No Disappointment

I hated that I ranted to her about all of the miserable reasons I’ve never summited the Grand Teton and all of the people and conditions in my life I blame for it (myself, mostly, on all counts). 

I’m sorry I ruined the trip.

Fuck my soul. I never wanted her to feel that way. We sat on a rock in the middle of the Hoback River. We’d left Jackson Hole and the fucking Tetons. We couldn’t even find a decent place to swim, and it was so hot. The Snake River was running high. So we decided to move on and leave the Tetons behind. We decided not to climb Disappointment Peak. She said she didn’t want me to be disappointed, and I said absolutely I wasn’t, that it had been a great trip, and I was happy and having a good time, it was just being back in Jackson Hole brought back all of those old feelings and thoughts.

If you’ve followed me at all, you’ll know I have this teeny, weeny, tiny, whiny obsession with the Tetons and specifically summiting the Grand Teton. Going on thirty years now…

This trip I hoped—gritting my teeth kind of hope—we could summit an easier peak. Thought maybe the Middle Teton with an overnight in Garnet Canyon or Disappointment. At the last minute I decided not to take the backpacking gear to save space. I’d hoped we could camp or sleep in the car most of the trip. Partly to save money and partly for the experience. But that knocked out the possibility of trying the Middle Teton.

Jackson Hole was packed with tourists. Tourists. Clogging up the roads and trailhead parking, falling all over each other at Mormon Row, occupying all of the camping spots, etc, ad nauseam. The next day they’d be on the trails, in front of the views, drowning out any semblance of peace with their Bluetooth speakers. 

I’d been in hard driving mode for most of the trip, and I let it open wide up as we pushed our way through traffic out of Jackson toward Pinedale. I was of a dark mind. More why questions. More rolling around my regrets in my craw. And it was hot. The whole trip had been hot. Our hike to Little Devils Tower in the Black Hills had been blistering. Stretches of road felt Mad Maxian. 

Winding alongside the Hoback River I was determined to find a spot to swim. Eventually we saw a pull off and eased in. We both figured the water would be cold, but the temps were in the 90s so it hardly mattered. So we sat in the shallow whitewater and cried a little, and I chewed my lower lip determining I wouldn’t let the past ruin this trip. 

I had hope for the Snowies, and once we got back in the car I started sharing what I knew about them. I’d first learned about them in a blurb in a climbing magazine with a mini-guide to some multipitch trad climbing there. The photos looked amazing, and I quickly discovered the range is near Vedauwoo. Despite knowing about the Snowies for the same thirty years I was obsessed with the Tetons I’d never managed to get there. Vedauwoo was a better acclimatizing overnight spot on the way to bigger things.

The Cloud Peak trip made me realize lesser goals could be so rewarding. And I realized I had missed so many great opportunities because of my eclipsing obsession with the Grand. I remembered that, and it started to make me feel better about leaving Disappointment behind. 

We approached West Lake Marie Trailhead from the west. I knew the eastern aspect of the mountain ridge was more dramatic than the forested slopes we could see. Then we rounded a bend, and there it was. A couple minutes later we turned into the parking lot. 

Wildflowers blanketed the slopes around the asphalt rectangle. Stunning scenery filled our vision as we slathered sunscreen and stowed everything in a day pack. In short order we set soles to the Medicine Bow Peak loop; a seven mile hike gaining sixteen hundred-ish feet to the 12,018’ rocky summit dome. 

We struck out for the summit three miles away at 9:30am. What I didn’t realize was the the summit wasn’t really recognizable from the parking lot. The dramatic crags that were visible were much lower and easily attained. The high point in the range was much farther away than it looked. 

There wasn’t a bad view along the entire hike. Whomever laid out the trail should get a Nobel Prize for it. It climbed easy and meandered across the border between talus and meadow. Even the final steep crux ended up being well constructed and manageable. 

View of the summit of Medicine Bow Peak 12,018' from the south

Then we were on top, and hardly feeling the altitude and miles. But we still had miles to go and all downhill. I broke out the trekking poles for our old knees. We could see almost the whole route back. Storm clouds overhung the lower half, back near the car. Thunder rolled out there over the lakes. We could see curtains of rain that might be evaporating before they reached the ground. And then a dark indigo shadow was creeping over the lip of the ridge above us. I’d stowed my camera and got a trash bag out to stuff our phones in if those clouds decided to unload. And down we went. 

The rain never materialized over us. We dodged the worst. Down around gorgeous alpine lakes we went. So many beautiful lakes, and millions of wildflowers: asters, columbine of varying colors, paintbrush, penstemon and so much more. Views for days. 

The world seemed to just be the circle of the horizon around us. My dark thoughts had been left behind. For seven hours the outside world left me alone. My head was clear. My heart was clean. It was the best day of my life. 

The hike and the summit were five star experiences. The scenery was like something out of a magazine. The cold, clear lake water enveloping me was like silver and ice in my veins. I dunked my head under Lookout Lake. I swam out a few yards and found a rock to stand on. Tonya laughed and took a photo. 

What made the whole experience more than great was Tonya. I lost her a long time ago. I didn’t think I’d ever find her again. We’ve been together again almost two years. We have two lifetimes between us, but without going into it I think we have something now that defies description. That’s what made the whole hike and climb the best experience of my life. Her. Us. 

After the impromptu swim we continued down the trail. Down and down. The last view we had before the parking lot was the outflow falls of Lake Marie. Good to the last drop.

Changing our plan to hike in the Snowy Range instead of Disappointment Peak was a better decision. We didn’t do the thing everyone does (hiking to Surprise, Amphitheater, and Delta Lakes) and we had a better experience. Far less people, trailhead parking half full, better trail, honestly better scenery and views, and something I’ve wanted to do for decades since I first learned about the place much like Cloud Peak which also ended up being one of my favorite hikes/climbs ever. Cloud Peak, Katadhin, Medicine Bow Peak. Not sure which is the right order, but it doesn’t matter. 

There was so much more we did and saw. There were so many profound things I thought along the way that I didn’t manage to write down. I hope they slowly come back to me. They’re somewhere in the twists and turns of my mind. 

I might not remember the finest details, but I’ll never forget our day in the Snowy Range. 

Blitzpeak Bop: Part II, Baxter

Sometimes in life a thing stops you dead in your tracks.  It can be a bear in the trail.  It can be an overdraft notice.  It can be a job offer or someone being mad at you.  Sometimes it’s something deeper, more rooted in your soul, and hard to articulate what it is you’re feeling and why.

I wrote that out, and now I’m not even sure what else to say.  It feels like maybe I should just post the video of me speechless and overwhelmed by emotion.  But the writer in me feels challenged to convey the experience.  To give it a different life in words.

I tried to go to Acadia National Park on Sunday.  I actually did go, but after one orbit I left Acadia absolutely pissed off.  My mood was gravelly.  One key thing I had not anticipated about my quick-planned trip was I would be venturing north into peak fall foliage; particularly in Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Upstate New York.  The only adverse impact that had on me was my visit to Acadia.  And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

I had enough foresight to look into access to Baxter State Park on Saturday when I stopped for the night in the Palmyra, Maine Walmart parking lot.  Early Sunday I was able to call the state park and reserve a parking space for Katadhin Stream Trailhead for Tuesday.  I had wanted Roaring Brook for Monday.  I really wanted to do the Knife Edge.  The problem with Monday was a 90% chance of rain, wind, and cooler temps.  Tuesday’s forecast was marginally better.  So I acquiesced and allowed the Tao of Pooh to direct my steps.  I didn’t know it yet, but I would be entering the “hundred acre woods” soon enough.

When I got to the visitor center in Millinocket to pick up the pass the nice lady I’d spoken to on the phone had kindly printed for me I asked if there were any campsites available for that night and the next.  The very helpful ranger booked me for two nights at Nesowadnehunk Fields (I still cannot pronounce that word).  He informed me the campground was an hour and forty five minutes from the entrance gate, and it would be forty five minutes back to the trailhead from camp on Tuesday morning and he encouraged an early start.  I bought a map and thanked them before heading out into the drizzly late afternoon in search of some place to fill my grumbly tumbly.

There’s a great pizza place across from the Millinocket Post Office called Angelo’s Pizza and More.  I had a great and great big salad and an amazing pizza.  The gentleman working (I presume Angelo or his commercial heir) was friendly.  I left with half a pizza to keep me company in the great dark northern woods and the sad knowledge Angelo’s wouldn’t be open again until Friday but I would be much farther down the road by then hopefully.

I made my way into Baxter State Park.  I was beginning to fully realize that Baxter is special in that they do limit the number of visitors.  I think I was fortunate to have arrived at the end of a weekend, because my travels seemed to be sped along by a friendly universe.  The ranger at the entry gate sat with his legs crossed as he casually filled out my camping pass and chatted with myself and someone on the radio in turns.

I asked about distances and he also encouraged an early start on Tuesday.  He suggested I should leave Katadhin Stream Trailhead at 6:00am for the summit because at 6:30 they start letting day users in at the gate and I wanted to get on the trail ahead of “all of them.”  Being the solo adventuring introvert I am I made sure to set an alarm for 5:00am on Monday night before I laid down.

But Sunday I eased into the park around 5:00pm and drove deep back into the Maine woods as dusk came gentle over the world.  There was still just enough light when I got back to the Fields—as I’ll call them to preserve my own fingers from overtyping the actual name—with enough light to find the parking for campers and scope everything out.  I backed the Jeep up to some thick underbrush and settled in for the night.

Once I rearranged everything for sleeping I ate some cold pizza and got out to go pee.  The first thing I noticed was the quiet.  Oh, I could hear the stream (which the fields were named after) and the wind swaying the trees around.  But it felt quiet.  There had been one car in the day use parking when I arrived but two hikers got in and left almost as soon as I arrived.  As far as I could tell there was no one else around for miles. 

The second thing I noticed was how dark it was.  And again, it felt dark.  Not in a scary or threatening way.  I was peaceful, the absence of artificial light, and only the natural light of the world illuminating the night.  The moon was still a sliver, and it was overcast, but there was a dim glow from the long set sun until the stars briefly came out.  But it was so dark then, that I couldn’t even see the tall evergreens silhouetted against the ambient starlight.  It’s like the only things that existed in that moment were the stars in my eyes.  I didn’t think to get my camera and take a photo.  It was too soul stunning to allow that kind of thought.  Baxter had stolen my heart in that moment.

I eventually crawled back into the Jeep and slipped into my sleeping bag.  It was cool but not cold.  The wind swayed occasionally, but it was mostly still and peaceful.  The comforting quiet and darkness must have lulled me, because I awoke later with a full bladder.  I’d tried to drink plenty of water to stay hydrated for the big hike coming in a couple days.  Not even!  As I lay there trying to motivate myself to put on my shoes I saw lights playing on the ceiling of the car, and then I heard the low mumble of voices.  The lights and voices passed the front of the Jeep and then I heard a car door open.  I peeked over my window covers and saw two guys getting into a car two spaces away from me.  I hadn’t heard them pull in which was startling to realize.

The rest of the night passed without incident.  I lingered in my warm bag in the morning; in no rush because I had all day to figure out what I would do.  I looked at the map and decided I’d check out the AT south of the Daicey Pond area.  There were two waterfalls labeled on the map and it looked like there was little elevation gain on the trails in that area.

I had to take care of two chores first.  The primary concern was food.  I was really hungry.  But almost as pressing was the need to find a hole of cold water to sink myself in.  I hadn’t had a shower since Friday morning and I’d been folded over in the car or walking hard for most of the previous three days.  I needed clean and to soak sore joints and muscles.

I’d seen covered picnic tables at the Foster Fields Group Area on the drive in, so I left the campground and made my way south.  I only saw a couple other cars at a different area of the campground and once I was moving down the road it felt like I had the whole place to myself.

It was cool, maybe 40°, and I kept an eye on the rushing stream along the road.  Eventually I saw an area where the creek made a bend away from the road far enough I couldn’t see it, so I stopped and grabbed a towel and got out.  After a nice cold soak including my head I was moving on to find a place to make breakfast with maybe a little heat coming out of the dash.  As I turned into Foster Fields the rain picked up.  But I took it in stride.  I was in no hurry, so I sat in the car reorganized things a bit until there was a lull.  Then I grabbed my food and cooking gear and made for the tables.

I brewed a big thermos of coffee first, then I toasted a couple of bagels in my backpacking pot.  I munched on one with cream cheese while I mixed up Ova Easy egg crystals for the first time, and cooked up some eggs and bacon bits to eat on the second bagel.  I highly recommend the Ova Easy eggs.  They were just eggs!

It was nice to just hang out, sip coffee, enjoy the quiet, the lack of cell service, and think about the deeper things going on in my soul.  I’d walked out of my old job straight into this trip.  It was somewhat surreal.  But then Baxter felt like this alternate dimension I had teleported to.  Time slowed down.  Colors had become brighter.  The air was nourishing and crisp.

I moved over to Daicey Pond with the intent of hiking to Sentinel Mountain.  It looked casual which was good because I intended to keep it easy the day before tackling Katadhin.  I wanted my full energy and attention for the big peak.  I had no idea what kind of effort (maximum!) or weather I’d face.  When I got to the start of the trail to Sentinel it was apparent I would not be going there that day.  There was a deep stream crossing right off the bat.  So I switched back to the AT and Little and Big Niagaras.  I paused at the AT sign pointing toward Baxter Peak (Katadhin): 7.5 miles from that spot.  I stood in silence looking at that sign, feeling the weight of thousands of hearts seeing that sign and knowing they had the long trail mostly behind them, but one last trial still ahead.  For the rest of my time in Baxter that weighty presence stayed with me.  I turned south and followed the AT into the woods toward Springer Mountain.

It was a beautiful hike along Nesowadnehunk Stream.  The sound of the water rushing over granite, the fall colors contrasted against the otherworldly greens of the spruce, and fern and moss…the cool damp of the autumn air…all spoke to the tiniest wrinkles of my soul.

Both falls were impressive.  I took a lot of photos.  But then eventually people started to show up, so I made my way back to the trail and strolled through the magical forest back toward the trailhead.  

As I walked along, the persistent noise in my head roaring as usual, I was stopped dead in my tracks.  It wasn’t a bear in the trail.  There was no overdraft notice.  I didn’t have a new job offer.  No one was mad at me.  Something had happened: I was hiking and doing my typical fantasizing about a future for myself, telling myself a big story about some fictional future I’d like for myself, and I realized I wasn’t listening to the forest around me.  I wasn’t seeing the vibrant landscape I was passing through.  I was just walking and moving on autopilot.  And I stopped my mind.  I silenced my thoughts.  I don’t know if I have ever done that in my life before.  Suddenly I could see everything.  I could hear everything.  Colors became more saturated.  Everything jumped out in stark relief, three dimensional and high definition.  I could hear every drop of water falling from the trees and the stream off in the distance.  Squirrels chittering and complaining and one even ran almost over my foot.  It’s like I was hearing the soundtrack of life for the first time.  How had I never done that before?

My heart and soul were weightless as I travelled back through Baxter and made my way to the lean-to I’d reserved for Monday night.  It rained some, and the wind picked up.  I felt at peace and content.  Baxter was just an autumn dreamscape that I didn’t want to wake up from.  In a few hours I’d step deeper into the wilderness to seek another summit.  I fell asleep listening to the quiet and embraced by the comforting darkness.

Dragonslayer

There is a theme building in my 2024; this, my fifty-first year of life.  The theme is overcoming.  I have been overcoming negative thinking, fear, and doubt.  It would be wrong to portray myself as having slain these particular dragons, but I definitely have them on the ropes.  How's that for mixed metaphors?

It started on the Pine Mountain Trail back in July.  I barely made it to the trailhead.  It was hot as hades.  I was alone venturing into bear country, with a history of weak ankles, overweight, and wallowing in my neuroses.  The trail was hard.  Time was short, and I was not going to be able to make it to my intended destination at a trail shelter.  I fought doubt and fear every step of the way as I traversed the crest of Pine Mountain.  At one point I realized I had walked far enough that even if I wanted to backtrack to the truck there would be no way to do so and arrive before dark.  And I didn't even know if the truck was going to run when I got back.

There was an incredible freedom in that moment.  I had walked past the point of having a viable choice.  I had to keep moving forward, and giving up ceased to be an option.  In that moment, I found the steel inside me.  That was something I used to be able to do with much less effort.  I'd lost it under years of stress-related weight gain.

I faced the same dragons at my camp below Cloud Peak a few weeks ago.  I would give up, return to the car, and drive on with the "easier" part of my trip, without having tried for the summit I truly wanted.  Yeah, the Grand Teton has been the top item on my bucket list for a long time, but the experience my heart has yearned for in each conscious and unconscious second of my life was that Cloud Peak trip.  Writing that took the breath out of my chest.  It's perhaps the truest statement I've made in a long time...and it surprises me.  Those dragons lurking between my camp and that Bighorn summit were faced down by summoning strength from the memory of my trials on Pine Mountain.  My victory at thirteen thousand feet was a result of the progressive strengthening of my confidence.  I came down from there to the news of a new career path and the promise of better financial security in the coming months.  The icing on my cake was a few more days of the best trip of my life.

I've been riding that wave since.  I've had a day or two where my moods have dipped, but it's maybe just that I'm still sliding from this last page in this most recent chapter of my life, and when I am fully on the new page perhaps those dark days will fade and be relegated to memories and photographs in my mind. 

I have a free week between my old job and my new one.  I didn't fully consider the possibilities until the beginning of this week.  I'd originally thought I would thru-hike the Pine Mountain Trail.  That would be a great jumping off point into a new life adventure.  Then that bitch Helene wrought her fury all over the southeast.  Not only did she throw doubt into my Pine Mountain scheme, but she knocked out every and all of my second-tier adventure plans.  No Linville Gorge climbing.  No Looking Glass.  No Black Mountain Crest hike.  While I would love to go West again, I felt like I needed to keep myself closer to home for this jaunt.  I put a lot of miles on the Jeep.  It's been a tough little mule, doing far more than it was ever designed to do.  Am I pushing it beyond its limits?  Hard to say.  I took the last trip with those same thoughts.  And I ended up having to buy a set of tires in Michigan.  While I waited in the Walmart tire center I talked to my dad on the phone and shared with him my idea for salvaging a trip in the face of automobile catastrophe.  Instead of hiring a tow truck to shuttle a deceased vehicle hundreds of miles home, I would simply rent a U-Haul with a tow dolly or flat trailer and drive home with the steel carcass in tow.  I realized I have the resourcefulness to solve problems like that.  My lack of self-confidence and overriding sense of fear has blinded me to my own strengths.  

So what to do with this week? At first, I briefly considered going to New England, but the distances in volved in going where I wanted to go approach the same mileage as heading West.  Then I looked at cleaning up the southern Midwest of state highpoints and the southeastern outlier in Georgia.  I figured in a couple days I could bag Georgia, Louisiana, Arkansas and Missouri.  Maybe I'd take my crashpad and mountain bike.  Maybe I'd just meander and take my time.  That trip didn't excite me, so I reconsidered New England.  I quickly realized despite the distance that venturing Northeast would give me considerable bang for my limited bucks.  And while I had left both Katadhin and New York's Mount Marcy on the backburners of my highpointing consciousness, I suddenly realized that not only could I fill in my New England map with two new states visited (Rhode Island and Vermont) but I could also potentially bag all eight remaining highpoints in that part of the country.   That would bring my overall total to 46 US states visited and 31 US state highpoints visited as well as fully coloring in the entire eastern US save the highpoints in Georgia and Louisiana which I could easily get over a weekend. 

Late last week my newer vehicle was acting up, and it had also made some funny transmission-ish noises, so on Thursday I called the mechanic, and he said he could take a look, and he could probably have it back to me in a day.  I dropped it off Thursday night.  Once I decided on the New England trip, I decided I would take a gamble and drive the Nissan.  Said mechanic had put a new motor in the vehicle for me (I'd just bought the car with a blown motor), and it seemed to be doing great except a little transmission noise and the aforementioned electrical problem.  

Friday Helene began to knock.  Saturday Helene kicked in the door, and even on Monday my mechanic still didn't have power and had a lot of trees down on his property.  I got the car back a week after I dropped it off and it seems to be running a lot better.  And it smells strongly of burnt oil.  It also doesn't have new tires like the Jeep does.  The motor install is very recent, with barely a few hundred miles on it, so I'm leery about taking it.  Which leaves me with the old standard with lots and lots of miles on it and is currently in need of another oil change.  It's enough to make me not want to risk the trip at all.  If either car were to break down on me, not only would the trip be a bust, but I'd be out a lot of money and be in need of a replacement vehicle.  This has been a woe of mine my entire life.  

It's fear and doubt layered over the life experience of never owning a reliable vehicle and always being uncertain of the vehicular capabilities of what I have.  That fear has kept me from a lot of potential adventures in my life.  It's also not unsimilar to the other fear responses I deal with in all areas of my life which I am trying to overcome.  So in the face of a decision which could be perceived as irresponsible and a tad reckless, I think I'm going to strike out on this trip here in a little while.  I'm going to try to go fast and light, frugally, and quietly (after this HUGE blog post) and maybe have a second great adventure in 2024 to really solidify it as the greatest year of my life and the turning point I have been grinding toward for a long time.  And even if I fail...I will have succeeded.