Requiem and Revelations: The Frank Church River-of-No-Return August 9-18, 2015 Part I

     The Frank Church River-of-No-Return.  Need I say more?  While the largest contiguous wilderness area in the U.S (if combined with the Gospel Hump above and the Selway-Bitteroot Wilderness, it comprises almost 3.5 million acres of wilderness) was named after the wild river that was impossible to return by, it is definitely an area not for the faint of heart.  A grueling 56 mile 'road' brings you into the fringe, taking at least 2 1/2 hours in a high-clearance 4wheel dr vehicle.  It has haunted me since my brothers told a starry-eyed 17 year old tales of it's glory; it's staunch, stony stance in the face of  bravado.  It's coldly glittering granite peaks, which laugh at the whims of the many who dare to enter.  It is true wilderness at it's finest. When you gamble upon entry, it ignites in the heart of us that ageless flame of survival.  That risky dance of Man vs Mountain.  Seems appropriate for a couple who beat the odds for 20 years by doing everything backwards and leaping off the cliff with both eyes closed, right?  I thought so.  In the Year of Change, I decided way back in January that this, this spectacular bastion of Wild, the last remaining outside of Alaska and the Yukon, would be a perfect destination for our 20th anniversary.  We've survived much, things that might have broken and shattered other marriages.  We have laid to rest arguments of the past, agreed to disagree, said Goodbye to old tired hot buttons.  We have allowed each other to grow, to change, and somehow managed to hold on to that steadiness we bring to each other in the face of the raging storms of life. Still, over 20 years later, we choose each other; we have realized in the end, we are soulmates, best friends, lovers.  

     I plotted, I planned; there really isn't that much information on the Frank Church, but there is a fantastic book written by a true badass, Margaret Fuller, a woman made of iron who has hiked, backpacked and swam almost every inch of the magnificent Church, and did it in era when most women were throwing back Valiums and baking cakes for the PTA and wiping their kids' snot on their red-checkered aprons.  A blueprint, indeed for me.  Although there were hikes I really wanted, that were really deep within, very remote, and truly wild,  I decided on the Bighorn Crags, perhaps the most well-traveled and well-known, but also considered the crown jewel of the Frank Church. I felt they were a must for a first time destination.  (Frank Church, I must mention, was a fucking kick-ass man whom if you haven't researched, should've been Carter's running mate.  In fact, as much as I love Jimmy Carter today, probably should've been president).  

     I originally planned on 12 days.  Twelve glorious days spent with my best friend, exploring.  As it developed, I remembered another incredible wilderness just South: The White Clouds.  I looked and plotted and decided we could do both.  Even less information was available for this area, but hey.  I'm ok with map and compass.  I saw pictures. GLORIOUS PICTURES.  Enough said. I dehydrated all our food, trying new recipes.  I even dehydrated cake.  Scott was mobilized on a fire for over a week right before our trip-- I packed, I planned, I did everything.  He came back, just in time.  I, having a fabulous job, was afforded an extra day off the day before which allowed me to cook like Emeril/Alton/Insertyourfavoritechef on freaking speed.  I made casseroles for the Teens, I packed, I weighed.  Scott managed to do something, I'm not sure what, but I do remember him contributing.  Really.  I do.  The kids were a little aghast "YOU'RE LEAVING FOR HOW LONG?!" I assured them they were fine.  We had our emergency satellite communicator, I was anxious to be off.  With a mixture of trepidation, sadness, angst, we left The RocketDog with the kids, as they felt safer with him, and let's face it. 12 days is a long time (read: a LOT of food) for a dog to be out. He did have a new pack, but I, as much as I love him, really didn't want to add his food weight to mine.  Finally, everything was ready, we were off.  We decided to do bear canisters this time, two Garcia style loaned to me by two awesome friends from REI.  Scott's pack weighing in around 47 before water and incidentals, mine around 39 before water and incidentals. I am rather proud that these were not heavier for that amount of time.  We hit the road at about 2:30 and spent the night in a favorite spot outside of Salmon, ID.  Next morning, after a nail-biting drive in spots of 2 1/2 hours we arrived at the TH at 8400' about 1:20 and met the campground hosts, an older couple named Jeff and Chris.  Fantastic people, somewhere in their late 60's on up, (hard to say!) they were particularly thrilled that I worked for REI.  At 2:30 we hit the trail, our destination about 7 miles in.  White granite sand straight uphill for the first half mile. 

The trail humps in the fist part, but then it undulates up and down.  Within 45 minutes we were treated to a raging thunderstorm at over 9,000'.  Sweeping winds pelting us with hard, packed snow and soaking us within seconds.  We tried to take cover under an alpine fir (lololol) to get our shells on and our pack covers, and then we continued hiking, one of us exclaiming every few seconds "OW!" "Jesus!  Fuck that hurts!" as the hammering went on.  It soon turned to rain, and after about 4 miles it stopped and the sun came out  Ah, thank you.  The trail was so full of granite I swore that my boots had a quarter cup in them.

 
 We were about 1 mile from our planned lake, and around 4:45 or so.  We happened upon a strange sight:  It looked like a struggling old man with his much younger son, slowly making their way on the trail.  As the older gentleman didn't make way, I finally managed an "Hey there.  How you doin?"  As the figure turned slowly, I about dropped to see it was a slight 12 year old boy, with an old external frame pack, badly loaded and almost as big as he.  Turns out the 'son' was actually an older teen, a leader on a Boy Scout excursion.  A bit of small talk with the older leader, while the young boy remained silent and wistful.  I felt a pang but soon upon rounding the corner, we encountered more of the straggly group, this time a gang of 5, one of which was hastily trying to hide his tears.  Again, I saw young boys, with old, heavy equipment and distraught eyes.  A stouter looking young boy started grilling Scott and I, and asked when we'd started.  When I told him 2:30, his eyes just about popped out of his head and he exclaimed "WOW. You guys are ROCKIN!"  Scott and I exchanged glances and I laughed and said "Well, it gets easier the more you do it."  I gently inquired about their loads, their fueling, all the while glancing at the poor young boy holding back shudders.  I finally turned to him, and his eyes became pools of hurt and fatigue and tears welled up that wouldn't be easy to hold in. He asked if they were close to their destination (about 1.5 miles away) so I smiled at him and told him it would be ok, to change socks when their feet started to hurt, and next time bring powdered Gatorade and that they would be there before they knew it.  I reminded them to eat frequently, and take breaks when they needed them.  The chatty one's face cleared and said "Oh yeah!  Socks!  Good idea!"  Scott and I reluctantly left them, neither of us with a good feeling.  Shortly after we came upon the two leaders, neither of whom looked fit enough to be leading a 50 miler, but rather fit perfectly with such a motley crew. A bit of small talk in which the leader expressed wishes to continue on to Wilson Lake but that they may just camp at the creek crossing up ahead instead.  We met the rest of the boys at the creek and I proceeded to slip gracefully (ok, that might be pushing it) on a rock to a chorus of gasps from the boys.  I managed to right myself with a decent scrape of my leg and brush off any pain until we were out of sight, then there may or may not have been a "fuck that hurt!" uttered. We decided, since the storm had slowed us down a tad and the Boy Scout encounters too, that we would camp at Welcome Lake.  Indeed, this was an excellent choice. We hoped the Scouts were ok and they weighed on our mind that night.

                






 

It was cold, it was late, but I had boiled the water immediately upon reaching camp so while we set up the tent, etc, homemade spicy chicken sausage spaghetti was rehydrating nicely in my expensive, fancy cozy made from a Fed Ex bubble envelope (it was AWESOME).  I made us hot tea with whiskey while we waited for the rest of the time and we hit the sack to a chilly night, but snug in our little REI Quarterdome 2 tent, since my Big Agnes, that we had been excited to try,  wasn't going to be ready until Sept.  We slept soundly and awoke to a clear morning, and decided to dayhike the 14 mile RT to Reflection Lake.   It is long switchbacks up a steep ridge and down, and then farther south, through very pretty alpine meadows.  I'd packed us a pasta salad for lunch, and the day was a perfect one. Before we left, I explored the lake meadow a bit and found this super cool tree that had almost decomposed perfectly in it's shape.  Yeah, I'm a geek.  So sue me.

On the way to Reflection Lake:
  

The Frank Church has burned many times. Some really interesting snags, and some extremely large ones.  The camera just doesn't do them justice.

On the way home, we sat atop the ridge for a few and watched some gathering clouds.  When the lightning started in, we dropped back down to camp.

 It was a hot dusty hike, we decided to go for a swim. Well, one of us dunked herself and ran back out, the other one actually swam.

     We'd  met a young family coming down the ridge as we were going up, they camped directly across from us.  Glad I'd brought bikini bottoms, since our usual skinny dipping wasn't going to work this time.  We awoke early to kids screaming and yelling, and a little crying.  Sigh.  I have kids.  Yeah.  But c'mon people.  This is the wilderness.  This is why they make duct tape. Our plan for the day was to dayhike to Heart and Terrace Lakes, Heart was our original destination for camp and probably would've afforded the solitude we wanted, but it was a little hump up another ridge, and one we would've had to make extra to dayhike from there.  The trails are faint in a lot of the Church, so we ended up cross country-ing it, thanks to Scott and his fancy satellite communicator, up this unstable talus slope.  Let's suffice it to say there was discussion about this.

      Anyhoo, Heart lake was gorgeous.  Gorgeous.  I'd brought a love Rock (did I get the name right, Kristin?) for my friend's precious daughter who was killed in a car accident almost two years ago.  They are special rocks with their name, and what could be more perfect than Heart Lake?  We left it on a soft, beautiful bed of moss with a few wildflowers, the bluest blue ever, Gentians, right at the bottom of where the heart comes together.  After a small moment of silence where we contemplated the unfairness of life, the gravity, and the enormity of love, we continued up, briefly discussing whether we wanted to move camp up here.

   The trail up to the ridge at 9900' was a bit sketchy, mostly a mountain goat path.  The tricky part was it was so damn sandy it was easy to slip.

     The view from the top was windy and spectacular.  To the west, lay Terrace lakes and the remnants of the Clear Creek Fire in 2000.  Wish I could've seen it before it burned. This is especially striking in such a bad fire year now. We had a snack and I took a picture with a GIANT white bark pine, I don't even want to contemplate how old it must be to be that big at that elevation.  At least 500 years old, I'm sure.

  Went back to camp and broke it, heading on up to Wilson and Harbor.  We hadn't seen the Scouts since the first night, were wondering if they'd be up there. Met a couple of nice guys down at the creek crossing, they were from Florida and the elevation was killing them.  Um, yeah I bet.  Wasn't really a factor for Scott and I, neither one of us noticed it, but then, we don't live at sea level either. The trail to Wilson is short, but straight up and very rocky.  Of course we didn't get pics of the worst parts, because we were too busy trying to hold on to our asses that it kept handing us.
A selfie, just in case you know, I got lost and someone needed to look for me.  *cough cough*

(The above is just the start after the creek). We met an older couple coming out.  By 'older' I mean, white-haired, in their 70's.  Fuck YES.  I love meeting these rockstars.  The subject of the Scouts came up, the gentleman felt that being hard was good for them.  I wonder if he thinks kids today are too spoiled.  And I wonder if they are.  But hard to me, would be while being exhausted, sweaty, just ready to be DONE, but also be being ready and being able to conquer the trail in to Wilson in a day.  Not necessarily overloaded with badly fitting equipment, and lack of leadership.  He hadn't seen the kids, but he could be right.  Anyhow, they were on their way out.  Wilson was GORGEOUS.  We stepped a bit farther up the trail to check out Harbor, but the granite face of Wilson was too hard to resist.  It was right under FishFin Ridge, and we had a perfect spot to camp, with big rock benches on the shoreline, from which to jump in the lake.

Wilson Lake was magical.  No one there, all to ourselves.  We played in the lake (FREAKING COLD), and enjoyed this small bench at almost 10,000' that was unreasonably but much appreciatively warm (meaning, usually you don't describe a night at almost 10,000' anywere in North America as warm) and calm.  That night, we lay in the tent, heads out the doors, and watched an incredible Perseid Meteor shower.  For once, Scott tired before me, but something ran across my hair-- bug, mouse, who knows, but I suddenly felt tired too.  Hee.  Next morning we got up and decided to dayhike to Gentian Lake, Crater Lake and Big Clear Lake. Wilson was gorgeous in the morning.

 At the top of the ridge we saw a trail heading pretty much straight down a steep rock slide and there was a bit of confusion, but we saw the switchback trail to the right.  Going down the 'shortcut' didn't look like a good risk, so we took the safer option.

 The "shortcut":

  

   

 

Along the way to the lakes, we met another group of older men who, after some small talk, mentioned that the White Clouds just had received official designation as a Wilderness that Monday. I immediately thought "Great.  In the news, now people will come this weekend since the forecast is so good".  We moved on down to Gentian Lake, where I had considered leaving another love rock for my young friend Josh, an amazing Marine who was killed in an Osprey accident in Hawaii in May.  The lakeshore was indeed covered in gentians, but I didn't feel moved by the setting.  We decided to continue on, hoping for a better place.

 
Up up up to another saddle at 10,000, with Crater Lake and Big Clear Lake on the north side, and Mirror lake and several more on the south.  In all, you could see 7 lakes from the saddle.

Crater Lake was breathtaking.  I spotted some smoke up on the ridge, and apparently a fire was just starting.  Of course, DH was all about watching it.  A plane flew by, and we hoped they reported it.

 We continued on for awhile, but decided that it would be hard access to get down to Crater lake, as you have to continue on to Big Clear and then go back and over the small ridge and that the saddle, at 10k feet, overlooking all those lakes would be a much more awesome place to put Josh's rock. Crater Lake, if you look close you'll see why it's named that:

  So, no, I'm not making gang signs.  My two fingers are pointing at the faint trails we took to get in there from Wilson lake.  That steep rocky gully is the one we didn't go down, and Wilson is over that ridge, out of sight.  Just thought it was a cool perspective.

More trail, on the way back we met some horsepackers, and decided to take the shortcut up the ridge.

Got back, and although we'd already hiked 7 on the GPS, decided we didn't want to have to make the drive out after hiking 8 miles out tomorrow, so we packed up and headed out.

We'd had great weather, had missed all the storms since the first day, but the sky was threatening as we hit FishFin Ridge.  Of course!  We hustled it out, starting about 3:30 and hit the TH at about 6:30, pretty done in. Some off and on thundershowers with mixed rain and sleet, so we were on and off with our shells, irritatingly enough.  I only had a tank top on so when the wind was blowing it was chilly, believe me.

As we stumbled to the Jeep, thankful to be done and drenched with sweat, our magical host Jeff comes out and suddenly, as if in a dream, asks if we want a hot shower.  A WHAT?! WHAT DID YOU SAY?  Turns out they have a shower rigged up with tarps, wood pallets for a floor, and an instant on propane heater.  Holy cow heaven, I couldn't believe it.  Then, the lovely Chris, his wife, appears with a FLUFFY GIANT TOWEL.  And soap!  (Scott even appeared at the end of my shower with his disposable razor and little shave cream bottle from the Jeep...this, my friends, is why we have stayed married for so long!) Scott and I were so beside ourselves.  The shower really was hot.  And good water pressure.  Unbelievable.  We just couldn't get over their kindness. I don't know that they offer it to very many people, but hey.  REI has a way of opening doors, and they just could not emphasize enough what a great company I worked for, they were even wearing REI clothing.  I think it helped too, that he thought we were well-prepared backpackers, as he'd said as much when we started in, something along the lines of "Well, I don't have to worry about you", as he had watched us rearrange our packs and get ready.  He inquired about the Scout troop, and we relayed our contact but said we hadn't seen them again, and they hadn't come out yet.  Poor kids.  Sure hope it picked up for them.  After this fantastic dream episode, we went to the small campground, in a spot Chris recommended, and enjoyed a fantastic chicken peanut satay dinner that was as good as any restaurant.  Scott couldn't believe it was a dehydrated dinner I'd made.  It was pretty good, even though anything probably would've been after that day.  The campspot was isolated, and very pretty.  We thought about a whiskey drink, but were too tired.  GPS showed about 45 miles, we later found it lost a whole section, so I'm thinking we did about 50, maybe a bit more.  We started Monday afternoon and came out Thursday afternoon.  We slept well that night.  A picture of our lovely hosts:

Actually, we slept great every night.  The tent was cozy but perfectly perfect for two people, great ventilation.   I love my pad and my bag, and there is nothing like a hard sweaty day to induce a great night's sleep.  We did feel slightly guilty about not spending any of this time off with the kids, and thought we might try to sneak in a trip to Montana, which is why we cut our time short in the Church.  In the morning, Chris told me there was a huge storm system moving in, and two backpackers had headed in after being warned that it could be extremely dangerous.  She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Well, we told them.  They can't say they don't know".  I gave her and Jeff a hug, Scott helped a FS Ranger load up some picnic tables, we got their email address and we set out with a wave.  Love those two!

After the drive out, once we got to Challis, I checked the weather, sure enough, the White Clouds were forecast as part of the system.  We decided we'd been there, done that before, so we hit this little dive drive-in that I'd spotted (much to Scott's dismay, he was unsure of the looks of it and not enthused at all).  AND OH WAS HE WRONG.  Fantastic food!  I was ordering this giant burger, onion rings and fries and the man looks at me and says "Wait.  Have you ever been here?  Do you know how big our onion rings are?"  Scott, in true husband fashion, immediately responds "Oh, she can eat it.  Believe me"  Harrumph.  The beef was the best I'd ever tasted.  The onion rings?  Well yeah. Ok, they were HUGE.  And delicious, but as big as my hand. I may have left some food on the tray.  But I tried, believe me, I tried.

 He tipped us off to a B&B and Scott called, and got us the 'honeymoon cottage'.  It was for our anniversary trip, so yeah.  We took it. Showered again, (because we could) and went into 'downtown' Challis to get a coffee.  Here was the sky at 4pm:

Glad we stayed out.  In a humorous turn, we were crossing the street, which mostly consists of bars, an old building that says "First Forest Service Office", a coffee bar/restaurant, and more bars.  Two clearly drunk men were sprawled on the sidewalk in front of one of the bars, staring at me.  One of them yells out "Hey there!  What's yer name?"  And my quick husband yells back "Scott!  What's yours?"  It was all I could do not to burst out laughing, which didn't seem like the best idea.  Poor Scott, neither man replied, but they didn't go any further with the small talk.
 Picture of the cottage, and a video I shot of the approaching storm out front:

 It was a pretty interesting place, the man told me it had been a Montgomery Ward house, built in the late 30's.  When he bought it and started to renovate, the walls were nothing but cheesecloth that was stapled to the floor and ceiling beams, and then wallpapered over.  WTF!  He said no studs, no insulation.  Wow.  What people did because they had to back in the day.

Turns out, the kids didn't want to go to Montana, but Scott's phone was sure blowing up about the fires back home.  We figured we'd go into the White Clouds the next day, Saturday, and play it by ear.  After a nice night's rest, we were treated to a fabulous breakfast by the owner, homemade bread and ham and cheese omelettes.  A BLM ranger was also with us, and he scoffed at my worry that the White Clouds would see more traffic than normal this weekend.  In fact, he tried to look over my head and give Scott 'the eye wink' which, as you can imagine, did not sit well with me.  In Part II, we shall see who was in the correct corner.  We set out to see if we could replenish some lunch stuff.  Turns out, good thing I made as much as I did, because the lone grocery store didn't even sell pepperoni sticks.  Huh.  If you've made it this far, congratulations, I love you, and the White Clouds will come in Part II.  Thanks for reading. 

Choice, Chance and Change: Sky Lakes/Hanging Valley Cabinet Wilderness,Montana June 8-10, 2015

     "You've got to make the choice to take a chance if you want your life to change."  A quote I've seen recently on the 'net.  No credit, but whoever said it was speaking truth. After 11 seasons at a job in which I loved what I was doing, I left.  I had no real plan at the time, I just knew it was time for a change.  I applied at a company that is known for it's positive, amazing energy and a real work/life balance walk, not just a talk-the-talk.  That company was REI.  It was a leap of faith, and I was not disappointed.  Instead, it was as rewarding as a spring rain in an Arizona desert.  It inspires you to get outside.  Don't just exist, but live.  A match made in heaven for me. It didn't hurt that there isn't one employee there that I don't like, that isn't an inspiration in their own way, that isn't vibrant and full of knowledge about their own love of the outdoors, be it climbing, biking, kayaking, hiking. Suddenly, everything was glorious and full of life and I waited for the awakening, only to find out it was a dream.  But if it is, I'm still asleep and dreaming.  And loving every minute still.    

     It's difficult to change in many ways; it can be intimidating, daunting, exhausting, but to use another recently seen quote, life does not get better by chance, it gets better by change.  Change only we can wrought.  And the reward can be so  wonderful, you wonder what in the hell took you so long.  It's like being so incredibly thirsty but not knowing how much until someone hands you a pitcher of cool, clear water.  Coincidentally, I was not the only one who made a rather significant career change.  My husband left his ladder truck, his station, and his crew that he worked with for close to (if not all of) 10 years for a new truck and crew.  He went from the biggest firetruck on the dept to the smallest, but yet he too, felt called to decide his future, instead of waiting and existing. A season of change in the Martin House, was spring.
     As difficult as change is, it inspires growth and knowledge about ourselves.  It also makes you realize how tight your shoes were when you finally get to take them off. Both Scott and I had been living under so much stress but didn't know it until it was gone.  I had been so busy listening to what people told me I 'was', I had stopped actually 'being' who I was.  Both of us are excited in these new paths. 

     In an offshoot, for the first time in almost 12 years, I had time off in June.  This spring has been the most incredibly warm, dry spring in over a decade.  (Whether this is a good thing is another post, but for human comfort, it's hard to beat.)   I was given three days off during a 90 degree spell-- the mountains practically begged for a backpacking trip, given the dismal snowfall of the winter.  Unfortunately, Scott was unable to manage the time off, so I decided Rocket and I would head over solo.  I am not afraid of those mountains; I could never be lost up there, they are like home to me.  And so, with a few phone calls to scout out trails, we decided on Hanging Valley trail #135, which is an offshoot of Sky Lakes/Flower Creek trail #137.  It is rated as "strenuous, not maintained for the average hiker".  Hmmm.  Scott was encouraging, as was the ranger.  HA.  Boy do I have them fooled.  Anyhow, we packed, we weighed, I ended up at 40.5lbs for my pack.  Now, here's the thing: lots of people can and do with less.  I like to be comfortable though, and don't even get in the way of my food.  BACK AWAY FROM MY FOOD.  One of my greatest pleasures is eating well in the backcountry.  Plus, as a soloist, I like to be prepared.  :shrug:  YMMV.  I took everything out when I got home that I didn't use, and weighed it, and it came to about 5.9 lbs.  Plus, my tent was rather heavy, at over 4lbs, but it's big enough for the dog and I to comfortably hang out and sleep.  Add in the fact that my pack itself weighs around 6lbs, and well, 40 it was.  We loaded up on a gorgeous blue sky Monday and left at noon.

     We made a few stops, and the directions to the trailhead are rather confusing, but with the help of a friendly local from Libby, a smile and a handshake, we parked and hit the trail about 4:30 Montana time.  The hike started out beautifully in the golden afternoon light.

  It was 3 miles to the junction of trails 135 and 137, and I planned to camp there for the night and head up 135 early in the morning to beat the heat.  It is supposed to gain 800+ feet in about half mile and I wanted to have plenty of time to rest too.  We made fast work of it and just under 90 minutes later, we were there.  I was dismayed to see a raging creek and some dubious-looking logs, which were blocking a rather abrupt waterfall that dropped about 15-20 ft sharply, with raging white water.  It appeared to me that there were several ravines on the other side, with no clear indication of which one to try to cross to, to pick up the trail.  I dropped my pack, poked around, decided to venture out onto one of the main logs and quickly found it was not very wide, and extremely slick.  With the side view of the waterfall making me a bit nervous, I retreated.  Ok, well it was mostly the dog.  He started to come out onto the log with me but his pack was still on and he's not the most graceful with it.  I was thirsty and realized I hadn't eaten since lunch so quickly set up the tent and ate some green olives seasoned with basil and garlic.  Seriously.  They're in these little foil pouches and OMG.  Heaven.  Set about making dinner while staring at the other side of the creek and still not seeing which way to attempt to cross.  Now, I'm not scared of animals.  I'm not scared of being alone.  But I started to get a little stressed about this crossing.  Then suddenly, I remembered I can CHANGE plans.  I decided that if, in the morning, I still couldn't find a clear path or way across, I would simply take trail 137 to Sky Lakes.  I finished a VERY disappointing dehydrated chicken, stuffing and gravy dinner (see what I get for trying to dump weight) and went to hang my bear bag.

     The first of the guilt creeped in.  I admit.  I started to feel guilty about going by myself.  Partly because Scott is not only the person I'm married to, he's my best friend, and he loves to backpack as much (or very close to it) as I do.  And partly because, well, kids.  Yeah.  They're teens.  But that doesn't mean they don't need me. And it would take me at least 4-5 hours from that spot let alone farther in to get home if something happened.  So on this trip, I brought something brand new to Scott and I, a type of GPS texting device called a Delorme InReach Explorer.  It allows limited texting and location services on a map.  I sent a pre-set text saying I'd arrived to Scott.  Then I sent another detailing my potential plan of Sky Lakes and mentioning that I felt guilty.  Nothing back, but Scott was working so I focused on listening to the birds sing themselves to sleep and soon we were too. I then received a text from him saying "Go for it and enjoy yourself".
     The next morning was gorgeous and soon we were off on the trail to Sky Lakes, after another venture out onto the log far enough to tell me I didn't want to risk it.  The other crossing logs were mostly submerged and the creek was deeper than it looked.  Typical June snowmelt. The trail started off nice and sweat-inducing, but not too bad.  A few difficult trees, but hey.  Early season. I stopped for lots of pics.

      We came to a few very big spruces down on the trail.  There is always the smaller trees down on any trail.  These were clearly new downs from either winter or this spring.  Ugh.  Some were so big I couldn't get over them, but they were so branchy I had to belly crawl under and contort myself.  Some I had to take my pack off to get over, some I had to help lift Rocket over because of his pack.  We broke out into some lovely meadows, though and all was forgiven.

 
The trail then dropped down by the creek again, and there were some more aggravating downs.  I swear to god I've never fought so many downed trees.  I was hot and sweaty and the spruce and hemlock needles were sticking everywhere, getting down between my pack and my tank.  I was getting irritated at this point.  We came across a rather interesting print of a big cat in the mud.  I saw Rocket step and I believe the smaller footbprint is his back foot.  The larger I'm pretty sure is a coug.

Then another stunning alpine meadow that looked like there was no way out.  I'd kind of forgotten about the Delorme and I could have checked my mileage to see I was less than a mile to the lake but...who thinks about technology in the face of this kind of beauty?

 
     The guide books, admittedly 20 years old, said no significant stream crossings. I decided, while packing, to leave my new stream shoes at home.  Le Sigh.  This would bite me later.  Note to self: guide books are not always right, especially given times of year.  There were two I had to cross on logs, which I've always hated doing.  Onward we went.  MORE FREAKING TREES.  I'm starting to get fatigued but don't really realize it. I swear you'd no more than get over one than BOOM. OH LOOK.  A DOWNED TREE.  I did not stop to take pictures, really, because I just wanted to get to the lake.  But I did get one or two.

 
     Trust me, they're bigger than they look.  Anyhow, finally, there's one that is so thick with branches I really wonder how we're going to get over.  I take my pack off and manage to heave it over (luckily on the uphill side of the slope, good thinking Aimee) and wrangle through but Rocket lands directly on a sharp staub and starts to yelp.  I lift my 85lb dog up by his pack handle, I'm so freaked out and still he's stuck.  I think he is impaled and going to bleed out right there in front of me.  I yank and he is free and turns around on the other side.  I scramble back over and feel him and he is ok.  I go BACK over again, retrieve my pack, throw it over again, and for the 4th time squeeze through the tree and sit down with the dog, exhausted.  I get the Delorme out and send a text to Scott, saying I don't think we're going to make it over that one, it's too branchy for the dog and we're going to have to turn around and hike back out.  He texts back "You're almost there!  You're literally right around the bend.  You're like 3/10ths of a mile!"  I drink some water, eat a pro-bar and rest.  I feel no shame in admitting it was nice to see encouraging words and he was right:  I paired the Delorme with the map app on my phone and I was sooooo close.   I decide he's right, we're fucking going through that fucking tree and I get up and go attack the branches with the strength of anger.  I break a couple key ones and we're through.  WHEW.  It's muddy and slippery and we're both exhausted.  The last bit is of course steep and overgrown and terribly slick, but we soon see the basin cradling the lake.  The trail leads us to the outlet, swollen from snowmelt and I see.....water about mid-thigh high, with a bottom covered in slick logs.  Now, some of you might be brave enough to go barefoot over logs like that in icy cold snowmelt at 6300'.  But I wasn't.  The thing is, by yourself, you have to make decisions based on what will keep you on two feet, able to hike out number 1, and number 2, what will compromise the trip, even if it's just soaking everything in your pack because you submerged it being an idiot?  I knew the dog could swim over and it looked like there might be some logs (DAMNED LOGS) I could cross.  But as I started over, intending to call him from the trail across, where he could swim, he broke his stay and started up the log.  The crossing would've required a jump to a submerged log which I didn't think he would handle well with his full pack, and I hadn't taken it off.  I yelled 'BACK' and leapt off and decided I would look around on the north side of the lake.  We climbed a bench and found a nice campsite that would work, and rested. I then pitched the tent and got my chair and ate a jalepeno cheddar bagel with cream cheese for lunch, simply glad to rest.

Little bit of snow of course the dog would find:

OMFG.  I think we've made it!

 Logs in outlet:

 Yeah, I know it looks benign.  Trust me.  It was much deeper and swifter than it looks, and I know how slippery those logs are on bare feet. Part of success is making good decisions.  Had I not been alone, it would've been different. Had I brought those damn new expensive water shoes, with the grippy sole and the drains.....which weighed like an OUNCE each....  Le Sigh Deux. 

 

      The dog was clearly tired too, so we took a nap in the shade of the tent. Afterward, I made a cup of coffee and then we went exploring. Some very nice pictures to be had.

     After checking out the basin, looking for a supposed Englemann Spruce reputed to be over 5 ft in diameter (and that was 20+ years ago), we gave up and went back to some delicious grown-up mac n cheese.  Dinner with a view:

     So, as the afternoon wore into evening, my guilt returned.  It grew heavier and I couldn't figure out why, but discovered that I had cell service on that bench!  The first time ever, in any trip, I've had it.  I felt it was meant to be.  I texted Scott and told him while I was ok being by myself, frankly---- it was kind of boring without my 'other' best friend.  I know I can do this alone, but honestly, I like doing it with him more.  I felt selfish to leave him behind.  It's hard to explain but it felt wrong.   He of course did not feel that way, but I guess it's a version of 'mommy guilt'.   Or is it just female guilt in general?   Anyhow, Rocket was too tired to accompany me (THANKS, GERMAN SHEPHERD) but I got our bear bag set up  (he at least had the courtesy to watch from his vantage point) and all the while the thought of all those trees was in the back of my mind for tomorrow's return trip.  We settled into the tent for the night, to a perfectly calm, still night.  I lay there, listening again to the birds and the sounds of the forest quieting, the feeling of guilt preventing me from sleeping easily.  After I finally drifted off, I remembered again why I hated this tent, because of the condensation issues-- when Rocket dripped water onto my face.  Also, my Thermarest really DID have a leak, it wasn't just elevation the prior night.  Twice I had to blow it back up in the middle of the night.  Dawn came and we ate a quick breakfast and packed up.  I was determined to haul ass out so I could spend at least the afternoon with Scott and the kids before work the next day.  I got to the first big tree, and decided to count.  SEVENTEEN FUCKING TREES, 5 in the last half mile to the lake, 12 total in the last two  or miles approaching the lake, 15 in the last three (I'm going backwards here) and I'd forgotten about the big one before camp the first night.  Call me a wimp, but I didn't count the small trees, or even the trees you could go around or hop over.  So, inadvertently, I set myself up for one of the most fatiguing hikes I've done.  Only six miles in, roughly 3700+ feet of gain, about 13 miles round trip.  Not the longest, not the most elevation change, but it was tough in spots and those trees kicked my ass.
     I had a lot of time to reflect on the choices, challenges and changes I've made in the last few months.  To say I'm happy that I set myself upon that path, even though it was uncertain, chancy, totally out of my comfort zone is an understatement.  The hike had some challenges while solo a bit out of my comfort zone too, but they got handled.  I did feel slightly validated when the dog looked with some angst at his pack the morning we left; it was as if he, too, were dreading the trees.
     It's easy for us to stay in familiar surroundings, that may even seem comfortable even though they are not where we should be, nor developing us to our full potential.  It's difficult to break out of that comfort.  After all, the known is better than the unknown, right?  Except it's not always.  Making sound decisions out by yourself in the backcountry keeps you safe and gets you back out.  But making the decision to go out by yourself keeps you alive in an entirely different but no less important way.  Challenge yourself to choose to chance change.  Do more than just exist.  Thrive.  Learn.  Live. 

Once again, although it's hard to believe, there are yet pictures that did not make this post.  Full photostream Here

    

A Search for Peace

   Today was a hard day.  Not even as hard for me as so many others.  After an emotionally exhausting morning, I sought out the solace and peace of the woods. There, I reflected, as always.  Things began to sort themselves out in my mind-- slightly, as grief is such a complex emotion it can't ever be compartmentalized--and a few things seemed clear.  When someone is placed upon a path of grief, it is always a solo trail.  There isn't anyone that will be on that trail alongside you.  They have their own-- and each trail is completely unique.  That is one of the cruelest burdens of grief. You are forced to continue, to navigate alone.  There may likely be absolutely no sign of the path most of the time.  The duration, the conditions, each belong to a single individual.  That said, there are some observations to be made.

     I've read about The Circle Theory in relation to a medical event, and it fits perfectly within the world of the grieving:  Basically, Comfort in, Dump out.  If you draw a small circle on paper, then surround that circle with concentric rings, larger and larger, you have the Circle.  The Inner circle gets to say and do whatever they want.  They may permit passage of information out of the inner circle or they may choose that it remain private.  The surrounding circles absorb as needed, but the flow of stress is definitely one way:  Out.  The larger circles are only allowed to offer comfort and support in the direction of the Inner Circle. People outside of the Inner Circle are only allowed to dump their grief and stress and coping mechanisms to people in larger circles than themselves, not towards the Inner Circle. Don't fight battles that aren't yours, unless the Inner Circle has asked you to.  While your grief is yours, and valid, and genuine, you are in an Outer Circle.  Your needs rank below the needs of the Inner Circle.  You may not--please-- make this about you.  You are allowed to participate in the Circle, but you may not cause grief to flow inward.  You may not agree with the Inner Circle's wishes, decisions, but understand: you are not in the Inner Circle, therefore you do not get to make the decisions.

     Don't offer more than you are capable of.  Genuine concern is always appreciated.  The rings of the Outer Circles protect the Inner.  It's very easy and obvious to the Inner Circle to see who actually walks the walk vs just talking the talk.  Don't add to the burden by hurting the Inner Circle with your empty promises.  If you're trying to make yourself look good by offering support, just don't.  Really don't.  You don't look good and you cause more tension and disappointment.  If you jump on the wagon, do it because you're there to truly help, not because everyone else is.  When the wagon starts to empty, it's a whole other hurt that perpetuates the process.  Your presence is comfort-- you don't have to grandstand.  Again, this isn't about you.   Be there for the rough ride, the small moments, the large moments.  Clearly, you may grow weary and need a break from the constant ache of riding the wagon.  But don't leave the wagon: walk beside it, until you can take your place again.  The driver of the wagon can't change places with you; this goes back to the path of grief being an individual journey no one can make for someone.  But riding or walking along the wagon will help protect the wagon.

     Don't assume you know how you would feel, or what you would do or wish if you were the driver of the wagon. You must respect the driver of the wagon, even if you can't comprehend their requests, their wishes, their feelings.  If they ask you to get off the wagon, do it.  Walk beside.  Remember the Inner Circle.  They are the only ones allowed to request something of the whole Circle.  If you are not the driver, you are in an Outer Circle.  If you can't figure out where you fall in the Circles, chances are you're not in as small of a one as you might think.

     Parents of children and teens: discuss with your children.  Ask them why they feel the way they do.  Help them navigate their grief.  Help them to understand different perspectives, illustrate to them the Circles.  This visual often opens them in a way words can not.  They are affected by grief too, and genuinely are not equipped with even the most basic tools to deal with it.


     Please, do not spread venom and hate.  I can't believe I even need to say this.   Before you repeat something, ask yourself: How will this affect the Inner Circle?  Will this encourage the flow of love, comfort and support?  Or will this spread negativity, keep the wounds festering, cause them to falter and break down on their journey towards peace?  Your Mother was right.  If it won't help the Inner Circle, keep your damn mouth shut. And send your wishes for that wagon to someday ride on smooth, soft grass, full of light and love.