tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3409334039090734122024-03-13T13:42:47.850-07:00Abbey and MeA hike on the PCT from Donner to Belden. Abbey, my dog, will be my companion; Ed Abbey, my literary hero, will be my inspiration.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-91482545694283834552012-08-20T14:21:00.000-07:002012-08-20T14:29:18.933-07:00Day Five: Sierra City and Ursine Friends….<br />
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<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t even think about the bear footprint I saw until the
next morning. I had collapsed into a coma in my tent; I left the food in my
backpack just a few feet away from my tent. Bear, obviously, are in the area
but I was lucky: no ursine visitors during the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is only four miles to Highway 49 and, according to the map
there is a short cut to Sierra City. Again, I skip coffee, drink water and pack
up my tent and sleeping bag. It is early and I am anxious to get to Sierra City
to call Joni to let her know I am okay. I know she is worried about me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I heave the pack on my back and begin the walk to
Sierra City. It is a delightful walk. Cool. Refreshing. Easy. Much needed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the adventure isn’t quite over yet. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am hiking a very narrow drainage, v shaped canyon. The
side walls are steep and relatively narrow. I come around a corner in this
drainage and there, maybe forty feet ahead of me, is a female sow bear with one
cub behind her. The sow has a beautiful cinnamon color to her.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They are walking the Pacific Crest Trail too. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now I am carrying lots of smelly trash in my backpack. I
have salmon and spam wrappers. In addition, I have around ten pounds of food in
my pack. I freeze when I see them. Only one cub? Is there another cub
nearby?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I between the sow and another
cub? And why doesn’t this bear acknowledge that I’m here? Should I make a noise
and get the bear’s attention? Should I stay quiet? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do try and get my camera out of my pocket. And then I start
to think that making any movement is not a good idea. I wait for the bear and
her cub to leave the trail and head to the creek. I notice the huge paws on the
mama bear as she leaves me behind.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The drainage is only fifty to sixty feet wide. That bear is
down by the water. How long should I wait before resuming this hike? Again,
should I make noise? I elect to wait for a few, very long, minutes and then
scurry ahead on the trail as fast as possible. I look over my shoulder as I go
through the section to see if I am about to become Bear Chow. One might say
that I make record time the rest of the way to Sierra City.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At long last I turn off from the trail and take a short cut
through Wild Plum Campground. From there a pickup truck stops and offers me a
ride into town. I’d hate to have this good man’s generosity be rejected by
turning him down, so I accept the ride. The gentleman who picks me up just
happens to own The Red Moose in Sierra City. This is the place where all the
hikers stop as they pass by on the PCT. Robert, the owner, has an “Obummer” bumper
sticker; we don’t share the same politics; we do share a love for the PCT.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The owner tells me that I am welcome to camp in his backyard
as long as I want to. He offers me a free shower. He tells me that I am the
1,249<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> hiker who has visited his restaurant and haven for hikers
this season.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At The Red Moose I order breakfast (biscuits and gravy with
eggs, delicious!). My cell phone doesn’t work, so the owner lets me use their
phone to call Joni. Joni answers on the first ring: she had just posted her
fears on Facebook and was thinking about driving to Sierra City to start
looking for me. Joni is relieved that I am okay. She agrees to come get me: I
am done hiking for this year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You see the next section I had planned to do would have been
much tougher. Even lonelier. Water is getting hard to find and I just didn’t think
I had it in me for any further adventures. Time to go home.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-81436378696049739362012-08-20T12:32:00.004-07:002012-08-20T12:43:45.121-07:00Day Four: To Milton Creek… andTrail Delirium<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I woke up early at the Saddle Campsite and decided to skip
coffee and to skip breakfast and to just pack up and go. Hit the trail early. I
had visions of burgers and beer, a shower and clean clothes and a real bed in
Sierra City and thought I just might make it there with an early enough of a
start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus there was this pesky
question of water; I didn’t have enough of it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I drank about a liter before leaving. I saved half a liter
of water for emergencies. That’s my policy: never finish all the water unless
you absolutely have to. I was not going to drink anymore water until I got to
Mule Ear Springs, 3.7 miles away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But before that, there is this annoying mountain to climb. I
leave camp and proceed with my burden up the mountain. From close to the top I
called Joni and just described to her, briefly, that I was on the move and that
I only had a ½ liter of water and that I was 3.7 miles away from a springs. I
told I was planning on taking a rest day in Sierra City and that I planned to
be there that night. I told her I would call her when I got there. This is
where hiking with cell phones can cause increased worry and frustration: After
I made that call and started down the mountain, I was then out of cell phone
range for the rest of the trip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Joni and I had made some contingencies as to when to call
Search and Rescue. I told her if I didn’t make it to Sierra City in six days,
and she hadn’t heard from me, she should call Search and Rescue. I knew the
trail would be deserted and lonely. And the fact that over the last four days I
had seen exactly four backpackers and one day hiker confirmed that. This is a
section of trail that doesn’t experience trail boots often.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was elated when I achieved the top of the mountain and
then began the long descent to Jackson Meadows Reservoir. I managed to make it
to Mule Ear Springs and stopped for a long, well deserved, drink of water. I
still wasn’t hungry. I drank as much as I could, filled three liters of water
and headed down the mountain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Down. Down. Down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At one point a sign warned about a Sierra Pacific Clear-cut
operation and that any hiker should get the loggers attention before proceeding
through the clear cut. I didn’t see anybody cutting wood. Later, another sign
advertised just how wise it is to clear cut the forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sign boasted that the particular clear
cut we were looking at had been logged in 1992 and that we hikers could watch how
painstakingly wonderful the forest would re-emerge. I looked at the clear cut
and noticed almost no growth in the patch. There wasn’t much to boast of in the
last twenty years when it comes to tree growth. Propaganda gone bad. This
demonstration plot is certainly nothing to be proud of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sierra Pacific is the largest private landholder in
California. The question of how to log, or whether to log, in the mountains of
California is one asked only by idealistic Sierra Clubbers. We live in a
culture where what you do with your land is your business and we certainly don’t
want any Enviros or Government Bureaucrats telling us what to do. The problem
is that logging can be very destructive to fish, wildlife, to watershed protection,
biodiversity (think tree plantations) and, even, to our health (from the
herbicides sprayed after a clear cut). The practice of clear cutting forests
should be ended as being much too destructive to the land on any scale. It is
the moral equivalent of bloodletting in humans. Our forests should be for
watershed protection, wildlife habitat and recreation. Logging should be done
on a micro basis, very selective and done with overall forest health in
consideration. But don’t we need lumber? Yes. But let’s get it from places that
make sense, log trees that make sense (smaller and rapid growing varieties) and
let’s make the price of this resource cost enough that all wood is seen as
being precious and rewards recycling and/or the reuse of wood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sermon done.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is a long downhill stretch to the reservoir. I could
feel hot spots developing in my boots. Thus far, I hadn’t developed any
blisters. That was about to end.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I make it to the paved road at Jackson Meadows. There are
two forest service developed campgrounds there. I think, briefly, about setting
up camp in one of them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of taking a couple
lazy days next to the artificial lake. The cell phone doesn’t work, so I cancel
those plans. I will move on to Sierra City.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sitting by the side of the road, I tend to my feet. Those
seven downhill miles took a toll; I have blisters on my right foot. I put on
mole skin. Then I lean back against my pack and fall asleep. When I wake up, I
fill my water again from a stream. I’m still not hungry but I eat a granola bar
anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Time for the last leg to Sierra City--which has all the
attractions of Paris, Amsterdam, New York, London and San Francisco combined to
me right now. I find the trail head for the last leg and read the sign: Milton
Creek: 7 miles. Hwy 49: 11 miles. Sierra City is two miles beyond Hwy 49. It is
mid-afternoon and it is 13 miles to Sierra City. I realize I’m not going to
make it there tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh well, we move on. Off we go blisters! Into the forest!
And why the hell must we go uphill again? Can’t I catch a break and walk on a
nice flat forest path? Why must this damned thing go uphill? I am cursing the
misguided fools who created this Pacific Crest Trail. It is as if they decided
that torture and making things tough should be a pre-requisite to the trail. We’ll
build those hikers character, the trail designers mutter to themselves, as they
take out all their misplaced anger for every wrong ever done to them by
creating the most uphill, gut crunching, despair inspiring trail ever. Or so it
seems.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anger often precedes Delirium.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so I grunted my way through a canyon and then up a
mountain. An endless climb. There was a spring at the beginning of the climb,
but I thought I had plenty of water to make it to Milton Creek. After a couple
hours of heavy sweating, I achieve the top of the mountain and look at the path
down. I have a liter of water left.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The path down winds on a narrow ledge of rocky scree. The drop
off is hundredsof feet. The exposure is extreme. It would be quite easy to slip
and fall to a pummeled, meat tenderized, rocky death. The guidebook states that
this is a “steep section”. Steep?! Hell, this looks like the Grand Canyon! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this little rocky scree filled ledge is
endless.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I start down. Careful. Watch your step, Allan. The canyon is
a bowl shape and the switchbacks angle along about a quarter of a mile in
duration. I take my time because, frankly, I’d like to not slip and die.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the bottom of the canyon the path levels out into a nice
inviting forest. I take my pack off and notice that I have half a liter of water
left. There will be no more water until Milton Creek and there will be another
dose of switchbacks before I find that creek. It shouldn’t be too far. But it
is 7pm and I am tired. I'm sitting next to a bear track.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I look at the water in my last water bottle and I start
having a rather bizarre thought: “I have to save this water for my friend”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Right then, I knew that I was starting to have some bizarre
thoughts. I, of course, had been hiking alone; I’ve been hiking alone for four
days. The “friend” I was saving the water for was me! I was on the verge, or
rather, I was having a dehydration based, delusional thought. Trail Delirium. I
realize I’m on the very edge of becoming psychotic. Literally.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This scares the shit out of me that I’m having strange
thoughts such that I heft the pack back on and set off in search of Milton
Creek. I’m not going to dry camp tonight. I’m going to find water or die
trying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can hear Milton Creek before you see it. That sound of
running water with a bit of humidity as I switchback my way down yet another
narrow canyon is tantalizing to my thirsty body. Finally, I find a spring just
before the creek and sit down and drink some of the finest water God, or if you
prefer, Gaia, has ever had the wisdom to create. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another quarter mile and I am at Milton Creek in an ideal
setting. I drink more water straight from the fast flowing creek. I don’t make
supper. I set up the tent, crawl inside and fall fast asleep. It is 8 pm and I
only wake up twice in the night to drink more water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before crawling into the sleeping bag, I try the cell phone
to call Joni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t work. I know
Joni is worried about me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-25267498439779122902012-08-19T21:49:00.000-07:002012-08-19T21:57:02.242-07:00Day Three: To the Saddle Beyond Lacy Peak…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Awake early, but again, out of the sleeping bag late. I made
camp last night at 7,600 feet elevation. I make my breakfast coffee and
oatmeal, fill three liters of water from the creek (I used the iodine tablets
this time). Packed everything up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Experienced PCT hikers will tell you that you should get as many miles
as possible in by noon. This sleeping in and out on to the trail late is highly
frowned on in PCT culture. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I’m on vacation.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is where things started to go
bad for me. First off, if I would have spent more time reading the map, I would
have noticed that there was only one water source for the 15 miles I planned to
do that day. Secondly, the weather turned miserably hot. Even though I was at the 7 to 8
thousand foot elevation, temperatures soared and I was in the sun much of the
time. It was much too hot to hike comfortably or even safely.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The hiking was beautiful though. They don’t call it the
Pacific Crest Trail without due cause; I hiked along magnificent vistas. I also
noticed that I wasn’t hungry. Thirsty? Yes; Hungry? No. I barely touched my
lunch bag. I drank my water sparingly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After four hours of hiking, I finally made it to Lacy Creek.
This was my one chance for water over the next 12 miles. I only had a liter of
water left and I dared not to miss this water hole. The problem? The creek was
dry. Close to the creek crossing, there was a sign that said: “There is almost
always water if you follow the creek bed down ½ mile”. I abandoned my pack and
did what the sign said. Sure enough, after climbing down the mountain for a
considerable amount of time, the creek finally had a seep in it where I could
just barely get my fill of water. Again, I cameled up and filled two liters of
water and climbed back up the mountain to my pack. </span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKrTfoxJpi_LtoU7odF46zoCmaI5KPbAI3EH8hAK7mElXrvqyJRFb7PnzHiTHWL7uMJNKvF3HBCOv4v2OHw8LbB9lp9fuPSaEnaHCOpH-1kfBAFaCqgRQtTMtknjF8gkX_S50Keb8Rnuo/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKrTfoxJpi_LtoU7odF46zoCmaI5KPbAI3EH8hAK7mElXrvqyJRFb7PnzHiTHWL7uMJNKvF3HBCOv4v2OHw8LbB9lp9fuPSaEnaHCOpH-1kfBAFaCqgRQtTMtknjF8gkX_S50Keb8Rnuo/s320/020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Decision time. It is late afternoon and I have a climb to
get to the top of Lacy Peak. There are storm clouds gathering much too close
for comfort. Do I want to take a chance on being in the wide open, on top of an
8,000 foot peak, in a lightning storm in the Sierra? Ah hell, why not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I climbed to the summit, which was gorgeous and a
table top type of mountain. No water though. I called Joni (and work) from the
top of Lacy Peak. I had two liters of water left with another nine miles to go
before I would find water again. I hiked down the other side of Lacy Peak and
decided to make camp in a saddle between two peaks. I didnt' have the legs or the heart for another climb. My tent was perched a
little too close to a thousand foot drop off on one side. The other side
offered extensive views of wild lands. When I set up camp, I had 1 ½ liters of
water left. I was so thirsty I could have drunk the whole thing then and there.
I felt so parched that the backs of my eyes felt like sand. My lips cemented
together because of the lack of moisture. I checked my own skin turgor, hoping
that I wasn’t that dehydrated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I made supper, beef stroganoff, and made an effort to finish
off the Crown Royal. Whiskey is liquid. It should help. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just then two hikers came down from the peak I had yet to climb.
Youngsters. A male and a female. Looking fresh with their backpacks and
titanium poles. They wore the correct sort of garb that you find amongst the
serious hiking crowd: green hiker pants, nylon under shirt, tan Patagonia long
sleeved hiking shirt, safari hat. Both genders wearing the exact same hiking
garb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now I was a bit into the whiskey
at the time. I hollered enthusiastically to these first two humans I’ve seen
that day. They stopped. The male had all the high tech gee whiz stuff: he wore
a Garmin attached to his bicep; he had the PCT programed into his smart phone
on 2 different programs. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was micro chipped too.
His girlfriend was much more intuitive. I asked them how far to the next water:
the girl said without hesitation: four miles. The guy said, “Let’s check the
Smart phone” and so we looked at the trail and the blue dot which represented
where we are. The next water would be at Mule Ear Springs, which was: 3.7 miles
away. The girl said: “be careful, it is easy to miss and the next water is
another six miles or so beyond that”. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They headed off, even though the sun was
close to setting. I guess they didn’t want to camp with a half ripped, smelly,
51 year old male who looked like he might be undergoing the first few signs of
a dehydration psychosis. (More on that later).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Only one more mountain to climb and then water. After that
the book says it is downhill all the way to Jackson Reservoir. Should be doable
to make it to Sierra City tomorrow. That thought was a mistake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Again, I lay out and watched the night sky. Then off to bed
in the tent, with my hiking stick as protection from all the sounds in the
night.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-61270673076417861442012-08-19T13:29:00.000-07:002012-08-19T14:47:38.025-07:00Day 2: To White Rock Creek<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44M9Qp4fAtRvJbXvbE7JOgz165PIO3m55oPaIAOdDnRLAvCGkdSeAUPuzQ9ov3Wq8kD_eKxTAMrgGvmmQquYWljYmLiw7rGZIlLmdvUVN83lkws34XGki1uPQXfHj1MgbBrrL-qeHa0o/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44M9Qp4fAtRvJbXvbE7JOgz165PIO3m55oPaIAOdDnRLAvCGkdSeAUPuzQ9ov3Wq8kD_eKxTAMrgGvmmQquYWljYmLiw7rGZIlLmdvUVN83lkws34XGki1uPQXfHj1MgbBrrL-qeHa0o/s320/015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wake up early at the Peter Grubb Hut (which is one of a
handful of Sierra Club cabins, free to all, on the PCT).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am too lazy to get out of my cheap sleeping
bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, around 8:30 in the morning, I rally and
climb down the ladder from the loft to see what all the ruckus from the mice
was about last night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have my food in three separate plastic bags: a yellow bag
for breakfast items; a white bag for trail lunches and a tan bag for dinners. I
decided to pack for a full fifteen days on the trail, meaning that these food
bags have a combined weight of ten pounds. Why did I do that? I wasn’t sure
what food would be available in the small town of Sierra City where I planned
to stop after the first 42 miles on the trail. “Might as well pack for the
whole trip”, I thought. That way I would have the option of skipping the four
mile round trip walk from the trail into the town. Of course, I was only deluding
myself by thinking that; there was no way I was going to avoid getting a burger
and a beer in Sierra City.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I get out the camp stove and make coffee. I have a jar of
Medalia Instant Espresso along (this stuff is better than the Starbucks instant
coffee at about 5% of the price). I heat up water and have a cup. Then I make
some instant oatmeal and enjoy that. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Survey the damage from the mice: these deceitful
burglarizing rodents decided to break into my lunch bag and my dinner bag. From
the lunch bag, they have been feasting all night on my banana chips; from the
dinner bag, they pilfered a Thai rice meal. These Sierra deer mice seem to have
tropical tastes: bananas and Thai food. Exemplary preferences for rodents.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I sweep out the cabin, pack, swallow a few ibuprofen for
good luck and leave.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is supposed to be water in a stream about 100 yards up
trail from the cabin. The guidebook states that this stream can be a bit
treacherous during the runoff months. When I come to the stream, it is a shadow
of its former self. Barely a trickle. I sit by the stream and drink directly
from it. When packing for the trip I couldn’t find my water filter. I put it
someplace where I would easily find it after my last backpacking trip two
summers ago, and, of course, I couldn’t find where I stashed that item in its
foolproof, easy to find place. Hiker’s law: the more you need something, the
harder it is to find. I did bring along some iodine pills, but I
didn’t care to take the twenty minutes to treat the water. I decided that if
the water was clear and running freely, I would just risk drinking it.
If I got water from a pond, I would treat it with iodine.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I sit there, cameling up on water, a very fit 70
Something man comes up the trail. We exchange pleasantries; he is on a day hike
up to Paradise Lake (which is some four to five miles away off a spur trail
from the PCT). He is only carrying water. I marvel at his level of fitness: he
looks like a walking commercial for age defying nutritional supplements.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Septuagenarian hiker leaves. I wrestle with the monstrous pack and begin
my Via Delarosa. We will travel two of the highest passes today, obtaining a
peak elevation of 8,400 feet. Within the first couple of miles, there are
supposed to be five stream crossings. When I get to them, only two have any
water in them. Three of them are dry (I start to get a tad concerned because
later in the trip there are two 20 plus mile stretches without any water on the
trail). I stop and drink liberally from the springs. Giardia be damned! Now I
wouldn’t advise anyone to drink directly from mountain streams. But someplace I
read that the risks in the Sierra are quite low. Rarely do people get sick from
water that is near the source high in the Sierra. Especially in wilderness designated
areas where cattle don’t roam. I intend to test out this theory. Children,
don’t try this on your trips. I am old, foolish and lacking in common sense.</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I reach 8,400 feet on the crest of the Sierra, I call
Joni to tell her I’m safe. She is relieved and seems inordinately worried about
me. Doubt enters my mind.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have the mountains to myself; nobody is on the trail. I
walk along some exposure along the mountains. Which mountain? Don’t know. Most
of these are named only by their elevations: peak 8,431 and so on. </span><br />
<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, I wanted to be alone and I am. The sun is blaring
down. I did buy one of those fancy Patagonia shirts made of some synthetic
material that dries quickly. Good thing too, cause I am sweating like a 400
pound eunuch in a Swedish sauna. I refused to buy one of those safari trail
hats though. I use bandanas, tied hippie style over my head. I have six
bandanas along, and I trade them out according to my mood and as they become saturated
with sweat. One bandana is tied around my neck: the black “yin/yang” one. On my
head I regularly rotate a blue one, a green one, an orange one and a red one.
When used, I tie them onto my pack to dry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am now far away enough from the freeway that I can’t hear
it anymore. Bliss. Damn this pack is heavy! I go up and down a couple of
passes. 800 foot climbs up. Then down. Then up. Then down. Repeat as required.
I come to the spur trail to Paradise Lake and decide that it isn’t worth the
diversion to go for a dip in the lake. Laziness presides. I march on for
another hour or so and come to White Rock Creek. There is another spur trail up
to another White Rock Lake (actually a reservoir). I spook some deer. I hike
along the creek for a while, and since it is around five pm, I stop for the
night and make camp by the creek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Supper is dehydrated backpacker spaghetti and crown royal
whiskey. Along with healthy dollops of crick water. I set up the antiquated,
dinosaur Eureka! tent that Joni first used twenty years ago when she was
practicing for doing a tree sit. She purchased this tent to use at an Earth
First! Rendezvous training back in the early 90’s before the FBI cracked down on
this organization. This was before Julia Butterfly sat for two years in Luna
(an ancient redwood that she momentarily saved until some hate filled nature
hating extremist tried to chop down the 800 year old redwood). Twenty years
ago, this tent was state of the art; today it weighs way too much. Ultra-light
is the new buzzword for backpackers and with good reason. More on this later.</span><br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">dinner</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Supper finished, the mosquitoes decide to make me their
supper. Buzzing, whirring nasty little bloodsuckers. Just then, a couple of twenty
something males come up the trail. They appear to be hauling items that look as
large as grand pianos in their backpacks. Pleasantries exchanged again, they
too are on their way to fish at Paradise Lake, where they intend to spend some
time. They must be setting up for an extended stay, cause, from the size of
their packs, they appear to be hauling chairs, tables, lawn furniture,
barbecues, portable generators, kitchen sinks and a multitude of tackle and
fishing gear. I exaggerate, but only a little.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Campsite Number 2: White Rock Creek</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am making slow progress on this hike. I pop a Norco that
my doctor prescribed for me to deal with the pain of this physical exertion. My feet look good: no blisters. Yet.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5fV3rUCEv1I-2X-TML5M4ZXaK0yLt_FCB2EMamJA-Crll-agkr7T_dfgHLdpJ2VL8uOSRMhC2soaYqGpNwYtNrKA7-bU6SvIp_k0484xzkYCT13CHWiI8-KleDgzxogOl9_HPF6PYg0/s1600/026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5fV3rUCEv1I-2X-TML5M4ZXaK0yLt_FCB2EMamJA-Crll-agkr7T_dfgHLdpJ2VL8uOSRMhC2soaYqGpNwYtNrKA7-bU6SvIp_k0484xzkYCT13CHWiI8-KleDgzxogOl9_HPF6PYg0/s320/026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">White Rock Creek</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Darkness descends. I retire to the tent, kill a dozen
mosquitoes that have followed me into the structure and since the forest is
full of sounds tonight, I bring my walking stick into the tent with me for protection. Earlier
in the day, I thought I found a faint puma footprint on the trail. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-46101694628062531662012-08-18T20:35:00.000-07:002012-08-18T20:51:27.454-07:00To The Peter Grubb Hut<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not Wise.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thou shalt not buy a double/double cheeseburger at Inn’n’Out
with Animal fries and a chocolate shake in Sacramento (altitude 5 feet) then
drive your fat ass up to 7,100 feet at Donner Pass (yes, THAT Donner Pass),
pick up your brand new Osprey backpack that weighs sixty pounds--stuffed with
15 days’ worth of food, 20 year old Eureka two man tent, five dollar Walmart
special sleeping bag (it’ll keep you warm down to 50 degrees Fahrenheit!) and a
gallon of water in an old milk jug tied to the pack with a carabineer; find the
Pacific Crest Trail and then climb up through Castle Pass<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(elevation 7,900 feet), five miles, uphill,
hoping to make it to a Sierra Club Canyon hut before dark, burping up said
burgers, fries and shake all the while. Fifty One year old bodies used to lower
elevations and a mostly sedentary squishy life just shouldn’t do that in one
day. It ain’t natural.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did it anyway. Joni (my spouse) and two step
grand-daughters dropped me off at the trailhead. We were amazed at the sheer bulk
of my pack. A Himalayan Sherpa would have trouble carrying such a pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joni cries. “Be careful”, tears streaming
down her cheek. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Off I go.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I grunted, farted, labored and sweated up the first mountain
with the main continental east/west traffic of I-80 squarely in view behind me.
I’m heading north. A smart man would have headed south to the more friendly
inhabited vistas of Lake Tahoe. Better scenery in that direction; instead, I’m
heading north with grandiose visions of walking from Donner Pass to Belden,
California--which is a mere 29 miles from my off grid home. I’ve allotted 15
days for this 150 mile journey. That’s the plan anyway.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What’s to worry about? I’m headed north into a lonely,
lesser travelled section of the PCT at the end of the season in extremely hot
weather with three major forest fires burning to the north of me. I could trip,
fall, be bitten by a rattlesnake, catch the bubonic plague from the chipmunks,
breathe in mice poop and die from Hanta virus--not to mention catching West
Nile Virus from the mosquitoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
winter was warm without much snow, which means finding water might be a
problem. Sunstroke and dehydration are high on the danger list. And with my
added winter girth that I haven’t shed yet (plus fully loaded sixty pound pack),
I need lots of water. I meant to get in shape for this trip that I’ve been
planning for over a year. That was my plan. The reality is that life got in the
way and I decided to let the trail do the training for me. Let the adventure do
the work.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is hot and early August. Beautiful views. I’m in alpine
environment—high enough to enjoy a not too shy Pika. I’ve read that global
warming will probably impact the high altitude Pika first; in fact, it already
has as they need to climb higher and higher into the mountains to find friendly
environs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><o:p>Castle Pass</o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m planning on spending the first night at the Peter Grubb
Hut. We make it there, my new boots and I, just before 7:30 pm. At Castle Pass,
I was able to call Joni and leave a message on our answering machine. Bringing
a cell phone was a concession of sorts in my mind. A form of cheating. Should a
person be able to call home from the wilderness? Shouldn’t we be off trail, off
grid, off technology while having a back country experience? I’m a backpacking
Luddite. I know it is polite to your loved ones when traveling alone in the
wilderness to let them know you are safe, but, by doing this, I feel a little
like a kindergartner calling home to announce that I’ve learned how to spell
“cat” and that I’ve managed not to soil my pants all day. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All these smart phones with their global positioning
satellite readouts and Fifty Somethings with space age lightweight shoes and
titanium poles make backpacking more of a weekend warrior sports competition
rather than an authentic exploration of the wilds. Hobbies should be hobbies--not
exercises in conspicuous modern consumption. All these gadgets! What would John
Muir, the thin bearded walker, have to say about these petroleum based shirts
that dry in ten minutes and dehydrated backpacker meals that were designed to
feed astronauts? Muir did fine with just a loaf of bread. Getting lost is half
the fun.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back to the Peter Grubb Hut. Peter Grubb died back in 1937
at the tender age of 18 of sunstroke (let that be a caution to you Allan!). He
loved hiking and skiing in these Sierra Mountains. His family built this fine
two story cabin in tribute to him. A fine tribute it is. Set in a scenic valley
just beyond Castle pass with tall Hemlocks surrounding, nay, protecting the
cabin. I go inside the cabin. No one home. It is getting dark and I will have
the place to myself tonight. I sign the guest log and read through the entries.
Someone was here last night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Peter Grubb Hut</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is a field of granite boulders nearby. I sit on one,
break out wine and cheese and watch the stars come out. I can still hear the
freeway in the distance. I haven’t met one hiker these first few hours. Alone,
I’m forced to drink the bottle of wine (somebody has to). I teeter off to bed
in the hut, climb the ladder up to the second floor loft in order to be safe
should a bear try to break into the cabin and fall asleep (quickly) on the
wooden floor. During the night, I hear the mice breaking into my food that I
thought I hung securely earlier from guy wires hanging from the ceiling of the
first floor.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am alone and happy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Dinner</span></div>
Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-32502415742358493992012-08-07T19:28:00.001-07:002012-08-07T20:05:28.756-07:00Fully Packed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Packed up my new Osprey pack, filled with two weeks worth of food and a gallon of liquids and took her for a test drive. This is gonna hurt. I'm going to suffer. Bad.<br />
<br />
Eat a whole lot at the beginning--that's my motto. Lighten that load. Hiking a mile long loop with this monster pack on, it seems impossible to carry it some 130 miles or more. I thought about bringing along a book about Everette Reuss, but Joni nixed that idea. I opted only to bring a journal and no book this trip.<br />
<br />
I just need to pick up some iodine tablets because I can't find my water filter. I also need some First Aid stuff like mole skin and bandages. After that, I'm locked and loaded. I stepped on the scale this morning so that I will be able to compare before and after weights. <br />
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Joni drops me off tomorrow. Ready or not, here I come.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-35495404479631531362012-08-06T22:13:00.000-07:002012-08-06T22:40:33.754-07:00Packing...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Yesterday I threw a bunch of books into my new backpack and hoofed it down the canyon. Intolerably hot weather; sweat pouring. Felt good. I'm sore today.<br />
<br />
Went to Paradise today and bought the food for this trip. Buying food for backpacking has gotten a whole lot easier now that packaging is much more condense. There isn't any need to buy the expensive, fancy, freeze dried stuff sold at backpacking stores. I bought a couple of those anyway. I decided to go ahead and pack for, at least, fourteen days on the trail. I also bought new boots because, well, Joni made me. Concerned spouse that she is, she wanted me to have good tread on the trail. My other ones were getting a little tired and worn. I'll break the new boots in a bit tomorrow.<br />
<br />
I still can't find my water filter or my stuff bags. The food is packed. Most other items have been found. We shall finish packing tomorrow and I'll take the backpack out for a test run. With water, I expect the thing to come in around fifty pounds.<br />
<br />
The sleeping bag I'm using is an old one we picked up at Target a few years ago. It was one of those cheap "four sleeping bags and a tent" packages for forty bucks sort of deals. The tent I'll be using is twenty years old and certainly not state of the art. I have a certain aversion to ultra techy hikers with space age products. Backpacking is a trip into the woods---not a trip to Mars.<br />
<br />
I did buy one of those synthetic Patagonia shirts because they really do dry nicely with all the sweat I produce. Cotton is nice, but it doesn't dry and it weighs way too much when wet. I'm still sort of feeling weird about it though. Not very Luddite of me.<br />
<br />
And I bought a cheap Malbec from Argentina with a screw cap. This will be a water bottle after I've consumed it (I feel this is my sole innovation and contribution to the sport). I also bought a bit of Crown Royal Whiskey; helps you make friends on the trail if you have a libation or two. And I might need to make some friends this trip.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately (or fortunately?) part of the Pacific Crest Trail is closed due to fire. The very last forty miles I planned to do are closed. And containment of this fire isn't expected until the 21st of August. I think Joni is a little bit relieved that my trip might be cut short. If the trail is closed, Joni will pick me up at Buck's Lake Tavern on Buck's Lake. <br />
<br />
If you want to follow along and see the status of the Chips fire that might jeopardize my trip, just go <a href="http://inciweb.org/" target="_blank">HERE and look for the Chips fire.</a><br />
<br />Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-13779569582885492012-08-05T16:30:00.000-07:002012-08-05T16:38:21.124-07:00Three Days Out...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
So where has the summer gone? <br />
<br />
I leave for this trip on Wednesday, August 8. I have practically done everything wrong getting ready for this backpacking experience. Mainly, I haven't trained at all. I'm taking a "let the trail get you in shape for this trip" approach. Hope it works.<br />
<br />
I've decided to not bring along Abbey the dog. Why? Because I think I'll be so worried about the dog's well being that I'll forget about my own well being. And I haven't been able to take a practice hike with her so that I think it might be a tad unwise to have a 150 mile trip be Abbey's first experience on the trail.<br />
<br />
What are my concerns at this point? There is a big fire (the Chips Creek fire) that is not supposed to be contained until August 15, 2012. This fire started (on the PCT) where I will be finishing the trip. So smoke might be bad on the trail towards the end. Fire is always a danger this time of the year; especially this year when we didn't have much rain during the winter. On top of that, there is lightning in the forecast.<br />
<br />
Other dangers? Rattlesnakes, tripping and falling, dehydration, exhaustion, getting lost, mountain lion, electrical storms, Lyme's disease from deer ticks, sunburn, hypothermia, drowning in creek crossings, bear, hanta virus from deer mice, my own stupidity. Probably more. <br />
<br />
Undeterred, Joni will drop me off at the rest stop at Donner Pass on Wednesday. My first day will be easy; I'll be shacking up at a Sierra Club cabin called the Peter Grubb Hut. I plan to tramp in with wine, steaks and whiskey in order to have a luxurious first meal. If you are going to hike, do it right!<br />
<br />
I've purchased a brand new backpack for this trip. A nice Osprey that promises to make my burden easy (easier?). I'm also using a tent, choosing not to just sleep on the ground, "cowboy camping". I'm bringing an old dinosaur Eureka that Joni has had for 20 years. She used this tent at Earth First! events back when Earth First! actually had some promise to it. My pack will be heavy--filled with not state of the art equipment.<br />
<br />
There is one section of the hike where there is no water on the trail for 24 miles. Luckily, if a person gets desperate, there are ways to hike down to water within a couple of miles (but who wants to do that?). This stretch doesn't occur until I'm some seventy miles into the journey, so I should be trail hardened by then.<br />
<br />
I know I'm going to suffer. The first few days are going to suck. I will be bringing a journal and a pen. A book too. I'll be able to journal just how miserable I am (and just how stupid it was to try and attempt this thing without the correct physical preparation).<br />
<br />
Below is my packing list:<br />
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I will be bringing a cell phone that isn't too smart. No trail maps on the phone. The phone will be used to call in (hopefully) updates to Joni as to where I am. Joni will use my account on Facebook to let people know where I am and that I'm okay. <br />
<br />
Other thoughts: Yes, it might be foolish to take off for a couple of weeks in not the best of physical shape. This fifty-one year old body doesn't do what it used to do. And I am soft and squishy. I may be a fool, but a fool should do something foolhardy once and awhile. A little danger is good for you! We lack such Adventure in our lives that sometimes we have to let the Adventure condition us. That's my approach this trip.<br />
<br />
See you on the other side. Belden or Bust!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-69901275777499376492012-07-12T21:34:00.001-07:002012-07-12T21:34:43.344-07:00No SurgeryMy second day alone here at the cabin. Feasting on apricots from our sole fruit tree and the eggs (free range organic). I also found some tilapia fillets in the freezer which made a fine dinner. The dogs had some too.<br />
<br />
The Loma Linda Surgeon didn't recommend surgery. Just too risky at the current time. Looks like we'll try like hell to find a decent pain management specialist for Joni. Joni is relieved.<br />
<br />
There is a fire up in Shasta which has made the sky all weird and orange colored. I took the dogs for two hikes today. On the second one the sky was just all bizarre and I had the strange premonition that we were being watched. Angel stayed close to me the entire walk. Our new dog, Little One, kept running off, excitedly sniffing, trying to find whatever seemed to be stalking us. Even Abbey was excitable, but she listens to voice commands well and stuck around. What was out there? Nothing? A Raccoon? Skunk? A mountain lion? A bear? <br />
<br />
There has been a bear active on the ridge. One of our neighbor's storage sheds has had a bear visiting it nightly. Turns out he stores his garbage in there. We haul our garbage out weekly and keep it locked up in a shed. No ursine visitors at our place yet.<br />
<br />
Joni is home tomorrow. Then I am off to spend another week in Napa starting on Saturday. I look forward to taking the entire month of August off. Should I do this trip? I'm not in shape. I don't spend enough time with Joni. There is a ton of work to be done on this mud hut. Yet, is there a better way to get in shape? And I'm not getting any younger. And I haven't been on the trail in oh so very long. Decisions.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-67284252226638964102012-07-11T20:23:00.002-07:002012-07-11T20:23:34.756-07:00Status...Drove across California late last night. I got up and got the dogs out of a kennel where they were boarding for a couple of days. Joni is in Los Angeles, undergoing tests and meeting with surgeons. I'm writing this in an empty cabin---and I think this is the first time I've been alone here in a long, long time. The girls are in Georgia visiting with one of Joni's brothers.<br />
<br />
The only food I've got in this house is a carton of eggs and about 1,000 apricots. Our tree was bountiful this year. This diet seems fine to me: no need to go to the store. In fact, this should hold me over just fine until Joni comes home on Friday.<br />
<br />
I took the dogs out on a hike in the 104 degree heat this afternoon. Dogs panting; me sweating. The dogs were overjoyed at the reunion after having been kennelized for the past three days. I didn't take the dogs down the canyon as there was somebody shooting in that vicinity. It's bone dry and somebody decides that shooting a hot weapon on a 104 degree day is a smart thing to do. Not a good thing to do in wildfire season.<br />
<br />
As I look out the window, I think I can see smoke from a fire across the valley.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-31855306262792006062012-07-07T18:34:00.000-07:002012-07-07T18:34:06.635-07:00HotWell, things are on hold. I don't know if I will be able to make this hike this summer. As such, I haven't really been training. I take the dogs down the canyon when I'm home, but mostly I've been working extra, paying for airline tickets for Joni and the girls and generally trying to keep our heads above water. <br />
<br />
On Monday, Joni flies to Los Angeles to meet with a surgeon. She is investigating whether surgery will restore some increased function to her legs. If she has the surgery, I probably won't be doing a hike this summer.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-18559741169314534332012-06-23T19:42:00.001-07:002012-06-23T20:15:50.406-07:00Summer<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>"In the end, for all our differences and conflicts, most women and men share the same food, work, shelter, bed, life, joy, anguish, and fate. We Need each other." Ed Abbey</strong></div>
<br />
And so it is Summer. And Joni and I don't have the girls for the next two months. Generally, we've spent most of our time sleeping, taking naps and then going to bed. It is quiet. We take walks together. Our newest dog, Little One, managed to find and kill another skunk on our walk last evening.<br />
<br />I spent the day today building a new dog run in the yard. (Get that smelly dog outside!)<br />
<br />We are using this childless time to make some weighty decisions. Joni's back has deteriorated over the last couple of years. She was able to manage much of her pain with an opiate but then she started developing cardiac problems from this drug. We've tried many other pain medications--done almost everything, but her pain, and level of functioning, continues to worsen. We are using this time to talk with surgeons to see if Joni might be helped by going under the knife. We met with one surgeon yesterday, only to find out that he can't do that particular sugery in northern Calilfornia. Unfortunately, with our insurance, the only place Joni can have this complicated of a surgery is in two hospitals in Los Angeles. Joni will have to fly down there for those appointments. <br />
<br />We are doing the research and weighing the pros and cons. We are talking to all the utilization review people at two different insurance companies. Talking to case managers. <br />
<br />And so my trip just might be on hold. If Joni decides to have the surgery, I will have to fore go a hike this year to take care of her following her rather extensive recovery. Doesn't matter; it is all good.<br />
<br />Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-55458982867189415602012-06-17T12:26:00.000-07:002012-06-17T12:32:16.561-07:00The Lazy Boy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>"As a confirmed melancholic, I can testify that the best and maybe only antidote for melancholia is action. However, like most melancholics, I suffer also from sloth." Ed Abbey</strong></div>
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Joni and I now have our very own separate Lazy Boy chairs. After nine years, we have finally arrived in that state of bliss where each of us can lounge in comfort. You see, we used to have just the blue one on the left. It was always an act of love to give up the "good chair" for the other member of the household. Now we each have our own ($20 at the thrift store---a major score on Joni's part). <br />
<br />Okay, so this isn't a training reference. I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm mostly just gonna suffer on the trail. At least I have a nice place to lounge while I contemplate the need to train.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-48231943967945952572012-06-12T11:33:00.000-07:002012-06-12T11:33:34.305-07:00Sleepless in St. Helena“<strong>That which today calls itself science gives us more and more
information, and indigestible glut of information, and less and less
understanding.” Edward Abbey</strong><br />
<br />
I've been at work the last three days and haven't done much of anything but show up for work. I've been reading "The Hunger Games" which has kept me up much too late at night. The hospital maintenance staff, for some reason, has decided to use those leaf blowers on the parking lot, early in the morning, even though it is spring and there is not a leaf to be seen anywheres. I don't know why they have decided that 6:00 am is a good time to turn on these jet engines. Loud! Probably because there isn't anybody parked in the parking lot at that time. But who can sleep through such racket? <br />
<br />
Part of me suspects that the maintenance staff enjoys the early morning solitude. The early start to the day. It is a most delightful time of the day in the Napa Valley, as the fog sallies up the valley and the air is moist, smells of the ocean and cool.<br />
<br />
The building I stay in comes to life about 6 am. That's when doors start banging, showers are taken in the communal shower and the day shift takes the short cut through this building, past my room, taking the elevator which was invented when soft shutting elevator doors weren't invented. All of this to spare themselves a 100 yard walk around the building. The room I stay in is next to these elevator doors that sound like the drums of Mordor when they shut.<br />
<br />
If I'm not sleeping, I know the patients aren't. It's hard enough to get sleep in a hospital, what with the poking and the prodding (lab draws start at 5:00 am) so that the doctors can get the information by their 7 am rounds. Healthcare is often more important to the practitioners than it is to the patients.<br />
<br />
And so I'm quite exhausted. Feeling droopy. Ready to get home so that I can get some sleep. Back to Concow tonight---where Joni tells me we've had a chicken apocalypse. The coyotes ate 7 of our 11 chickens the other night.<br />
<br />Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-11632218854392714932012-06-09T18:53:00.001-07:002012-06-09T22:24:56.102-07:00Weed Whacking...<br />
<dt><strong>"One man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide
stupidity, there ain't nothin' can beat teamwork."
Edward Abbey</strong></dt>
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Spent the day weed whacking. This end of Spring ritual which takes the better part of a few days work. The nice thing about California is, unlike most other places in the US, once you've weed whacked the yard, your mowing is done for the year. I mow/weed whack once a year. </div>Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-4222840626428350382012-06-08T14:01:00.001-07:002012-06-08T14:17:43.068-07:00On Foot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong> “A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles.” </strong><br />
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<strong>Edward Abbey</strong></div>
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Down the canyon again, through the burned section, down to the tree. Training for this here 150 mile hike. Dogs in tow. Fun!</div>
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This is cheap entertainment. Good for both canine and human. No gym membership required. No special equipment needed other than a decent pair of shoes. All that is needed is a couple of workable legs and a set of eyes that can still see ruts, snakes and other perils.</div>Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-23458753915017707582012-06-07T13:58:00.000-07:002012-06-07T13:58:58.418-07:00Mariposas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong>"The earth is not a mechanism but an organism, a being with its own life and its own reasons, where the support and sustenance of the human animal is incidental. If man in his newfound power and vanity persists in the attempt to remake the planet in his own image, he will succeed only in destroying himself — not the planet. The earth will survive our most ingenious folly." EA</strong></div>
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It has been a bad year for the Mariposa lilies. I've seen a few here and there, but for the most part, very few have bloomed thus far. A strange year. When I look back at other journals, I see that since I've lived here, the Mariposas have bloomed as early as April 22. Another year they bloomed on Memorial Day weekend. So, perhaps, we are just a little behind this year. <br />
<br />
I took a strenuous hike down the canyon with my dogs. My herd of canines. My pack. It is time to get serious about training for this here march I've decided to take. Gonna have to shed some weight; go on a diet. Quit my affection for the best, most politically correct burger, fries and shake on the West Coast: In/Out. <br />
<br />
Two months until Abbey the dog and I head out.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-72316912039826795772012-06-06T22:07:00.000-07:002012-06-06T22:08:31.473-07:00Skunks and Meaning...<strong>"The world is what it is, no less and no more, and therein lies its entire and sufficient meaning." Edward Abbey</strong><br />
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The last day of school. Back at the farm.<br />
<br />
I took the dogs for a walk before dinner. While walking a woods loop, the new dog I call "Little One" wandered off and started barking in earnest. Then she came running back. A bit of mist encircled her, and then, that lovely odor of skunk. She didn't get a direct hit; just enough to give her a bit of aroma.<br />
<br />I kind of like the smell of skunk. In small doses. When we got home, Joni juiced some hothouse tomatoes (and added basil). We soaked Little One in the juice, washed her off. Other friends had other remedies in mind. The tomato juice worked. All is well. All smell fine.<br />
<br />Which brings me back to Abbey and the quote above. More and more I agree with him that all we need, in fact, all we will ever have, is right in front of us. This planet, this life, this rock, this house, this skunk smell---forget the guru on the hill, the mystic in the Los Angeles Mall, the ever present search for immortality. All we need is here. Let's not screw it up. <br />
<br />So does that mean we don't need spirituality, a "heavenly Father", a Nirvana, Jungian synchronicity? Questions. I'm not ready to abandon a greater possibility---but I do think that it distracts from living our life here. Now.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-30897393325680336922012-06-06T12:20:00.000-07:002012-06-06T19:51:01.714-07:00Elections...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>"Truth is always the enemy of power. And power the enemy of truth." Edward Abbey</strong><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well,
that election had all the satisfaction of expecting a stay at the Four Seasons
and ending up with a room at the Motel 6. What did we learn? That money and
populism works in Wisconsin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Locally,
our Assembly District 1 guy, Robert Meacher, came ever so close to making it on
to the ballot. Despite no money and very little name recognition, Meacher did a
good job of defining what it means to be a rural Democrat. In fact, if the
Greens in the district (who got 6 percent of the vote) jumped on board Meacher's
common sense environmentalism, Meacher would have made the ballot. When are the
Enviros gonna learn the lesson of 2000? And so now we have a choice between a
very right wing Bosetti and a lesser right wing Dahle who is staunchly
anti-choice. Both of them will sell their souls to Sierra Pacific. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Robert
Meacher won in Butte County, thanks to some awesome writing by Jaime O'Neill and
a campaign appearance by Meacher where he wowed the crowd.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Charles
Rouse came in second in Assembly District 3. A good thing. We now have a soft spoken Anti-Logue
candidate. Speak softly and carry some Rationality.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
we can take a whole lot of satisfaction that Sam Aanestad finished with only 14
percent of the vote. The one poll that was taken by La Malfa showed Aanestad and La Malfa
ahead of the Democrat Jim Reed about a month ago. After Aanestad got a bit of exposure on
just how vapidly creepy he is, he dropped ten points. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
so we toil on in our silly corner of the State. When I was a young man, I had
the opportunity to ask Petra Kelly, the great Green leader who helped found the
Green Party in Germany, some sort of high falutin question that had no basis in
political reality. I forget now what the question was, but I will always
remember her answer: "Are you kidding? You'll be lucky to stop Fascism in the
United States, that's your battle". I think she was right.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
remain convinced that our area is evolving. We aren't as hatefully right wing as
our reputation. We just need to keep showing up and speaking out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Onward
shipmates!</span>Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-26931318740209904382012-06-02T22:28:00.001-07:002012-06-02T22:28:50.847-07:00Californication<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>"There is science, logic, reason; there is thought verified by experience. And then there is California." </strong><strong>Edward Abbey</strong><br />
<br />
I love California. Especially northern California. Good ole Ed made fun of California a whole lot; he used to call it "Californication". But I love it here. And I intend to stay here.<br />
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Mountains and Napa Valley wine. San Francisco, which is a city that is unlike any other--where you can hang out in bars that the two Jacks (London and Kerouac) used to get hammered in. You have the beauty of the ocean. Fresh seafood! Towering Mount Shasta. Mt. Lassen. The Sierra. Deserts. Agriculture. Fresh citrus. Bigfoot. Gold towns. Ghost towns. The Pacific flyway. Gary Snyder and Jerry Brown. <br />
<br />
Almost all the great writers I admire have lived here: Jack London, Gary Snyder, Ed Abbey, Jack Kerouac, Hunter Thompson, Wallace Stegner, Wendell Berry, John Muir, Ken Kesey, Michael Pollan, Joanna Macy--to name a few.<br />
<br />
I split my time between the excesses of the Napa Valley and the backwardness of Concow. Enophiles and Foodies versus Rednecks. It is a life of extremes. My off grid ridge versus the estates of movie stars and nutrition bar entrepreneurs. It is a rich life. It is a life of extremes. I like it.<br />
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But how is the training coming? Slowly. Steps today; I'm sore.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-27704673876260335542012-06-02T00:37:00.000-07:002012-06-02T00:37:11.093-07:00True"Little boys love machines; girls adore horses; grown-up men and women like to walk." Edward Abbey<br />
<br />Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-68577382748620911852012-05-31T21:49:00.000-07:002012-05-31T21:49:16.529-07:00Top Two<strong>"For there is a cloud on my horizon. A small dark cloud no bigger than my hand. Its name is Progress." Edward Abbey</strong><br />
<br />
I'm home for a just one day. I pulled in around 2:00 am this morning; couldn't sleep. I fell asleep as the sun was making its appearance.<br />
<br />
When I crawled out of bed around 10 am, Joni and I took a walk. A nice walk in the woods. Then errands and a yeoman's effort to get some of these weeds whacked. Looks good (sorry no photos). The Chico News and Review had a nice editorial today regarding my<a href="http://www.newsreview.com/chico/sam-aanestad-bottom-feeder/content?oid=6094591" target="_blank"> story</a> on Sam Aanestad. You can read it<a href="http://www.newsreview.com/chico/antics-ignorance/content?oid=6159752" target="_blank"> here.</a><br />
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Election day is next Tuesday. Then we shall find out who the "top two" will be in the November election. I'm hoping that one of the top two will not be Sam Aanestad. <br />
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<br />Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-688040078072516632012-05-30T11:43:00.001-07:002012-05-30T11:57:31.517-07:00Ed, Guns and Signs<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><strong>"Let us hope our weapons are never needed --but do not forget what the common people knew when they demanded the Bill of Rights: An armed citizenry is the first defense, the best defense, and the final defense against tyranny. </strong></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /><strong> If guns are outlawed, only the government will have guns. Only the police, the secret police, the military, the hired servants of our rulers. Only the government -- and a few outlaws. I intend to be among the outlaws." Edward Abbey</strong><br />
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Ed was wrong on this one. I don't really appreciate some parts of Ed Abbey's cowboy anarchism. Since I live in an area where owning guns is the norm, my safety, as an outsider who has views that aren't part of the cultural norm, well, I'm at risk. My own ridge has had multiple mishaps with firearms over the last four years we've lived there. One suicide by firearms. Alcohol, poverty, substance abuse, high value semi-legal agriculture and gun ownership is a frightening thing.<br />
<br />
Guns are not the first defense. They might be the last defense for a society--hence Che' picking up the rifle to protect the poor from the oppressors. But having more firepower often makes you the oppressor.<br />
<br />
So what is the first defense against tyranny?<br />
<br />
1. Education. A free and literate society.<br />
2. Free speech.<br />
3. An egalitarian society. For more see the great book<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Spirit-Level-Equality-Societies/dp/1608190366" target="_blank"> "The Spirit Level: Why Greater Equality Makes Societies Stronger by Richard Wilkenson and Kate Pickett.</a><br />
4. Courageous people who speak up against oppression. One Gandhi can go a long way. Or Jesus.<br />
<br />
All these are more important than a Winchester.<br />
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I took a forty five minute walk in Calistoga this morning. Training for this hike has led to me getting my day started a whole lot earler. A good thing. I saw these signs along the way:<br />
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This is what happens when you don't have socialized garbage collection.<br />
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Is this tyranny?<br />
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And I'm starting my hike this summer at Donner Summit. This bumper sticker stating we should save Donner Summit is something I need to investigate further.</span>Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-3934342107336056442012-05-29T11:26:00.000-07:002012-05-29T11:44:04.463-07:00104 Steps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>"There is something unnatural about walking. Especially walking uphill, which always seems to me not only unnatural but so unnecessary." Ed Abbey</strong><br />
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I drove down to the hospital on Memorial Day, getting passed along the way by pick up trucks towing monster recreational boats (gotta hurry up to the lake so we can slow down!)---to earn my RNey keep. <br />
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This morning I was awake to confront "THE STEPS". 104 of them---or sometimes when I try to count them, 105 of the creepy things. I was doing penance for the Mac And Cheese buffet that we had for the patients yesterday. We are never going to be able to suffer through this here upcoming hike on a diet of plate loads of gooey Mac and Cheese. One coworker quipped to me I should: "Just take an extra Simvastatin". <br />
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I took some Mac and Cheese back to my room last night for that midnight feast. Bad. <br />
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I spent a half hour admiring these steps this morning. I will push myself away from the extra Mac and Cheese I put in the fridge of the place I stay. Let it tempt another nurse.<br />
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Ran across this <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/health/fitness/exercise/fitness-research/why-is-walking-in-the-woods-so-good-for-you/article2443628/?utm_medium=Feeds%3A+RSS%2FAtom&utm_source=Home&utm_content=2443628">article</a> on the benefits of walking in the woods today.<br />
<br />Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340933403909073412.post-67173655049547817522012-05-27T13:23:00.000-07:002012-05-27T13:23:04.788-07:00A Suitable Companion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>"Balance, that's the secret. Moderate extremism." Edward Abbey</strong><br />
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Every year it is the same thing: I search for a hiking companion. I usually write e-mails to every friend I've ever had and to every friend I wish to make, in the search for a companion to hit the trail with me. Yes, I'd love for Joni to come with me but her back has ended her days on the trail.<br />
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This year I wrote my college roommates to ask if they would like to take a "Reunion Hike". None of them wrote back. I asked work friends. No go. No use.<br />
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And so I've decided to do the thing myself. I'll meet friends along the way. <br />
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However, this year is a good year to take a dog along. The Sierra snows were only 50 percent of normal; the snow pack is low. This means that most of the dangerous river/creek fords will be less hazardous. Meaning a dog can do it.<br />
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But which dog? I have three (which is about two too many).<br />
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Angel is the elder. Our Yellow Lab. She is four years old now and totally devoted to her girls--that'd be Kylie (age 12) and Jazzy (age 10). Angel is getting to the age where her hips (like mine, but more on that in another post) are getting arthritic. This limits her ability to scamper across rocks. Plus she does like to wander off. Nope, I won't take Angel.<br />
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"Little One" (the smallest dog in the photo above) is the newest addition to our family. She is less than a year old and has a bit of the wild left in her. She is just about the friendliest dog I've ever met. She hurls herself into most laps. Her problem is that she likes to run off. Plus she has a tendency to get in trouble. On one walk, she wandered off much too long. Finally she came back---but was being chased by a few coyotes. Little One will find every bit of trouble to get into; she wanders too far; and if there is a doggy virus to catch, she'll catch it. As loving as she is, I think I'd lose her.<br />
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So that leaves "Abbey". Abbey is the perfect trail dog: she never leaves my side; she doesn't require a leash; she is fiercely loyal (she chased off the coyotes that were on Little One's tail mentioned in the last paragraph). Abbey does have the wrong color for the trail---being black she requires a lot of water in the hot sun. But I'm comfortable taking her; she will be a good companion.<br />
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Abbey will carry her own food in a pack. I'll carry our water. We will take a couple overnight practice hikes before we hit the trail in August.Allan Stellarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07167114447852191877noreply@blogger.com4