I have been trying to think of a short, neato phrase to identify this trip.  “Death March” comes to mind, as does “Fool’s Errand”…  But so does “Highly Successful”, from a personal viewpoint.  You can take your pick.

You see, my problems all began about 3-4 years ago when I found this website run by Ron Hood…  It has been all down hill from there…  And up hill, and down hill, and up hill again…    ;-)

I found myself with a week of vacation time, and no plans, due to a cancellation.  Highly unusual for me, so I took advantage of it by throwing together an off-the-cuff trip into the wilderness…

Eric Stoskopf and I have been intrigued by this area since our Tractor trip of 2000.  Others of my acquaintance have been there as well, and their stories fueled the fire even more.

The area has a cave which has obviously been used by the ancient Indians.  There had been a tremendous amount of native activity in this area in the past, and numerous reports of spiritual activity in the more recent times.  Many of Ron’s students have been here, and those of the Tractor trip will have heard of it, it was the subject of a good deal of discussion on that trip.

So I wrote to Eric…  “Hey, boy!  You up for a Death March?”  “Oh yeah!  I’m with ya, bro!”  Well, the fat’s in the fire now…

The problem was that Eric was unable to get off work the entire time I wanted to be gone, so I compromised, getting a great deal in the bargain.  I was to go in on Tuesday, Eric would meet me in the field on Wednesday.   That way, I would get a solo trip in, and a night, before Eric showed up.  We would then spend Wednesday & Thursday nights, and hike out on Friday.  This worked out to my best advantage, giving me some time alone in the wilderness, with the assurance of back-up coming should I have gotten myself in trouble.  We made jokes about him not stepping on me as he passed me sprawled on the trail.

I got to the campground a day early, and used the afternoon to do a short hike in the heat, and to acclimate to some degree…

DAY ONE:

I cleared the campground by 0730, and tottered downstream under a pack that was way, way too heavy.  Oh, well…  Look at it as a workout Hay, you can always bail out if it gets too tough for ya...  

I found the connection to an “old Indian trail” discovered by Ron many years ago.  Well, if made by an Indian, it must have been a drunk one.  It had more curves and unlikely twists and turns than a belly dancer.  It was old, however, and in many cases, was completely indistinguishable from the surrounding desert washes and open spaces in the brush.  Fortunately for me, someone (USFS?) had seen fit to mark the trail with stone markers.  Otherwise, I honestly would not have been able to find it, nor to have followed it.  Even with the markers, I occasionally wandered off course.  From 3’ away, the trail was completely invisible, and the markers would generally be also.  Pure dumb luck.

In addition, there were no tracks on the trail, other than the ones I was leaving.  I was the first over the trail since the last rain, at least.  Later however, I would see some animal tracks…  A bit more on that to come.

As it was, all I had to do was slog along, head down, from marker to marker.  An easy task for any old schmuck.  It is amazing how those old trails find their ways through the most impossible terrain.  It is really wise to stay on trails in such country, there is generally a very good reason a trail does NOT go straight across to where you want to go…  As I was to find out later in the day.

The trail goes through these rocks...  The trail marker is in the lower right.  

Here is some of the country.  The road in...    Another shot...    Hillside...  

The weather was blessedly cool first thing in the morning, but by about 0900 as I started out on the old trail, I was on an East facing hillside, and the temperature soared.  Highs were in the mid 90’s during the day.  On sandy, or rocky soil, the sun reflected like a blast furnace.  Some areas had been burned over in the past, and the ground re-radiated like an oven.  The only relief was in the shade of infrequent pine trees where the breeze would cool me off quite well.  Leave the shade, and it was like stepping into a punch.  I had to constantly monitor myself for overheating.

I knew it was going to be hot and dry.  Once leaving the creek on the old trail, there was zero water until I arrived at my destination.  And due to the drought conditions, there was the distinct possibility that there would be none when I got there.  Basically, it was a gamble all the way for me.  Age, conditioning, solo, in unknown terrain?  Quite possibly, a “Fool’s Errand”.

By 1300 hrs, my legs and hips gave out.  That was it, I wasn’t going any further that day.  I had mentally prepared for a two day trip in, so wasn’t in the least worried, and actually thought I was doing pretty well, all things considered.  In fact, it couldn’t have happened at a better place.

I had some decisions to make, however.  Due to the terrain and weather, I brought a full Blackhawk Hydrostorm bladder (1000 ml), and two 500 ml Nalgene bottles of water.  By 1300, I had finished the bladder, and had made serious inroads into one of the bottles.  That would be close to ¾ of a gallon used already.  Now I had to decide…  I had the rest of the day and the night to spend there, then the trip of unknown duration to The Cave.  And no guarantee that I would find it, or that any water would be there if I did.  What to do?  The answer was to empty the pack, and take two trash bags, plus my water containers, and head straight down the mountain to the river.  I had to bag up enough water to tank up that day and night, and give me a start out in the morning with a full load.  And I was dead beat on top of it.

Remember that part about there being a good reason for no trails in some areas?  I was up against that here.  The terrain is… ah…  “rugged” as they say…  with many precipitous drop-offs and cliffs.  Somehow I found a way to the bottom, and loaded up.  I scooped a bottle full, dosed it with iodine, and poured it into the bag.  I doubled the bags inside the pack, to lesson the chance of rupture if I should fall.  I was only doing this once... 

When I had what I figured was enough, I started the climb back out.  Luck rode with me, and I made it without a problem.  I should mention that my knees are pretty well shot and anytime I go off-trail, I take a chance that a slip or stumble will blow one of them out, leaving me in a very dangerous situation.  It’s like walking around on mouse traps…  I just never know.

In any event, Eric would be along the next day, so it wasn’t like I was entirely on my own, right?  We had FRS radios, and he could find me with a little effort.  But there were no problems, I made it back to camp OK.

A wonderful night…  Clear skies, about 65 degrees, a big, bright full moon, and mostly dead calm.  I woke up shortly before midnight, and strolled around a little bit…  Pure magic… And worth every bit of it…

The next morning I had a couple of small bags of instant oatmeal, and broke camp.  Not wanting to build a fire, I used a couple of Esbit tabs to boil the water.

I need to interject that I took no foods that I needed to use water to prepare, other than the oats.  That meant energy bars and MREs…  Either I took food that needed water to prepare, or it had to contain it.  This added a lot of the weight to the pack.  I took some coffee, but decided to not drink any.  I felt that I couldn’t afford the diuretic effect, and stuck to drinking lots of water.

DAY TWO:

I hit the trail about 0730.  Within about an hour, the trail made a diversion to the North.  I followed it for a while, but decided that it was leading away from where I needed to go.  The only thing I can think of is that it skirted the little valley-like area, and went over the ridge to the river.  So I spent about 30 minutes checking from various vantage points, taking GPS readings, and shooting some compass bearings, going back and getting the pack, and backtracking to the branch in the trail.  At this point, I left a note for Eric, and pointed the way to him. 

The final destination is the small, dense bunch of trees just to the left of center.  Where it be.

So, being the brave little soul I am, I struck out cross country, sans trail.  Oh, the old trail was there, but more to be followed in the mind than with the eye.  Actually, I had no worries, as I knew just where I was going, had a bearing and prominent object to travel toward, and the GPS.  So what’s to go wrong?

I followed the trail until it started to go through some brush, and lo and behold, there were the first distinct tracks I had seen the entire time!  BIG tracks.  About the size of dinner plates…  And fresh…  Bear.  And along side one of them was this really, really cute little cub track.  (Oh…. Shit… !!!)

Well now, that will cause a man to back up and look to his hole card, as Louie L’Amour might say.  Hummmm…

I gave it some thought, and it “felt” right to continue, so making noise, I proceeded.  Not through the brush, I might add.  I may be ignorant, but I’m not stupid.  A sow bear with cubs is one of the most dangerous things on earth to surprise, and that little .44 mag. peashooter I was carrying is of mostly psychological value in the face of such wrath.

Within a couple of hours, I found The Cave.  And as luck would have it, coming from the cave were tracks.  Big tracks.  Oh, yeah… The bear was using the cave as a den.  Looking in, I could see the old Indian bed scooped out into a depression.  I only peeked in for a little while, and backed off.  It was a pretty good set-up, I can see how it would have been well used by the ancient Indians.  There even was a rock out front with grinding holes in it.  

Well, time to find water, should there be any.  Sure enough, a spring came out of the rocks and ran for a short way, then sank into the ground.  The California Rose gave it away.  That and the fact that there was a whole bunch of lush greenery in an otherwise arid landscape.  There was a little pool that mama bear obviously kept dug up.  I took the coffee can, and dug out a depression so I could dip from it, and then left to allow the mud to settle.

  Greenery     Water

About this time, almost noon, Eric called me on the radio.  His GPS had gone on the fritz, and he had missed the trailhead.  He had been hiking around for hours before he was able to make contact with our little radios.  We discussed where he might be, and found that with both of us new to the country, we had no common language or landmarks that we could explain to the other.  The map was not of much help because it just didn’t look like the real terrain.  One canyon or drainage on the map might look like three on the ground.  It was a mess.  Also, he was out of water, and had to go back down to the creek to get some.  I told him that he probably couldn’t make it to my location with only one bottle of water, even if he knew where he was going.  I was down inside a bunch of pine trees, and could not get an overview to see if he was even within sight of the valley.  Hummm…  Now what?

About 30 minutes later, he called back.  He was going back to the truck.  Instantly I knew I had to leave as well.  I mean, I just KNEW.  Funny how things always work out for the best.  We discussed it later, and we both knew that if he had made it to the cave, we would have felt obligated to spend the night close by.  In retrospect it would look like this:

Mama bear (no…  BIG mama bear!), the only water within miles was only a stone’s throw from the den, and we had food.  In fact, Eric was carrying peanut butter and honey.  (HONEY?  BEAR?)  You get the picture.  It sure got a good laugh from us…

At the time, however, it just “felt right” to the both of us.  "Get out!"  And we never questioned it.

I had to load up on water, and begin the death march out.  I strained the little floaties out of the water by running it through this handy little piece of rag I just happened to have with me (ahem) and dosed it with iodine.  Now at this time I had only eaten some oats about 6 hours before, and I had another 6-7 hrs to get out.  I forced myself to eat a Cliff Bar, and it didn’t want to go down at all…  Not knowing if I could make it in one day or not, I started out.

I had been hiking since about 0730 that morning, and had the entire distance to cover in a half day.  I didn’t even think of it, I just started out.

Well, obviously I made it.  I came into the campground at 1800 hrs, and was at the absolute limit of my physical ability.  However, in about 15 minutes of drinking water, and yucking it up with Eric, I felt just great.  We decided to un-ass the area, and sprinted to the nearest town for dinner.  I checked into a Motel 6, and Eric made a dash for home, it being only about 1 and ½ hours from there, my drive was more like 5 hours.  It sure was good to hook up with him again, and I am eternally grateful for him sticking around to see that I got out in one piece.

It was a good trip for me in all ways, even if on the surface it would seem like a failure…  This was the most physically demanding thing I have done in decades, I had found The Cave, and I had done a tough solo.  I had made some critical decisions, and had pushed the envelope for myself.  I had resolved a major problem with my hips that had plagued me on the Tractor trip…  My pack belt was riding on the hip muscles, causing them to cramp.  By loosening it, I got immediate relief.  God, had I only known that in Idaho!  In addition, Eric and I both listened to the little voice that speaks to us, and we got out just fine. 

So there you have it…  A Very Good Trip.

And the knees are responding well to the Ibuprofen, thank you very much…   ;-)

I hope you have enjoyed the telling as much as I have.

 Bill