Trip Report – Getting in the way of Important Things
The roof of hidden lake lookout needed replacing. Badly. Cedar shingles, once a cheerful blonde, had turned grey and cracked after nearly 30 years of abusive Washington weather. Our hosts, Robert and Ethan scrambled across the lookout’s roof, installing the new shingles. Ones that would hopefully last as long as their predecessors (read: 20 years longer than they were intended to). To say the two men moved with ease would belie the precarious nature of the situation. Only Ethan had a harness, and while I could not ascertain how safe his rigging system was, it certainly had to provide greater safety than Robert’s, which, consisted of a knotted piece of rope wrapped repeatedly around his leg. It was this rope that would, at least in theory, prevent Robert from plummeting the 500 feet off the side of the mountain should he slip from the roof.
Just six hours earlier I’d been waking to a 4am alarm and loading my gear into Rob’s battered Subaru Outback, grateful, if for nothing else, that the lingering smell of gasoline had faded since the last time I was in this car. As we drove through the predawn light, the urban glimmer of Seattle faded into the background, and our conversation turned to the dreaded permitting system. The goal was to beat the rush to the ranger station and secure one of the elusive Hidden Lake Lookout permits. As we pulled into the parking lot, we knew we had failed. The parking lot was filled with bleary-eyed people, more than a few of whom had spent the night in their cars. Rob returned to the car with our number, 13. My lucky number. We had to get a permit now, we just had to.
And we did.
Although it came with the warning that the lookout would likely be closed for repairs. Well then. That was just a chance we’d have to take.
Ultimately, no chances had to be taken. No blustery bivies set up on an exposed ridge. Just a few hours of honest work helping to restore the old lookout would secure our lodging for the night.
After the work had been done our group of four, now turned to six, sat atop the rocky summit and watched one of the most incredible sunsets I’ve ever seen. The conversation turned to the niceties that had been foregone earlier. Where are you from. What do you do. I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about my answers, especially surrounded by our new companions. Los Angeles, and advertising, seemed impractical and vain next to Ethan, the Boulder-based photographer, and Robert the possibly-nomadic lookout care-taker.
The thoughts of employment and value had been circling my head for the previous month as I started a job hunt. What value is there is selling luxury cars, pimping mobile video games, and pushing content onto disinterested consumers? How does advertising, media, PR, marketing, any of it; how does any of it better our world? At 28 I’d already started to look around and wonder what my contribution to this little blue rock would be. How would I structure my life differently were I not saddled with more student debt than my annual salary? Or was my debt simply an excuse I used to keep myself in a city I felt no love for, and a job I had increasingly become disinterested in.
Robert said having a job just gets in the way of the important things in life. I was surprised he didn’t finish his sentence with the hippy-cliché, a drawn out, maaaan. But man, maybe he was right. If not for the desire for a bigger house, why do I need more money? I certainly don’t have much interest in a new car, a bigger (or any) TV. So then, what the fuck am I doing?
The answer is, I’m not sure. This isn’t a blog post about where I suddenly discover the meaning of life from a mountain top guru. That’s the stuff of Hollywood movies, and frankly it’s crap, the notion that life’s choices can be distilled into an instant. Instead, our trip through the North Cascades left me with open eyes and a deep, aching desire to return to Washington to explore further. And Robert left me with more questions than I started with, and an urgent desire to find a place in the world that would better align with my lifestyle, values, passions, whatever you want to call it. No, no answers were found. But that’s just the way life is…. maaaaan.
Trip Report – Everything is Scary, Until You Realize It’s Not.
I woke up in the back seat of my car, just as the sun started to creep over the granite faces that marked the entrance to Sequoia National Park. Now, this probably sounds like opening to a story where I confess that I’ve become homeless and destitute. But I promise that’s not the case. Instead I was casually sleeping on the side of the road so that I could get to the ranger station early in order to secure my backcountry permit. I had been looking forward to this trip all week: 30 miles and nearly 10,000 feet of gain, up and over innumerable passes in Sequoia’s Mineral King backcountry. Just me and my backpack. For this trip I wouldn’t even have a tent. Actually, you know what, that does sound a little bit like homelessness. Sorry mom.
9am found me on the trail, steadily climbing up into the mountains. Away from the friendly rangers, away from my happy little car, away, in a sense, from safety. I knew this trip was going to be hard. I had planned this trip specifically so it would be hard. I wanted a real challenge, and to strip away everything I thought I could do without. I knew the only way I’d make my goal (finishing the entire loop and making it back to my car before dark on Sunday) would be to go as light, fast, and lucky as possible. I was really, really excited.
I get a lot of praise and incredulity from my mountain exploits. Just as often as people tell me I’m amazing or badass, they also tell me I’m crazy. And then, without prompting, people love to tell me they could never do what I do. That they’d be too scared of bears/snakes/the dark/getting lost/whatever, to hike alone in the wilderness. Do you want to know a fun fact? That’s true. And no amount of being told how safe the wilderness can be, or what steps to take to protect yourself will convince those people otherwise.
Now, I can hear what you’re saying what kind of crap is she getting at? and that’s not very inspirational! And yeah, you’re correct. But you know what is also correct? That you can’t logic yourself out of fear. In my experience, the only way you get over the shit you tell yourself you can’t do is to do it. Sorry buttercup.
It was 5pm when I sat on a blackened log in the middle of a recent burn area. The scorched earth matched my mood as I dutifully stuffed calories in my face. Just hours before I had been frolicking through a Disney-esque mountain landscape irrationally happy and fueled with gluten free oreos. Now, I was having a low moment. This is supposed to be hard I told myself, that’s the point. Strangely that helped me feel better. Good, I thought if it’s hard, and it sucks, then I’m doing it right. Heaving my bag onto my shoulders I slogged down the trail. I walked, and I walked and I walked. Up and over mountains, past lakes.
And I kept doing it all the way into camp. Oh my god, I have never been happier to see a camp. And eat food, and sit down and know I don’t have to move for several hours. Funny how the little things can seem so luxurious.
Hammock camping had proved to be a complete disaster as every little breeze made me think that a bear was swatting at me like a meat-piñata. But morning had finally come, and despite my sleep deprivation I was ready to get on the trail. A breakfast of too-sweet coffee and s’mores ensued, and soon I was summiting the first pass of the day. I felt incredible, let out a primal yell of joy incredible. Do a dance on top of the mountain incredible! I practically ran down the backside of Black Rock Pass, thinking to myself it’s all downhill from here. And then it started to rain.
And this is the best part of backpacking. Which I know sounds like crap, but bear with me. The part of the day where you realize you’ve miscalculated mileage. The part of the day where you realize the final pass you have to climb is 2,400 feet up, not 500 feet up. The part of the day when it starts to rain and then hail on you but you don’t have a rain jacket because you thought you’d be back at the car by now. Those parts are freaking awesome.
Why? Because when you’re on the trail, the only way out is through. And when things go to crap, you have no choice but to get your shit together and hike your soggy butt over the mountain. Because, literally, there is no alternative. Well, I guess you could curl up under a tree and live like a squirrel for the rest of your life, but I know personally I would miss things like electricity and warm showers, so you should probably just keep hiking
And look, eventually I did make it out. I didn’t have to fashion a laptop out of twigs and pinecones in order to write this blog post. Eventually I got back to my car, and it was still daylight too. And as a result I’m pretty sure I’m a stronger person for it. And I know for a fact that I’m a heck of a lot more appreciative of the little things. Like sitting on soft stuff that isn’t rocks, and not smelling terrible. Seriously though, deodorant is pretty incredible.
So maybe give yourself some credit, and try something you think you can’t do. Because what is the worst that could happen, you get eaten by a bear? Ok, yeah that probably is the worst case scenario. But when you wake up in the mountains and you realize you haven’t been eaten by a bear, and you didn’t die, or wake up to find a gaggle of hillbillies have made you their bride, you’ll probably be pretty proud of yourself, and realize that maybe nature isn’t such a big, scary place.
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Perspective: A Comic
Last weekend I spent two days on a solo backpacking adventure through Sequoia National Park. The experience was definitely one of the hardest things I’ve voluntarily put myself through, but it was also incredibly rewarding, and at times super freaking fun. This lead me to thinking about how everything we do and love, or do and hate is really just based on personal perspective. These exhaustion-fueled musings lead to this little comic.
Also, I apparently write comics now. If for no other reason than to amuse myself.
Look for a full trip report coming later this week.
A Camping Supplies List – Because you have no idea what you’re doing.
There are a lot of benefits when it comes to being “that girl who does all the crazy outdoors stuff,” namely that people will randomly strike up conversations with me about hiking, nature, camping, and generally all things that fall under the category of “outdoorsy.” I’ve come to love these conversations if for no other reason than it beats listening to people talk about their yoga cat, or whatever it is people do in Hollywood to stay active.
Recently this penchant for asking me about nature, turned into people actually wanting to go out into nature with me. I know, right? But go figure, people are weird. However one thing I quickly realized is that people have exactly zero clue as to what they’re doing. Don’t believe me, here is an actual conversation I had.
Me: Excited for camping this weekend?
Clueless Future Camper: Sure, what do I need to bring to sleep?
Me: Well you’ll need a tent, sleeping bag, pad, pillow if you like…
CFC: Tent? I thought we’d be staying in cabins! Isn’t that what camping is?
Me: Ummmm, no. Camping is like, a tent-based activity.
And so I present to you a handy guide for car camping. Or, for the uninitiated, camping where you drive to within 100 meters of your camp site, grab all your junk, and sleep in a tent. You know, camping.
Camping and Stuffs