"I'm going to speak my mind because I have nothing to lose."--S.I. Hayakawa
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Showing posts with label Resurrection Trail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Resurrection Trail. Show all posts

Monday, July 18, 2011

The Resurrection Pass Journals, Chapter One




Weight and Balance
Part One

God made the world round so we could never
see too far down the road—Isek Dinesen

I like to plan ahead.  I like to know where I’m going, what to expect when I get there, and what I need to take.  Most times, I over-plan.

In preparing for this hike into the mountains, I had four major concerns:

      

            1.  Brown bears.
            2.  My feet, specifically the bunions on both feet that are rearranging the positions of my toes.
            3.  The rest of me.
            4.  Black bears.

It wasn’t that the territory was unfamiliar, though it had been something like forty years since I’d been in there during summer.  I’d traveled part of it by dog sled a couple times, and once by snowmachine.

On Trout Lake,  1973

I accompanied my husband and a good friend once on a moose hunt.  The friend rode his horse, other horses carried our supplies, and my hubby and I had a horse to share.  At the outset, we quibbled over who got to ride and who had to walk.  After a few miles, we were arguing about who got to walk and who had to ride.

As to my first concern, the bears that inhabit this area, I checked with a friend who said she’d seen lots of bear sign at the Hope end of the trail and none near the Cooper Landing end.  I immediately changed my plans and decided to start at Cooper Landing, and exit Resurrection Pass by the Devil’s Pass trail that intersects the Resurrection Trail at its mid-point, a distance of somewhere between twenty-six and twenty-nine miles.  (Sources vary.)

I read about a brown bear attacking three bike riders and learned that while they were carrying bear spray, it was in one of their packs. I decided I wanted my bear spray ready for quick draw.  A Coleman semi-rigid  container for keeping beverages cold was the answer. 


I cut two slits in the container and threaded the cinch strap on my backpack through them.


El perfecto!

My camera went into a small padded case on the chest strap of the pack and a water bottle hung from a caribiner on the cinch strap.  My pink handkerchief from Parker Ranch in Hawaii was tied to a shoulder strap. 
In the tiny pockets on the cinch strap were Zip-locs with Aleve and insect repellent wipes.

There wasn’t much I could do about the weight of the essentials:




Empty backpack                       6.2 lbs
The tent.
Tent and ground cloth                3.5


Sleeping bag                              3.5

Air mattress                               .5
Personal gear                            1.5
Cook pot, stove, fuel, misc.       2.5

Cook pot, folding bucket in orange pouch, red case for stove, Pocket Rocket stove on fuel canister, soap leaves in yellow plastic, stormproof matches, water treatment tabs.


Already the pack was up to eighteen pounds and I still had to add food and clothing. 

(to be continued)

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Signs for the Seriously Stuck on Stupid

I’ve done some stupid things in my life.  I would like to say I’m the first to admit that, but I think others beat me to it, and they were talking about me.

I frequently failed to learn from the stupid things I’ve done in my life.  I was not the first to admit that either.

Here’s one of the stupid things I’ve done:



This was in 1973.  I was 32, certainly old enough to know better.  I’m at the gas station in Girdwood, waiting to begin a long odyssey down the Alcan Highway through Canada to Outside (the lower 48 states).  Yes, that’s an overloaded 1965 Mustang pulling an enormously overloaded trailer.

I stopped in Anchorage to say bye to my folks.  My mother was aghast.  My father laughed and shook his head.

I had to get towed up steep hills in the Alcan.  I almost burned out the clutch.  I barely made it to Oregon where I swapped the Mustang for a GMC pickup and my cousin transferred the box to the pickup.  All went well after that.

The moral of this anecdote is that it’s a good thing I didn’t know any better, because I never would have gone on that adventure.

Now I’m going off on another stupid adventure, but this time I know in advance it’s stupid.  Unless I change my mind, I’m catching a ride to Hope Thursday morning so I can hike the Resurrection Trail.  Attempt.  Attempt to hike the trail.

Every part of me but my feet is capable of this hike. Also my left shoulder.  And perhaps my right ring finger....and the right shoulder.  Maybe the right ankle, too.

I got the idea last Thursday when my friend Irene posted on Facebook that she and her three young children had hiked the trail over the Fourth of July holiday. 

By Friday night I had disabused myself of the idea.  I’d just walked three miles picking up litter and my feet hurt.  Stupid, I told myself, to think I can still walk 35 miles with a heavy pack.  I’d hiked it forty-plus years ago and since then did part of it by dog team and again on a snowmachine.  It isn’t new territory for me.

Sign:  a discernible indication of what is not itself directly perceptible.

Monday morning I received a sign.  My backpack, which had been hanging on a hook in the garage since May of last year, had fallen to the floor.  Obviously, it wanted to go hiking.


The backpack with its raincoat on the floor.

All right!  Nothing like a sign to help make up my mind.  Preparations began.  No problem with bears, I figured.  They’ll all be in Cooper Landing looking for salmon at the Russian River.

Monday, thinking I could save myself a trip to Seward, I went online to look for trail information.  When I Googled Resurrection Trail, up popped this link:


Okaaaaay, a year to the day.  Bear attack. 

Was that a sign?  Perhaps an ominous omen?  I got to thinking about that backpack falling to the floor after more than a year. 

Omen:  an occurrence or phenomenon believed to portend a future event.

Does the backpack really want to go?  Or is it telling me I’m gonna fall flat on my face for whatever  reason? 

Like, a fetal position to protect from a charging bear?


What do you think?  Is this a backpack that wants to go, or a backpack in the fetal position?