August 26-27th 2016

What motivates someone to climb a mountain? Or hike with a heavy pack up a big hill? Why do we do these things? The easy answers come to mind - enjoy nature, challenge ourselves, bragging rights, even pride - but they all seem to fall short. At least they do for me. Perhaps they explain the motivation for many of the people on the trail, people who may be out in the mountains once a year or who are there every week. But for me it is not so cerebral of an endeavor. I'm in the mountains, or I see the mountains, and I FEEL something. I drive up and down the Wasatch and some mountains do little for me, but others sing their siren song that makes me full of desire. I see beautiful lines and just like admiring the curves of your lover that you want to reach out and caress, I yearn to affectionately stroke these monoliths in all the right ways. Is it passion? Love? I think it is even less than that, it is instinct. It is something that I want without thought, something that creates a connection at the very base of my brain.

Well, that's me. I was looking forward to a hike with just Charlie as he is a proven hiker. Last summer he was hanging with 4 college kids for 10+ mile days while I was staying back trying to coax Pete along. He's 9 now, so I figure Charlie can pack a little more. Turns out this makes life pretty hard. Hard to say if the complaining was more than Rosie, but at least he never ended up crying on the side of the trail. 

Meh

I suggest maybe he needs somebody here to impress and he wouldn't complain as much. He wholeheartedly agrees. I point out that it makes me a little sad that he will hike hard for others, but not for me. He is unfazed. At least he will not grow up with a complex of always trying to impress his dad. Nevertheless we have an enjoyable evening and an uneventful summit of Ben Lomond in the morning. Charlie's first real summit, and he is genuinely excited. So am I, but I can tell it is different. And that's ok.

Ben Lomond Summit.

"I can see our house from here!"

A classic, no caption needed.

This was a pretty legit idea at the time. A long, dark crevice that I can't follow him in.

Good morning, Willard Peak. Oh the things I'd like to do to you.

July 22nd 2016

Part I

Time to move south. I can't just keep throwing myself at Ben Lomond and Lewis Peak. I'll work my way down the Wasatch and learn the mountains as I go. So that brings me to Mt Ogden. Sure you can drive up Snowbasin almost to the top, but that's not my style. I hear Beus Canyon is the way to go, and I'm going by 0515. I've done a good job with my checklist and try to pace myself as I follow my headlamp up the trail. Little bright specs of blue shine back at me as the wolf spiders survey their unexpected visitor. The trail closely follows the creek and the air is cool, but then I stop dead. 10ft in front of me is a much larger amber glow. After my experience last week, rattlesnakes are on my mind and I almost walked right on one. The glow of the eye makes it hard to see the rest of the snake, but it looks coiled, with possibly the rattle sticking up. The head is pointed and slowly moving side to side. I kick a bit of dirt to see if I can get it to move on, but no response. It's dark, but I survey my possibilities. Steep, overgrown hillside to the left, and flowing creek to the right. Just then the snake jumps into the air!! Startled, I look over to see a grouse or something fly off above the trees. Ok. Glowing amber eyes is not so bad. (I have since done the research and snake eyes do not glow) I continue up the trail and dawn overtakes me as I reach the "field of ferns." I didn't make that up, that's what all the trail guides call it. Almost a mile through very thick ferns, usually taller than me. Fortunately with the light of day coming I can stick with the trail and get through it to move on to 3 miles through scrub oak on the side of the ridge. Between the two I am not able to pick up my pace much and never really best 2mph on the whole ascent. 

I gain the ridge and early morning clouds mute the sunrise. The saddle before the summit you join up with the road from Snowbasin and then a pretty steep climb to the top. It's nice, even with the towers and helipad. But especially nice to have finally made a summit.

Part II

I made the summit later than hoped at just after 0800. Return time is supposed to be 1000, which is disappointing because Allen Peak is really what intrigues me. A fun ridgeline to the north, and respectable cliffs on the north side I have been scoping from my hikes further up the range. Running late prevents much consideration of a side trip and I head down intent on making good time. They say that when you return to sports your technique will improve before your fitness improves. I have been hiking with my poles for over a month, but finally today I really feel it come together and they are extensions of me once again. Running down the trail my pole work was really on point, smoothly sailing up, down, or over large, rough rocks.

The difficulty comes as I return to the side of the ridge. The scrub oak is so thick that it inhibits the use of poles. Between that and the rough, often obscured trail I am not able to run the descent very much at all. I do find open sections and take advantage, but overall the pace is way down. With the later time of day I also become concerned about my water supply. Barely a mile into the descent my yummy water is gone, and I'm not sure how much is left in the camelback. The trail switches back on a spring that has good flowing water 100' from the source. I decide to fill my water bottle as a backup. As I round the ridge to the field of ferns I still have water and am feeling good and running again. Then I kick a root point that was hidden under a large leaf. I gracefully come to a stop (really I did) and take a moment to process some new hazards from trail running. In my head I think about how my kids would say they broke their foot if something like this happened. I smile and press on, painfully hitting my toe on rocks and roots at least 10 more times, even after I stop running. I get to the car at 1030. Late. I take off my sock and see the end of my toe is completely purple. I broke my toe. The price you pay to make a summit. At this point I say screw it, and drink my spring water.

I think I'll take a break from hiking for a little bit.

July 15-16th 2016

PART I

I have owed Rosie a backpacking trip for a year, this Friday was finally her day. I was going to make another attempt at Lewis Peak, with the hopes that an overnighter would get us there, even if on 5 yr old legs. That was the hope. I had to work Friday so I thought I would simplify the whole process and just leave right after dinner. Leave the stove and pots at home. Good concept, but hard to get dinner on the table early when I'm preoccupied with getting our packs ready to go. One delay after the next and we hit the trail at 8:00, just past Rosie's bedtime. The first two miles is just uphill switchbacks. Rosie is a good sport, but talks constantly and frequently stops to help make her point. Cute enough, but we need to get to camp before dark. Things go better when I take the lead and she follows along. She gets a little tired, but quick breaks keep her going. We reach the ridge just in time before dark. Didn't need lights for the hike, but needed to setup the tent. We enjoy some freeze-dried ice cream and hit the sack. 

Rosie sleeps really well, but I am reminded my body does not enjoy sleeping on the ground as much as it used to. We get up early, so Rosie went to bed 2 hrs late and got up 2 hrs early. This is going to be fun. We chow and break down camp and are on the trail by 7:00. We move along as best as can be hoped for for several miles. We make it just passed Eyrie Peak and take a break in the shade. We are still a mile short of Lewis Peak. Even if Rosie was up for it, I don't think we would make it back by lunch. I don't think Rosie is up for it.    

PART II

It is always easy to see afterwards where you might have misstepped or misspoke. As we took our long break in my head I thought, if I could just get Rosie to make it to Lewis Peak, then maybe she could sit or stand on my tent and I could hike her out. It didn't seem like a great or even possible idea, but I must have mumbled something about it as I thought it over. Rosie took note. I decide for the 4th time in a row to turn back short of a summit. Even after a long break she immediately is distraught and not happy to be moving along or even be there. She drags her poles. She cries real tears. I coach her along with a promise of another break at the next spot of shade. By the time we get there she is incoherent. I offer her more food and a nap. Yes and no. I have to dig myself out of this hole. The trail climbs for the next half mile. I'll let Rosie ride my backpack, then all she will have to do is downhill. She sits on my tent and holds on to her poles strapped on my backpack. This is hard. Not just from a too-much-weight-for-an-out-of-shape-dad type of way, but from a Cg way out of line type of way. I lean forward but each step is fighting to stay upright. 

Backpacking is about still going even when it's hard. That's what I tell my kids. Fortunately it was hard for Rosie to hold on. She realized walking was easier than this and got down after a hundred yards. She was much more compliant the rest of the hike with almost a break down as I pushed to get us off the ridge. I had a cookie for her afterward so it was all good. We both walked right by a coiled rattlesnake less than a foot off the trail. After passing I realized the rattle and hissing were not from the grasshoppers. Close call. We finish the hike and are home by 1:00. I post a picture on Facebook of Rosie on the trail, flexing her bicep and smiling with Ben Lomond in the background. The caption says "This is Rosie. She hiked 7 miles before lunch. What did you do today?" The fans go wild.    

This is Rosie. She hiked 7 miles before lunch. What did you do today? -95 likes