Buddha in Hiking Boots

Before I started my 6-day “Intro to Backpacking the High Sierras” trip, I made an impulse buy (well, actually, it was a free Kindle download): Buddha in Blue Jeans: An Extremely Short Simple Zen Guide to Sitting Quietly and Being Buddha. (What I failed to anticipate was that the only thing to sit on would be rocks or tree stumps. But the Buddha sat on the ground….) The book’s chapter titles were natural themes for my trip: Our first presentation by the Sierra Club leaders was “Leave No Trace” (à la the chapter “Do No Harm”). Our first hike revealed sore feet, sore muscles, and hungry stomachs (“Pain Is Natural,” “Care for Your Body”). The first few days involved living in extremely close quarters with total strangers (“Be Who You Are,” “Listen to Others”). By the end, we had a mini-family of sorts, with people taking up roles of nurturer, caretaker, chore-doer, decision maker, crisis manager, provisioner, leader, follower (“Love Indiscriminately,” “Live Gratefully”). We visited places I am likely never to see again, and though I had my camera and notebook, they couldn’t capture the impressions left on all five senses (“Live Each Moment Well,” “Be Surprised,” “Wonder”). To take it all in, I needed to “Sit Quietly,” “Accept My Feelings,” and “Give Thoughts Room.”

Thus, rather than a day-by-day log of the trip, I’ll share here some thoughts, impressions, experiences, lessons, and photos.

Wildlife

A subset of our group, starting out down the trail.

Aside from mosquitoes, bees, yellow jackets, and stinging flies, the only wildlife I saw were some chipmunks around the lodge. Oh, and some fish jumping out of one of the lakes where we camped. But we had to plan for other wildlife (namely, bears) to come after our food, toothpaste, lotion, hand sanitizer—anything with a scent. Among the 10 of us, we hiked with three bear canisters as well as a bear bag that required hanging at least 15 feet high and several feet from a tree trunk, so that a bear cannot climb out on the limb and drop the bag to his waiting compatriot on the ground. Bear bags are apparently more popular and more effective on the East Coast than in the West. But as this was “intro to backpacking,” we went through the motions of hanging a bear bag so that we had the experience. It is a lot harder than it seems! We had a strong cord with a ball at the end that we threw repeatedly in the air trying to get it over the chosen tree branch. All three men in our group tried repeatedly, and I tried a few times, and I was really beginning to despair ever backpacking alone if this throwing thing were a requirement.

Arriving at Lower Lola Montez Lake, our first overnight in the wilderness.

We finally got the ball over, but the friction between cord and branch was such that the ball would not drop back down to the ground, allowing us to set up a pulley system. It required very patient coaxing to get it down the other side. Only then did I learn that this is not required for bear canisters, but only for bear bags. The canisters are just set somewhere far enough from one’s tent that a bear trying to open it will not disturb the human inhabitants and hopefully somewhere in the wide open so that if the bear tries throwing and kicking the canister to break it open, one can still find the unopened canister (containing ALL one’s food) in the morning.

Sketching

My tent-mate is a scientist, a water-colorist, and a poet. Another participant on the trip is a photographer and builder, another a musician, another an inventor. We were asked on the trip form if we had any “interests, hobbies, or specialties we would be willing to share with the group.” I said I have lots of interests but no special skills the group would find useful. That proved true!

Castle Peak (we all opted for a day hike to the cool lake rather than this hot peak).

So aside from hiking, doing my assigned chores, reading, and trying to pry the dirt from under my fingernails, what would I do with my down time? After trying meditation, yoga, and journal-keeping on this trip, I realized one of the things I was enjoying most was observing my fellow backpackers, their personalities, levels of preparedness and coping skills, pet peeves, interests, and fears. Thus, my chosen art form was character sketches. To my writer friends: Is this what fiction writers do—observe and surmise what makes others tick? How else can you create characters if you don’t observe, guess, project, and make assumptions about inner motivations based on outward appearances? I won’t share my “sketches,” for they are perforce shallow, limited, subjective observations. But of all the things I could have been drawn to do on this trip, why this activity? I’ll have to ponder that a while.

Thru-Hikers

Our second major hike of the trip was along the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) north of Donner Summit, with two nights at a Sierra Club landmark called the Peter Grubb Hut, built in the late 1930s. Many “thru-hikers” along the PCT stop here, and some overnighted at the campsite (or even on the floor of this rustic and rodent-infested hut) while we were there. Anne and I woke the first morning to find a thru-hiker in a hammock near our tent—his shelter for the night was said hammock, a sleeping bag, and bug netting over his face. He had arrived after dark and set up his hammock without waking me. Other thru-hikers arrived after dark and kept some of our group up with their talking, food preparation, and smoking (smoking out on the trail???).

After meeting and talking briefly with quite a few of these thru-hikers, I noticed a pattern. Most are young men (early 20s), often traveling alone, who have let their beards grow long and unkempt, are overly tan, drink unfiltered water right out of these mountain creeks (it is a matter of pride that they drink it unfiltered and claim never to have gotten sick), and generally have the appearance of having “gone native” or to be using their hike along the PCT from Mexico to Canada as an excuse to be legitimately homeless. Except for the hiking poles, there is little to distinguish them from bums on the street. Including their smell.

Thru-hikers get nicknames along the trail. We met “Nurse Betty,” a rare female hiker traveling alone. We heard a threesome of thru-hikers talk derogatorily about whether “Babyface” would ever catch up with them. To be just north of Tahoe in July is a little late for a PCT thru hike. Most begin at the US-Mexico border in April and plan to finish at the US-Canada border in September. Thus, in late July they should be in Oregon already. Many of the thru-hikers we met were trying to do 25-30 miles per day to make up time. At least one had spent a fair amount of time in Truckee, loading up on calories at a pizza buffet.

Sunset on the PCT

The Couscous Incident

The difference between backpacking and hiking is the weight. Some backpackers become obsessed with it. They will cut the dangling string off of tea bags (forget about the paper wrapper), carry limited water and pump on the trail (or drink straight out of the creek, in the case of thru-hikers), pack ultra-light tents (or sleep in a hammock), bring nothing but a cup and spoon as a mess kit, eat instant oatmeal and ramen for days on end. Couscous is also a popular trail staple, as it is relatively lightweight and easy to make. It was the core ingredient in our last dinner, but somehow ingredients were miscalculated (passive voice intentional), and we ended up carrying vast quantities more than we needed up the trail and having to carry vast (cooked but uneaten) quantities back down the trail. However, as we were all sharing the load of “commissary,” we felt a bit hoodwinked by this course of events. We understood the “leave no trace” principle, but living the creed in weight on your back is another matter. Therefore, we were highly motivated to pawn the leftover couscous off on thru-hikers and others at the campsite. Unfortunately, we couldn’t even give it away to the family who hiked in with their three dogs! After a fifth person in our group offered it to the same thru-hiker, all he could do was laugh. Offering a thru-hiker couscous is tantamount to offering him/her a yummy bowl of oatmeal. We carried it back down.

In scouting a location for our tent at the site near Peter Grubb Hut, we were focused on flat ground and shade; we failed to notice the giant boulder poised above us.

Shitting in the Woods

If you’ve never had to do this before: it’s not as bad as you might think. If you have, you’ll know it is actually cleaner than having to go into a shack with a shit-filled hole in it, covered by a fly-infested seat. Our first overnight stop had no “latrine,” so we had no choice but to go dig a hole in the woods. There were “his” and “hers” sides of the forest, and “his” and “hers” bright orange trowels, so if a trowel was missing from the designated rock, that side of the woods was “occupied.” Wait your turn. The second two-night outing did have a latrine, but it was so gross that I could not bear to enter. However, the campsite was quite busy (as I said, it is a popular stop on the PCT), so finding a bit of privacy was more difficult. At one point, with the turning in random patterns and testing of privacy in 360-degree circles before digging my hole, I began to feel like my dogs, doing circles, sniffing, and circling again before deciding on the perfect spot.

The Sierra Club’s Claire Tappan Lodge, our starting point and home for part of the week.

My home (with tent-mate Anne) and gear on the trail.

Arriving at Castle Pass on the PCT. Although the elevation gain from the trail head is relatively modest (not sure exactly—600 ft? 800 ft? 400 ft?), it was hot and my pack heavy. My face is about the same shade of pink as my shirt.

Heading home.