Back country Backpacking in Utah – April 2015
Since I have the resources, time and money, and am still healthy I resolved to have periodic adventures. Some of these are small things, little more than vacations. Others are more significant such as sailing from Panama to Florida or hiking the Appalachian Trail. I have been getting together with my old friend David Romanausky for the past few years to go on backpacking expeditions. This year was our most ambitious yet. Since David lives in the Portland area and I am near Houston Texas, just getting together is a challenge. I had planned to be in Park City, Utah to celebrate a group birthday/reunion with a group of friends, so David took that as a point to work from. He found some challenging trails in the High Uintas Wilderness Area. High and wilderness – that pretty well describes the area about a hundred miles east of Salt Lake City. A few meager roads go into the area but it is almost uninhabited. Most of the area is either Indian Reservation or National Forest. I remembered that my old friend Tor used to go up and camp in National Forests when it got too hot to stay on his boat. He always said there were fewer people in the Forests than National Parks and way fewer regulations. The maps David emailed me were a bit fuzzy but looked intriguing. The plan was for David to ride the bus from Portland to Duchesne, Utah where I would pick him up and we would drive up to the Rock Creek Trail Head some forty miles north.
Why do I call my trips adventures instead of vacations? Because an adventure should incorporate elements of discomfort and even danger – consider that the spice of the activity. This particular trip had elements of both, along with periods of solitude, scenery, simplicity, and intense quiet – things missing in our modern world. I have been asked why I would put myself though the hard work (and it is physically taxing) and discomfort of going wilderness backpacking. I call it a ‘simple pleasure.’ Then I was asked if it was the pleasure or myself that was simple. Part of the reason I go off into the wild is my personality. I love the concept of having ‘everything you need and nothing you don’t’. The farther back we got into the wilderness the more I found my mind becoming clearer as things simplified. You remember where you put things. You know what is and is not important. Thoughts of things that might have been and concerns about things I should have said or done drop away. Life is about simple things – eating, packing, and where we want to end up that day. Life becomes where you are going to place your steps on the rocky trail and looking up now and again to where the trail is going. Most of the time you can only see a short distance ahead. I would estimate that the highest point I see on the uphill trail ahead is no more than ten feet higher than I where I am standing. So up you go, fifty to a hundred feet forward and perhaps six to ten feet up; repeat as necessary. About every hour David would have us rest and take off our packs for ten minutes or so. There was not much conversation while walking and most of what there was was with yourself. Once in a while you look around at the scenery which was very nice – if you like wild mountainous terrain.
Some elements were the same for all the days of both trips:
Food – We had to carry what we would eat for five days. I knew that oatmeal and instant coffee, mixed with creamer and cocoa would do for breakfast. The easiest things to buy were snacks/lunch/trail food like jerky, dried fruit, and trail mixes for while we were hiking and for consumption as our lunch. We both brought way too many of those. I purchased a variety of the freeze-dried dinners you find in outdoor stores. Dave, being a more experienced hiker used quart freezer bags with things like instant rice or noodles with dried meat and spices. This was cheaper and allowed for bigger portions. For both of these, all you have to do is pour boiling water in the pouch and wait a few minutes and you have a hot meal. One thing we did not care about was the carbohydrates, sugar, sodium or fat content of what we were eating. We wanted it all; we needed it all. When you are burning the furnace hot enough it does not matter much what you put in it, and we were burning over six thousand calories a day. We liked some of the meals better than others. Dave liked the Chili Mac package I brought; I preferred the chicken and rice dinner. David brought along a combined salt and pepper shaker which really helped the flavor of our dinners.
Drinking – We each carried between two and three liters of water with us. As we had been advised, water was not a problem in the Wilderness; there were mountain streams and lakes all around us. Although we were high in the mountains David insisted that we use our iodine pills in all our water. I suspected that we were too far from civilization to risk having a debilitating bout of diarrhea. Although I suspected that he was being overcautious I took his advice. Turns out that Giardia can be brought into those remote brooks by rodents as well as people. We also had a filter pump which we used when we took water from the lakes to strain particulate matter as well as harmful bacteria. It worked; we used a lot of water with nary an intestinal twinge. I really enjoyed adding some flavoring to the water, stuff like EmergenC or Tang. As to alcohol, I had absolutely no interest in a drink of that kind on the trail.
Shelter – We carried, tent, sleeping bag, and pad with us. They were marvels of lightweight protection. Sleeping is an important part of backpacking. Often you will spend from ten to twelve hours a day in your tent. Not only do you need your rest but frankly there is not a lot to do in camp once you finish eating and cleaning up. Often it is too cold, or there are too many mosquitoes, or it is raining, so you wind up spending a lot of time in your little cocoon. Believe me it is very nice to enjoy the tenuous protection of a tent when it is raining or there is a chill wind blowing. Modern pads keep you comfortably off the ground. Sleeping bags can to keep you toasty warm – within limits. On the other side of the equation, a backpack tent is also small and confining. Your little cocoon is not much bigger than a coffin. You are starting from flat on the ground and the tents are far from easy to get in and out of. When you go into your tent you had better have everything you might need in the night close to hand. Trust me, you do not want to have to get up in the middle of the night to relieve yourself – way, way too much trouble. So, you lie there in your tent, with not much room. Often you are so tired this is not a problem – I know I slept a lot on the trip. Other times you are in there with just your thoughts. A backpack tent is a good place to do some thinking; you have few distractions although the line between dreams and consciousness can be very thin.
Clothing – We mostly wore shorts to hike, even when it was chilly. Once we got into camp we would often put on long johns for sleeping. We did a lot of layering so we could shed items as the day warmed up. We often wore the same thing day after day. Between that and the lack of bathing I guess we were pretty ripe by the time we got off the mountain. We did not seem to notice ourselves. We were probably scent blind to ourselves after a day or so, but honestly it was not a problem to us and since there was no one else around it just didn’t seem to matter.
The process of elimination – Yes, I learned to do what bears do naturally. There were signs that warned us from camping or eliminating waste within 200 feet of trails or water. No problem. Privacy was also not an issue – there was no one else around. You just took your little trowel out into the bushes and did your business.
The Trip Out
But before I could hike I had to do some planning. First, I had to review my equipment and plan. I had a new tent to use, courtesy of my brother-in-law, Fred, and some other new bits of gear I got after our trip last year. I checked the weather both recently and historically and found that we could expect highs in the mid 80’s and lows in the upper 50’s. There was a 20% chance of rain on Tuesday, the day we were to depart. The rule of thumb is to reduce temperature about 3-5 degrees for each thousand feet. Duchesne is about 6,000 feet above sea level and we would not be too much above 10,000 feet – so a difference of about four thousand feet. Four times four degrees is 16 so we could have lows in the 40’s. Dave’s bag was rated for that. Mine was rated for 32. Just to be on the safe side I decided to bring along my bag liner which gets me an extra ten degrees of warmth; turned out to be a good decision. The other aspect of planning was my driving route. Dave just had to buy a bus ticket, I had to develop an itinerary. I estimated my route so that I could be in Duchesne to meet Dave by 0945 on Tuesday. That meant being within a couple of hours of there the night before and that meant spending the night in Green River, Utah. About halfway between home and there was the city of Clovis, New Mexico. I followed recommendations to reserve my motel room online to secure the best rates – usually in the $60-70 range. I chose ‘the road less travelled’ as is my preferred route to get to those cities. I like small town America and avoided long stretches of Interstate travel.
I was underway promptly at 0900 on Sunday, having attended the Saturday church service so I could leave early. As expected, between my satellite radio, book tapes, and the back roads of Texas I had a very pleasant ride. I even discovered the unexpected pleasure of fried chicken strips dipped in gravy when I stopped for lunch. It is fortunate this combination is not available where I live because it is so tasty it has got to be bad for you. West Texas is where you can find the Staked Plains, terrain so open and unvarying that the Spanish explorers resorted to driving stakes into the ground to mark their way. Now it is marked by oil derricks and wind turbines.
The road through Clovis was under construction and without my phone’s trusty navigation system I would have missed my motel. My room was just what I wanted: simple, quiet, clean, and cheap. I ate a Cobb Salad at a local eatery to make up for the chicken and gravy I had for lunch.
It was easy to leave early and within a few miles I was out into the plains of New Mexico. I intersected I-40 and whipped through my old home of Albuquerque and then onto the back roads of northwest New Mexico which inexorably let me up through southwest Colorado to Utah. The rock formations became larger and more bizarrely beautiful as I went further in. I passed through Moab, near Arches National Park, an altogether nice little tourist town. It was a marked change from Green River, and hour down the road. Green River, Utah is a dump. The motel was clean but old and funky. I took the word of the nice lady who suggested the best restaurant in town. I certain hope she was wrong. In examined the menu and looked at the tired food being served around me and ordered a salad which was – filling. I guess.
I slipped out of Green River on Tuesday morning, stopping at a classic country café for breakfast on the way to Duchesne. I arrived there in plenty of time to check out the town. It did not take long. Duchesne only has a population of 1600 people and is essentially just one street. That made it easy to realize that the ‘bus station’ was the Sinclair gas station. I waited there, chatting with a couple of dozen Frenchmen riding some excellent road Harleys. They were part of a package tour: fly from Paris to Denver and pick up your Harleys. Then your group rides around Colorado and Utah, led by a local guide and accompanied by a pickup truck acting as a sag wagon. Seemed like a pretty nice vacation.
The Greyhound was right on schedule and Dave came out, pack over his shoulder and his other luggage in hand. We loaded up Silver and headed over to the Ranger station. Ranger Sheila was not there so we just picked up a map and chatted too briefly with the lady who was on duty. We figured we were ready to go so headed on the little two-lane road out of town. We were on our way.
Of course, we got a little lost…hey, this is David and Tom. We pulled into the campsite at the head of the trail and spoke with the camp host, a lady who lives there rent free in exchange for answering questions from campers. It took a while before we realized that we had missed the turnoff for Rock Creek – we were at the trail we planned to do the second week. Back we went to the charming bread and breakfast inn where we bought sandwiches – the last prepared food we would have for a week.
The First Hike
The Rock Creek trailhead is at the end of a very long two-lane road. We read that the parking area is at the base of a dam. We were so far back up in the hills by then, we had long since lost cell reception, that we were expecting to see some little earthen structure. What we got was a substantial concrete structure a quarter mile long and at least 80 feet high. Off to one side was the empty parking lot. There was a latrine and water faucet there; pretty basic, but the last we would see until Saturday afternoon.
Our plan was pretty simple: we would follow the Rock Creek loop clockwise, a distance David figured at ~30 miles. We would be going over Rocky Sea Pass. I did not notice the altitude – 11,300 feet, which meant we would be climbing about 2600 feet. That is a half mile up. Nor did I pay attention to the small warning next to the pass – hazardous to horses and pack stock. [Cue ominous music]
Hiking is more than walking. Everyone walks, but hiking is different, and usually considered more difficult than mere walking. It really depends upon the amount of weight you are carrying and above all the trail that you are hiking upon. My workups at home in preparation for the hike consisted of walking with my pack a little over three miles on a level asphalt path near my home. I could do that in just over an hour with no real problem. But that was a sea level; until you acclimate to the altitude even moderate exertion leaves you gasping. When you add a grade, either uphill or downhill your pace slows down dramatically. Rocks in the path are even worse. Rocks on the trail range in size from pebbles to boulders, but most are from fist to head-sized. Some are loose, ready to roll underfoot undermining your balance. Others are deeply embedded in the earth providing solid trip hazards. I have no idea how many times a day I stubbed my toe – dozens at least. Walking on a trail with lots of rocks keeps you from getting a nice energy-saving rhythmic stride; it is like trying to walk on railroad ties, except the ties are all different sizes and the intervals are never the same. Going uphill on a rocky trail at altitude can slow your pace down to less than one mile an hour.
As we headed out from the car I noted that the trail was uphill as expected, and it was very rocky. Still we were fresh and full of energy and the weather was perfect – low 80’s, low humidity, and pretty white puffy clouds. Early on we saw a couple of Rangers, a young man and woman who were out repairing the trail. They would be out for eight days. Since they were going around the trail in a widdershinds direction and we were doing the loop clockwise we said goodbye, commenting that we would see them in a couple of days. We made good time for the first couple of hours until after we reached the split where the loop began and started our clockwise cycle of the trail. Then it got steeper. Then it started to rain. Dang. So much for the rain prediction of 20%. We put on our pack covers; I had a nylon windbreaker with a hood. To save weight Dave had not brought along his rain gear so I loaned him my hat and pulled up my hood, looking, I imagine, like a disgruntled lawn gnome. One thing that can slow you down even more on an uphill rocky trail at altitude is a wet uphill rocky trail. We struggled uphill for another hour or two before the rain let up and Dave began look for a campsite. People tend to walk at different paces. I tend to be more of an ambler. David, on the other hand is more like the Terminator. During this trip, he would walk at his normal pace which is much quicker than mine, and periodically wait looking back down the trail for me to make an appearance. Once assured that I had not collapsed in a quivering heap, he would move ahead. This gave him time to check the route for good campsites. Dave has an absolutely uncanny ability to find good places to stop, usually by spotting fire rings – circles of stones piled up so campers could have a fire. If there is ever a competition for finding fire rings in the wilderness, I want Dave on my team.
Our first camp – the trail is between the tents
The spot he picked consisted of two level places on either side of the trail. It was by far the best we could do in difficult terrain. We did not want to be wandering down the trail looking for a place and then have to set up in rain and gathering dark. We set up our tents in some haste as we were uncertain how long the rain would hold off. For a wonder, even though it was the first time we had set up camp on this trip, everything went like clockwork. In no time, we were sitting on our stools heating water for dinner in our Jetboil cookers. I tried some noodles mixed with jerky. It was terrible, but I did eat all I could as I knew I needed the calories. I was aware that often on the first night out you have little appetite and so was not concerned. It was still an hour or more before the sun went behind the high cliffs but we had finished our meal and the air had started to cool down. Then it started to drizzle again so we both crawled into our little tents for the night.
Listening to soft rain pattering on your tent while you are warm and dry is a profound soporific. I was asleep in minutes only regretting I could not remain awake to enjoy the pleasant sensation. That first night I either was running a small fever or I had gotten too much sun for I varied between chills and fever and I had some tremulous dreams.
As we did on all our trips we rolled out as soon as it was light. We would heat water for coffee, then have our oatmeal and pack for the day. Things become very focused when you are on the trail. We saw no one else that second day.
While stopped for lunch four hours later beside a rushing stream. I sat down on a log after eating my snacks and sausage and wound up being unceremoniously dumped on the ground as the log rolled. No problem, just embarrassing. But as I lay there looking up I saw serious storm clouds billowing over the nearby overhanging cliff.
We barely had time to get our gear on and packs covered before the storm was on us. With no other real option we continued to hike. The drizzle turned to rain. I noticed some of the drops were cold and heavy. Then I saw the ice pellets on the ground – we were caught in a mix of rain, frozen rain, and hail. Yuck. Adding considerably to my anxiety was the frequent rolling thunder. Lightning in the mountains is no joke. Most of it seemed to be cloud to cloud but still, we were up high in the mountains walking past lots of nice tall dead pine trees which are natural lightning rods. David and I were separated by at least 50 yards. I explained to David that we did not want to give old Thor just one target. It would rain, sleet, drizzle, stop, and repeat – not good conditions to hike or even be outside. What was worse was that we could not even stop, not in lightning-prone terrain like we were on. It made for hard slogging. We noticed that oddly, under some trees there were dry patches where the low Christmas-like trees provided some shelter and we could stop out of the rain to catch our breath. Around 1430 I was under one of these when I saw Dave coming back down the trail without his pack. He had found a nice flat spot where low trees provided some shelter. Sure enough, David had found an excellent place. It even had a fire ring. David and I pulled out our stools and settled in under the natural shelter. The wind had kicked up and it was chilly. We broke out our “emergency” Mylar space blankets. As soon as I put it over my bare lower legs it was as though it was not preserving but actually providing heat. A bit of wrapping and I was warm and dry. I leaned back against my pack, comfortable and very tired and went instantly to sleep.
I woke up thirty minutes later to a changed world. The sun was out with fluffy white clouds drifting through a blue sky. I could hear distant thunder troubling some other mountain far away. We decided that this was such a nice place we would call it a day and camp here, relaxing and resting. Even with an afternoon of rest we were both down for sleep well before sunset, sleeping soundly until we awoke to the sound of gunfire at 1240. The moon was not up and it was very dark. I heard the sound of people calling out; it sounded like the word “Noah” but it was not in a tone of voice that sounded as though it was protesting. You do not want to be zipped in a confining little tent when there are bears or strange men are around your tent; I unzipped myself and stuck my head out of my tent. I shined my light in the direction of the trail, some ten yards away.
“Wow, you scared me,” came a voice from the darkness. “We are out looking for our friend. He took a shortcut and now he is lost.”
I spoke with them for a bit and confirmed that they had been firing shots in the air in an effort to locate their lost friend. They moved off down the trail periodically calling out and firing shots. An hour later I heard them returning back up the trail. It was an interesting night. David wondered about the wisdom of walking down those trails on a cold and very dark night, hoping to find someone. I wondered what it would be like to be out there in the wilderness alone and presumably without much equipment. The next morning, just before he broke camp we clearly heard three quick shots – the usual signal that searchers had found their man.
The third day was the most physically difficult. We did about ten miles, almost all of it uphill to Rocky Sea Pass at the highest point in our adventure, 11,300 feet, about 2500 feet above where we started. Once I got above the tree line it became easier to see how far there was to go – how very far, far we had to go. We wanted to do the final push over the top as quickly as we could for fear of being caught up in a thunderstorm up high with no cover. We need not have worried; the skies were clear. To my delight I saw the trail actually led us through a little snow field. Of course, the snow made for treacherous footing on a steep side slope but I still liked it.
David and I took some pictures in the pass and took advantage of scanty cell phone coverage to send some texts. Then we crossed over and checked out the other side of the pass. About 800 feet below us was a lovely basin – green with lakes and copses of trees here and there. All we had to do was follow the trail through a field of boulder-sized scree. David headed on down while I limped after. I had a bit of a scare with a rock shifted below my feet almost pinning my left ankle. This would be a very bad place to twist an ankle, many miles from the trailhead and on an exposed pass with evening coming on. Adding to my problems my boots were just a bit too loose and my big toenail was just a bit too long. Soon my feet began to hurt with each downhill step, and there were a LOT of downhill steps. I could see David far below moving smoothly over the rocks. My progress was anything but smooth. I think the best description was ‘painfully slow’. David got down in half an hour; it was almost thirty minutes after that before was able to painfully hobble up to him. We shared out the mosquito repellant (they liked the basin as much as we did) and I put on my camp shoes, a pair of Crocs, to hike the short distance to camp.
We had many choices for superb campsites and no competition – there was not another soul in sight. All we saw were a couple of mule deer that came up to drink from the little lake by our camp. The basin was surrounded on three sides by impressive cliffs. David, looking up at the steep climb up to Rocky Sea Pass on this side opined that if we had come around the loop the other way we would have turned around and gone back out the way we came in. The wind was gusty, sounding exactly like cars on a distant highway as it swept through the trees, only we were many miles from the nearest road. As we were pretty high we were concerned about how cold it would get. Fortunately, although it did get cool the wind went down with sun and it was comfortable. I was what my mother used to call ‘bone tired’ and slept soundly.
We awoke to a spectacular morning. We sat around the fire with our coffee and oatmeal watching the surrounding cliffs light up with the morning sun. I was optimistic we could get most of the way back in one day. Hey, it was downhill, right? Well, it was not downhill for long; mostly it was more or less level. We walked alongside a mountain brook that turned into a stream, fording it several times. Crossing these little creeks was about the only thing I did better than Dave. On one of the more ambitious crossings I was thinking about taking off my boots and wading over in my camp shoes. Dave thought he could make it, hopping from rock to rock as we had done several times before. Alas, a rock just under the surface treacherously rolled underfoot and Dave took a tumble into the stream. I crossed right behind, electing to get a boot wet to get over to Dave. He was alright, but uncharacteristically pissed off. It was one of the few times I have ever heard him swear. At the next big stream we took off our boots and forded it in safety. I was glad for the cool water on my feet.
We walked for about eight hours or so and, as David had predicted, were nowhere near the end. For several miles, we passed through an area that had apparently been burned over a few years back. There were lots of old downed trees and young trees. The smell of pines was intense. I was beginning to get a little concerned about finding a good place to camp for the night. No worries, David once again came through with a near perfect flat spot about twelve feet above a rushing stream with a little waterfall just upstream providing a pleasant background noise. We sat by the fire and enjoyed the evening. Unfortunately, the flat spot I chose to set up my tent in was hard as asphalt. For the first time on the trip I did not sleep well. Oh, well.
The next day the trail finally began to trend down. We passed the two park rangers we had left on Tuesday; they were busy doing trail maintenance. Mid-morning, we began to encounter cattle. Free range grazing is permitted in National Forests although we both wondered how the hell you get your cows and their calves back. When we came to the split where we had started our loop we stopped for lunch. A cowboy, the genuine article right down to his moustache, came by on horseback leading a pack mule with empty packs. Apparently, he was going out to carry something out. What, I could not imagine. We saw not a spec of trash in the wilderness on either of our hikes.
David moved out ahead of me as usual and soon I heard him call “I can see the dam.” Damn that sounded good. It meant we were almost back. Of course, it took over an hour to get back to the car from there – that was one long reservoir. On the way, we passed over a dozen people on day hikes or going fishing, mostly nice Mormon families. When I got to the car park, Dave was waiting with the car open. The first hike was over; we were ready for some civilization.
Between Hikes
We were looking for a campground with running water and maybe a place to buy a meal. It was a Pioneer Days, a state holiday in Utah and the campgrounds were all full, so we bounced around a bit before a very helpful young man at a campground called Duchesse and made reservations for us at the best hotel in town – the Motel 6. I bought two ice creams from the guy and gave one to David as a small thank you for his great patience.
The motel was almost empty so the clerk gave us a couple of nice rooms on the first floor near the door. We reacquainted ourselves with hot water, flush toilets, and beds that were up off the ground. I hit the motel’s hot tub and took a nap. David and I got together that evening and went out to eat. There is not much to choose from in Duchesse. There was a classic small town seedy bar but I did not want bar food. Instead we ate at Cowen’s Café, a typical small-town restaurant with a typical laminated menu with typical not very good café food. Still it filled our bellies. We went straight back to the hotel. I am not sure what David did but I watched a bit of TV and went to bed early.
The motel had a good free breakfast, especially for a Sunday. After eating we adjourned to our rooms and spent the morning cleaning clothes and repacking our gear. For example, we packed rain gear along for the second hike. You learn a lot from five days of hiking and we put that experience to good use. Lunch wound up being at the Sinclair station which had a Subway AND a pizza outlet, and dinner was back at Cowen’s Café. We did not do much else, or at least I didn’t, but that was just want I wanted.
The Second Hike
After breakfast Monday morning, we headed once again to the Ranger Station. Ranger Sheila was there this time and she a very experienced and friendly old gentleman named Cordell gave us some fine detailed local recommendations. We took their advice and headed to our new destination – Granddaddy Basin. It had an altitude of around 10,000 feet but only required a climb of a thousand feet or so – there was a six-mile road that gained two thousand feet up to the trailhead. Perfect.
We again drove north and this time west into the high Uintas Wilderness. As we got close to the turn off to the road that led to the trail we passed by a place called the DeFa Dude Ranch. There were some funky log cabins and a few trailers and RV’s in a field. One of the log cabins had a sign that read ‘Saloon and Office’. The other said ‘Restaurant’. Since it was close to lunch we wandered in to the restaurant and got ourselves a big old greasy burger – quite tasty, too. We noticed that we could rent a cabin for only $40; that looked like it might be a good place to recover after our hike.
We quickly found the dirt road that led up to the trail head. It was what I call a Peruvian road: steep, poorly maintained, and with lots of steep drop offs to the side and no hint of a guardrail. There were lots of big sharp rocks in and on the road to avoid, both to protect my tires and my oil pan. My Focus is not optimized for ‘roads’ like this one. It took us half an hour to get to the Grandview Trail head but that six miles was all uphill; it would have taken us a long hard day to have walked it. At the trailhead, we chatted with a young woman who had walked in with her dog to go fishing. She had a couple of lovely trout she was taking home for dinner. That seemed like a good sign. We were well rested and so when we started up the trail toward the basin shortly after 1300 we made good time. Although there certainly were some long uphill stretches we had reached the highest point within three hours. About half an hour after that David found an absolutely lovely spot complete with fire ring. It was just in time because a cold front had that been predicted to come through in the middle of the afternoon had arrived right on schedule and a cold wind had begun to blow. We pitched our tents in what each thought would be a protected area. With the wind gusting so strongly there was no thought of a fire. The cold wind became so uncomfortably chilly that soon after we had eaten we retired to our tents as much for warmth as rest.
In the morning, I waited until David had the fire going before I stuck my head out of my tent. The wind had died and as long as you stayed in the sun it was not too cold, however there was frost on our tents and backpack covers. Frost in late July! Well, that is part of why you go up into the mountains in the summer. We did five or six easy miles winding past a few campers fishing in the mountain lakes of the basin. Just after lunch we encountered two Boy Scouts who had been sent out to try to locate one of their leaders who had gone missing. David, who has led High Adventure Boy Scouts, went ahead and met up with the rest of the hapless troop who were at one point had lost three of their four adult leaders. The scouts were not lost – the leaders were the ones who had somehow separated from the group. David was dumbfounded at their stupidity.
We had done a nice hike through lovely mountain terrain with little gain or loss in altitude and David decided to look for a spot to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. He quickly found a gorgeous spot on a peninsula reaching out into one of the local lakes. We had a very pleasant afternoon wandering about, watching the chipmunks, and having a good dinner. Although the weather was fine and I was not all that tired, I still did not make it all the way to sunset before turning in.
Since the weather had been predicted to slowly warm I was surprised to find frost on our gear then next morning. In fact, there was ice in our water bottles. A nice fire with hot coffee and oatmeal set things to rights. In the morning, we would usually see birds; they were often jays of some species. They were bold and quite insistent that Dave feed them. We decided to have another easy day, completing the circuit of Granddaddy Basin. It only took six hours or so for us to wander back to our first campsite. David did not want to push it and come in to some place just at dark. The weather was fine and we relaxed in the late afternoon sun. I caught a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see a mule deer watching us from close by. She seemed fascinated by us, David especially, and she came back three times, eventually standing in the open not 30 feet from us. I called her Socks because of the lighter color of her lower legs. We noticed half a dozen groups of campers including some with horses coming down the trail passing us without noticing our cozy little camp 50 yards off the trail. Clearly Granddaddy Basin was a relatively popular camping spot. I intended to get up and check out the stars that night but the moon was almost full and it completely washed out the stars. Oh, well.
Our last day was the easiest yet. We tended to be a bit leisurely about getting underway in the morning. By the time we get up, drink our coffee, eat breakfast, and get everything packed up and ready to go it usually takes an hour and sometimes a bit more. This particular morning, we saw some fellow our own age striding rapidly up the trail at 0700. Twenty minutes later two men followed him, these without packs but carrying bags and all but jogging. Strange the things you see on the trail. On the way, we ran into the two men we had seen jogging up the trail. They were carrying trash out and now were headed back to one of the other scout troops that was camping in the basin. Yes, they had gone out and back before we even got out but then as I pointed out to David they were 40 years younger than we were. We were making good time but still it was almost lunch before we got to the trailhead. The trail back always seems longer on the way back. Here I must admit that I unfortunately kept my string of getting lost at least once on one of my adventures. Literally on the last turn into the car park I stepped over a tree and wound up going past the lot and entering it from the wrong end.
The road down was just as slow and tense as the ride up had been and I was glad to see the paved road that led back to DeFa’s.
Postlude –
We had lunch in DeFa’s Mason, the same guy who took our order and made lunch the last time made us another burger. Then we each rented a little cabin. David headed for the single head and shower to clean up while I chatted with a nice couple, Timmy and Suzie Lee who lived in Park City and were staying a DeFa’s because they had been camping and still had too much food and drink left. We sat behind their cabin helping them eat and drink and having a nice casual chat. I even took opportunity to drink a beer in the saloon. When it was dinnertime we all wandered over to the restaurant. Dave ordered pork chops from the very restricted menu.
“Um… I don’t know how to make that,” confessed Mason, the sole employee. “My mom will be back tomorrow and she can make them then.”
We ordered burgers.
I stayed up talking and drinking with Timmy and Suzi until after dark. The saloon was inexplicably closed but my new friends gave me some Bailey’s to sip while we waited for the enormous blue moon to come up over the surrounding cliffs. It was quite a sight. I think I may have lasted until almost 2100 before retiring to my austere little cabin where I slept comfortably in an actual bed.
In the morning, we packed up and went over to see if Mason could rustle us up some breakfast. His mom was there and she outdid herself. Dave had ham and eggs and his ham steak was as big as his head. Then it was off to our rendezvous with the birthday bash people in Park City. We rolled down state road 35, waiting at one point for a herd of sheep to get off the road. We drove up and over the pass (9350 feet) and down toward Park City and civilization. I could not help but pity the bicyclists we encountered, grinding their way past us up mile after mile toward that pass we had so recently and easily crested. We arrived just in time to join our friends for lunch. I checked into my hotel in Park City and David and I hung out until most of the group met for dinner at a local restaurant that evening. We had a great time eating, talking, and socializing until dark. Then Jet’s daughter Christine and her husband walked with David to where he expected to meet his bus. I followed in the car with his gear. We stood there, literally on the side of the road, next to a cutout for the bus. Right on time at 2100 the Greyhound pulled in. David gave the man his ticket and the driver put his belongings in the luggage compartment. Then he was gone, riding back twenty hours to Portland and Kathy.
The rest of my trip was anticlimactic. I wandered through a lovely little art festival in the morning, attended a great party at Christine’s home that afternoon. Sunday morning, I was off, once again driving roads less traveled to a night at the quarters in Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque and then home on Monday. The drive was pleasant and uneventful but long. One item of note happened as I crossed southern New Mexico near Canon AFB. A MQ-1 Predator drone coming in for a landing flew right in front of me. It was the first one I had seen in flight; they are surprisingly big – about the size of a Cessna.
I was glad to be home. I had been gone fifteen days. The last day of my return trip was 845 miles accomplished in a total of 11 hours and 45 minutes of driving. Total mileage the return trip was over 1750 miles. Silver, my trusty Focus had not a bit of trouble and averaged 34.8 mpg for the trip, which is quite good since I did hurry her along at times.
Obviously, I could not have had this adventure without David. He is highly competent, good natured, positive, and endlessly patient. He is also the only friend I have who is crazy enough to do this kind of thing with me. Oh, and I lost somewhere between 8-10 pounds on the trail – fat burned hiking, and well worth it.
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