically drained, everyone picked a spot and stretched out on the shaded and relatively clean plywood for a quick nap. As I dozed off, I thought contentedly of gentle breezes, juicy Lilikoi fruit, and thick clouds. Josh and I were the guides for the group of 8 teenage boys, a fact that would eventually come into play. But for the moment, we all just slept.

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Lost Garret and the Trail

 

Colorado mountains
Miles and Miles of Wild

If all went as planned, we’d get to our Wind River Range campsite by late afternoon, which would leave us with plenty of daylight for setting up the tents, organizing gear, and even resting a bit before cooking supper. Our backpacks were heavy, but being mostly young and fit, by lunch we’d already covered 10 of the 15 miles planned for the day. At just a little after 1 o’clock, we crossed Roaring Fork Creek and stopped on the other side to change out of our river shoes and eat our midday meal of tuna, Bolton Biscuits, and gorp. Among other things, the stop also provided a nice break from the uphill grind we’d been on for the past several hours.

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Fishhook in the Eye

 

Backcountry Fishing

Thankfully, we only got a few miles up the Wind River Range’s Middle Fork Trail, before we stopped and set up our first night’s camp. As it turned out, the whole treble hook situation would’ve been way more complicated had we gone further into the backcountry on that first day.

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A Place Worth Going

Relaxing after a long bushwhack
Soaking in the Backcountry

We called it the “Valley of the Dinosaurs,” mostly because of the humongous rock formations scattered all around. They dominated the remote high valley in Colorado’s Tarryall Mountains with their sheer size. And they breathed a strange sort of life into the area that had convinced me early on that the whole place was somehow on the move. I could never pick out any one thing that caused me to think that—it was more like a general, overwhelming, and deep gut feeling that had me convinced. I was consumed by the place’s pure and simple beauty and sensed the place was more alive than me from the first time I blundered into it. Through the years, I took every opportunity to return. And while the physical cost of getting there was never cheap- without fail, it was always worth it.

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To Be a Wuss

Crossing Pinto Park Pass

Rico, or “Tarzan” as he  preferred to be called, hadn’t felt very strong since lunch. His backpack seemed exceedingly heavy, and the big uphill into Pinto Park was yet to come. He’d never been a complainer before and was intent on not becoming one right then. The feeling was new to him, and he wanted to figure out what was going on, so he could keep moving ahead in his accustomed dominant and carefree fashion. Perhaps, he reasoned, his weakness problem had something to do with the creek water he drank at lunch.

He recalled the Strep he had back during the winter and began to wonder if maybe this wasn’t that. But since there was no sore throat, he was pretty sure it wasn’t. “No, this is something different,” he decided.

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Fetching Water

 

Waiting for the water to boil

I headed to the creek to get a pot full of water.
And tripped on a root on my way back to camp.
I staggered and stumbled but didn’t fall,
Then dropped the pot and spilled it all.

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Morning on the Trail

Backpacker hiking up slick rock in Mexico's Copper Canyon
Backpacking up the slick rock in Copper Canyon

Out of the tent and into the morning,
What will the new day have to say?

The fresh morning air is crisp and clear,
The soon-to-be coffee will be hot and dear,
And my mind is most certainly full of cheer.

The air is filled with a calming breeze,
I ponder how last night it got down to 38 degrees.

Heavy dew got everything wet,
I was that way, too, but mine was from sweat.

High in the sky, movement catches my eye,
I focus and see it’s a hawk floating by,
And I wish that I could also fly.

Two chipmunks scurry between nearby rocks,
The big one squeaking like a chatterbox.

I also hear the tumbling creek,
Yesterday, things were looking awfully bleak,
But today, we’ll forget that and climb the peak.

Sunlight is shining on the summit we seek,
Looking at the steepness makes my knees feel weak.

I’ll worry about that later on,
But for now, I’m just gonna relish the dawn,
And enjoy watching the newborn fawn.

Since we’re climbing Big Sandy, then returning here for the night,
We can limit our gear and travel light.
.
For the climb, we won’t need a big backpack.
We’re only taking raingear, water, and snack,
And can fit all of that into a knapsack.

I need to get the group up and going,
Before the wind starts really blowing.

The storms have started building every day at noon.
Just like during monsoon season, but it’s only June.
All the more reason to get going soon.

Thank goodness my rain jacket’s been working well,
It’s kept me dry and it’s only a shell.

The climb’s gonna be long, so I need to fill my bottles with water.
Look over there, is that an otter?
I swear those rocks are beginning to totter.

My thoughts sharply focus on the pending climb,
And I realize it’s become that time.

The sun’s rising fast,
The time for leaving has almost passed.

We won’t be cooking oatmeal,
Cause beating the storm’s, a big deal.
Our need to leave has now become real.

“Get up, pack your stuff, we’re leaving,” I shout.
“If we wanna beat the rain, we need to get out.”

“Just eat a snack,
While you get ready and pack,
We’ll do some cookin’ when we get back.”

“And zip up your tent, before we head out,
If you don’t and it rains things will get wet no doubt.”

After the flurry of action, we finally head out,
With the peak our goal, but without a route.

We cross the creek and see it’s full of trout,
And suddenly that’s all we’re thinking about.

We stop and talk about our goal for the day,
And decide it best to fish and stay.
Plus, avoiding the storm will help make it okay.

So, we turn around, and off we tramp,
From where we just left, it’s back to camp.

Once we get there, most get out their poles,
Then head back to the creek and the various fishing holes.

I stay behind and consider what’s changed,
And ponder the plan that’s been disarranged.

The climb to the top would’ve been fun,
Especially, that is, if the summit we won.

But the fish grabbed our attention,
And changed our intention.
As soon as we saw them, there was no more ascension.

And now here we are, on the banks of the creek,
Instead of climbing toward the peak.
We still have a “goal,” so to speak,
But it’s no longer the summit, it’s Brookies we seek.

Days are full of changes to plans,
Partly because there are so many cans.

Relish the moments, both subtle and profound,
Embrace all that happens and keep looking around.

Continue reading “Morning on the Trail”

Mired in the Mud

Backpackers crossing a creek
Crossing a creek

Backpacking down the trail.
I come to a creek,
And look for a crossing.
It’s a dry one I seek.

Suddenly I’m stopped,
Mired in the mud.
A boot gets stuck,
And I fall with a thud.

I feel my body,
And nothing seems hurt.
I decide to get up,
And wipe off the dirt.

Except…

The dirt that covers my hands and legs,
Is gooey, wet, and awful sticky.
And to clean it off now I realize,
Will be a task that’s mighty tricky.

So, I wade into the stream,
Where the water is wet.
Wash off the mess,
And loudly scream.

Now that I’m clean,
But thoroughly soaked.
I continue across,
My dry crossing revoked.

I clamber out of the water,
On the other side.
Drenched to the hilt.
And I begin to slide.

The weight of the backpack,
Pulls me back.
Toward the water,
And I begin to totter.

Once again I fall,
Onto my back this time.
My pack’s submerged,
But without the grime.

My stuff’s all soaked,
My elbow aches.
Getting up is hard,
And my body shakes.

Finally, I’m up,
And proceed once more.
This time careful,
As I reach the shore.

Then, it’s out of the water,
Up onto the bank.
This time it’s easy,
I have two fails to thank.

Audio Version:

backpackers on the trail
Backpacking