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Mice, Man & Mountain
I posted this on the other site but since I've gotten questions from people who don't read High Peaks I'll post here also.
The Hornbeck seems to go everywhere with me and so it had on Saturday for a short paddle on my way up to the high peaks. At Upper Works I settled down into my nest in my car to read for a while as darkness enclosed me. I really wasn't sleepy as the paddle was too short and the drive too long so I layed there watching the stars, trying to remember the constellations. Finally sleep came...
Only to be startled awake by rustling! Quiet rustling, but rustling. But wait, this was plastic rustling and it sounded like...inside the car. Turn on the big Mag light and take a look around. Nothing. Snuggle back into my nest, close my eyes. Doze. Pitter, pitter, pitter...almost sounds like rain. No, there's my constellations, can't be rain. Pitter, pitter, pitter. Silence. Rustle. Mag light on. Maybe a moth came in and is caught in the junk in my home away from home. Silence. Nest again. Pitter patter. Mag light on. Nothing. Now this goes on for about an hour until finally I am rewarded for my lack of sleep. The rustling is definitely inside the car. I quickly turn on the Mag light and running across my feet and exiting through the window are the tail and hind legs of a white footed mouse. Eeek! I don't like mice in my house and my car is even smaller to share them with. Cute little hind feet or not this mouse had to go!
I find the keys, roll up the windows and listen. Listening for? More mice in the car, of course. Quiet on the inside but pitter, pitter, pitter on the outside. Up. Down. All around. Miss Mousie is all over my car but she settles in around the windshield, going up and down the pillars between the front windows and the windshield, in and around the windshield wipers and every minute stopping, putting her cute little feet up on the glass and peering in at me. She really is cute on the other side of the glass. And determined to get back to my cherry pits. As she disappears amongst the wipers I start thinking. Can she somehow get in through the venting system? Hmmm... how many hours can I breather in this car without the windows open? It's gotten cold so the air holds more oxygen, I search my brain and try to come up with some statistic that I can use. O2 per minute used, cubic feet of air per hour..anything. Nothing. I have no idea if I leave the windows closed will I wake up in the morning. There is only one alternative left and that is to leave. So at 2:30 I leave my nest, run the car for a minute to give Miss Mousie time to leave, and drive down to the Allen lot carefully parking away from trees out on bare gravel. The sky is getting lighter as I fall asleep. I have no alarm clock as I've been waking up before 6 at home. But now I'm sleep deprived and I don't wake up until almost 7:30.
I'm back at Upper Works but not signing out until 8:30. I now know that it was Rik and Eric going to McNaughton and they had a fantastic day. Last night's hikers told me that on Friday were torrential rains and the trail to Flowed Lands proves them right. I rock hop the best I can because I hate starting out with wet socks and boots, taking me a full two hours to get to Flowed Lands. Flowed Lands are always pretty and so is Lake Colden when I cross the dam. The bouncy suspension bridge is fun and I think of how I wouldn't want to slip when it's icy. I've been slogging through mud and water pits for miles at this point having given up on dry boots which means the streams are full. Nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for the Opalescent. I came around a corner and literally gasped at the beauty of the falls. I HAD to go down to the water. Taking it all in I said "and I'm supposed to hike?" I could have stayed there all afternoon but instead settled for a promise to myself to go back later, some dawdling now and pictures for today. So I meandered my way up the stream, taking pictures along the way. And then I came upon the first flume! Rushing, raging water tumbling over the rocks, through the rocks and down, down the mountain. Beautiful moss along the sides and I wondered how tenaciously it must cling when the spring snowmelt floods the flume. I tried taking pictures but as I left the last flume I said "Nothing can capture this beauty. That is how it should be". As I walked I pondered how deeply I had been touched by the Opalescent. Nothing else mattered today, the summits, the mud, nothing. It seemed to me that the beauty I see from a summit, the view, is beautiful because I perceive it as beautiful. But the Opalescent was beautiful because it is. It exists. It's almost as if the water has its own life. I left the Opalescent fiercely protective of what I had been given the gift of wandering through today.
I start up the Redfield path and sure enough there is the better path to Cliff. Better? Really? It's one long mud pit. When I sink in a few inches below my knee I know I must have missed something. Sure enough, other hikers come down and they're not muddy like I am. I'm a walking, talking mud pit. Cliff lives up to its reputation as one tough mountain. There must be at least a hundred downed trees to shimmy over. I'm just short enough that I can't easily step or climb over so each ones requires me to get one leg over, fanny up, shift weight, wiggle over, swing second leg over and continue to the next. My thighs are bruised and torn up to prove it. The false summit is a nice relief of walking until I get to more mud pits. Finally the summit!
But Cliff wasn't done with me. On the way down I got to one of the cliffs with my left hand on a dangling root, facing out, right hand reaching across my body for a small tree. The idea was to swing my right leg across my body to a toe hold and lower myself down to a narrow ledge a few inches wide and then down. Not in the plan was my shorts getting caught by a branch. I wiggled, I wormed, I squirmed and tugged. Nothing. Letting go of the tree with my right hand I had to pull up the shorts to let them free and when they were free so was I getting a mini catapult. My right hand grabbed the little tree but my left hand lost the root. I was hanging from the tree and said "okay. okay." Looking up I grabbed the root, dug my toes in to the rock and swung over to the ledge. I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell Paul about that one or not, he's been worried enough about be going solo. I go twenty more feet down and look down at a narrow crack, take stock of the finger holds and toe holds and say "I can't believe I went up this!" But down I go. Around the corner is the answer. I recognize the path and realize I hadn't gone up it! More mud, more water but this time I find a side path that keeps me out of some of the worst mud back to the junction with Redfield. It took me 1 hour 20 minutes up and 50 minute down Cliff.
The path up Redfield is a nice change after Cliff. The stream is a treat to the eyes but I tire of walking the rocks on the tributary. I should have stopped for a break before starting up Redfield because I find I'm bonking on the way up. A half mile before the summit I meet a couple and they say I'm about 45 minutes from the top. I'm tired, it's 4:15 and I consider turning back. I walk on but I keep looking at my watch each time thinking maybe I should turn back. I give myself a 5:00 turn around and then think how ridiculous is that. As long as I'm back to Uphill lean-to the trail is well trodden and it may take me a long time in the dark but it certainly can be done. I've walked out many times in the dark and it's fine with me. What's wrong is I need food and drink. One tenth of a mile before the summit I hit the wall and finally stop for a drink and snack. Ten minutes later I'm okay and realize that I've only had 64 ounces of water today. The water bottle pockets in my pack can't be reached without taking off the pack. When Paul and I hike together, we stop and give each other their bottles. Very handy, very easy. I wasn't drinking because I didn't want to take off my pack. That definitely needs to be solved and so does the too much weight I'm carrying solo. I reach Redfield at 4:55 and don't stay long. It's taken me 1 hour 45 minutes to go up and it takes me 1 hour 20 minutes to go carefully down. I snack just enough to get down to Uphill lean-to where I'll take a better break.
When Paul told me he didn't want to hike anymore I don't know what upset him more, his decision or his worry for me. He was sobbing into a McDonalds bag so I couldn't really tell. As he said, he's torn. He made me promise to call from the summits and then again in the morning or that night if there was no signal on the summits. Cliff, no signal. Redfield, no signal. When I didn't get the signal on Redfield I knew I had a long night ahead of me. Now instead of crawling back into my nest at Upper Works I had to drive to a phone or phone reception. I was not looking forward to that! But I knew he would be way too worried about me to not call and I was grateful that there was someone to worry about me.
Uphill lean-to had a sleeping person all bundled up in a bag. It's 6:20 and this guy has had it for the day! Thoughts of asking him to share his bag so I can get some shut eye dance through my head giving me a giggle but I decide to eat back on the trail so he can sleep in peace. A quick snack and filtering some water gets me started at 6:30. Down near Colden I run into the couple from Redfield and we say goodnight. I'm jealous of all the campers. I can hear their light chatter and clanking of pots as they get dinner ready and I wish I was camping also.
I posted this on the other site but since I've gotten questions from people who don't read High Peaks I'll post here also.
The Hornbeck seems to go everywhere with me and so it had on Saturday for a short paddle on my way up to the high peaks. At Upper Works I settled down into my nest in my car to read for a while as darkness enclosed me. I really wasn't sleepy as the paddle was too short and the drive too long so I layed there watching the stars, trying to remember the constellations. Finally sleep came...
Only to be startled awake by rustling! Quiet rustling, but rustling. But wait, this was plastic rustling and it sounded like...inside the car. Turn on the big Mag light and take a look around. Nothing. Snuggle back into my nest, close my eyes. Doze. Pitter, pitter, pitter...almost sounds like rain. No, there's my constellations, can't be rain. Pitter, pitter, pitter. Silence. Rustle. Mag light on. Maybe a moth came in and is caught in the junk in my home away from home. Silence. Nest again. Pitter patter. Mag light on. Nothing. Now this goes on for about an hour until finally I am rewarded for my lack of sleep. The rustling is definitely inside the car. I quickly turn on the Mag light and running across my feet and exiting through the window are the tail and hind legs of a white footed mouse. Eeek! I don't like mice in my house and my car is even smaller to share them with. Cute little hind feet or not this mouse had to go!
I find the keys, roll up the windows and listen. Listening for? More mice in the car, of course. Quiet on the inside but pitter, pitter, pitter on the outside. Up. Down. All around. Miss Mousie is all over my car but she settles in around the windshield, going up and down the pillars between the front windows and the windshield, in and around the windshield wipers and every minute stopping, putting her cute little feet up on the glass and peering in at me. She really is cute on the other side of the glass. And determined to get back to my cherry pits. As she disappears amongst the wipers I start thinking. Can she somehow get in through the venting system? Hmmm... how many hours can I breather in this car without the windows open? It's gotten cold so the air holds more oxygen, I search my brain and try to come up with some statistic that I can use. O2 per minute used, cubic feet of air per hour..anything. Nothing. I have no idea if I leave the windows closed will I wake up in the morning. There is only one alternative left and that is to leave. So at 2:30 I leave my nest, run the car for a minute to give Miss Mousie time to leave, and drive down to the Allen lot carefully parking away from trees out on bare gravel. The sky is getting lighter as I fall asleep. I have no alarm clock as I've been waking up before 6 at home. But now I'm sleep deprived and I don't wake up until almost 7:30.
I'm back at Upper Works but not signing out until 8:30. I now know that it was Rik and Eric going to McNaughton and they had a fantastic day. Last night's hikers told me that on Friday were torrential rains and the trail to Flowed Lands proves them right. I rock hop the best I can because I hate starting out with wet socks and boots, taking me a full two hours to get to Flowed Lands. Flowed Lands are always pretty and so is Lake Colden when I cross the dam. The bouncy suspension bridge is fun and I think of how I wouldn't want to slip when it's icy. I've been slogging through mud and water pits for miles at this point having given up on dry boots which means the streams are full. Nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for the Opalescent. I came around a corner and literally gasped at the beauty of the falls. I HAD to go down to the water. Taking it all in I said "and I'm supposed to hike?" I could have stayed there all afternoon but instead settled for a promise to myself to go back later, some dawdling now and pictures for today. So I meandered my way up the stream, taking pictures along the way. And then I came upon the first flume! Rushing, raging water tumbling over the rocks, through the rocks and down, down the mountain. Beautiful moss along the sides and I wondered how tenaciously it must cling when the spring snowmelt floods the flume. I tried taking pictures but as I left the last flume I said "Nothing can capture this beauty. That is how it should be". As I walked I pondered how deeply I had been touched by the Opalescent. Nothing else mattered today, the summits, the mud, nothing. It seemed to me that the beauty I see from a summit, the view, is beautiful because I perceive it as beautiful. But the Opalescent was beautiful because it is. It exists. It's almost as if the water has its own life. I left the Opalescent fiercely protective of what I had been given the gift of wandering through today.
I start up the Redfield path and sure enough there is the better path to Cliff. Better? Really? It's one long mud pit. When I sink in a few inches below my knee I know I must have missed something. Sure enough, other hikers come down and they're not muddy like I am. I'm a walking, talking mud pit. Cliff lives up to its reputation as one tough mountain. There must be at least a hundred downed trees to shimmy over. I'm just short enough that I can't easily step or climb over so each ones requires me to get one leg over, fanny up, shift weight, wiggle over, swing second leg over and continue to the next. My thighs are bruised and torn up to prove it. The false summit is a nice relief of walking until I get to more mud pits. Finally the summit!
But Cliff wasn't done with me. On the way down I got to one of the cliffs with my left hand on a dangling root, facing out, right hand reaching across my body for a small tree. The idea was to swing my right leg across my body to a toe hold and lower myself down to a narrow ledge a few inches wide and then down. Not in the plan was my shorts getting caught by a branch. I wiggled, I wormed, I squirmed and tugged. Nothing. Letting go of the tree with my right hand I had to pull up the shorts to let them free and when they were free so was I getting a mini catapult. My right hand grabbed the little tree but my left hand lost the root. I was hanging from the tree and said "okay. okay." Looking up I grabbed the root, dug my toes in to the rock and swung over to the ledge. I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell Paul about that one or not, he's been worried enough about be going solo. I go twenty more feet down and look down at a narrow crack, take stock of the finger holds and toe holds and say "I can't believe I went up this!" But down I go. Around the corner is the answer. I recognize the path and realize I hadn't gone up it! More mud, more water but this time I find a side path that keeps me out of some of the worst mud back to the junction with Redfield. It took me 1 hour 20 minutes up and 50 minute down Cliff.
The path up Redfield is a nice change after Cliff. The stream is a treat to the eyes but I tire of walking the rocks on the tributary. I should have stopped for a break before starting up Redfield because I find I'm bonking on the way up. A half mile before the summit I meet a couple and they say I'm about 45 minutes from the top. I'm tired, it's 4:15 and I consider turning back. I walk on but I keep looking at my watch each time thinking maybe I should turn back. I give myself a 5:00 turn around and then think how ridiculous is that. As long as I'm back to Uphill lean-to the trail is well trodden and it may take me a long time in the dark but it certainly can be done. I've walked out many times in the dark and it's fine with me. What's wrong is I need food and drink. One tenth of a mile before the summit I hit the wall and finally stop for a drink and snack. Ten minutes later I'm okay and realize that I've only had 64 ounces of water today. The water bottle pockets in my pack can't be reached without taking off the pack. When Paul and I hike together, we stop and give each other their bottles. Very handy, very easy. I wasn't drinking because I didn't want to take off my pack. That definitely needs to be solved and so does the too much weight I'm carrying solo. I reach Redfield at 4:55 and don't stay long. It's taken me 1 hour 45 minutes to go up and it takes me 1 hour 20 minutes to go carefully down. I snack just enough to get down to Uphill lean-to where I'll take a better break.
When Paul told me he didn't want to hike anymore I don't know what upset him more, his decision or his worry for me. He was sobbing into a McDonalds bag so I couldn't really tell. As he said, he's torn. He made me promise to call from the summits and then again in the morning or that night if there was no signal on the summits. Cliff, no signal. Redfield, no signal. When I didn't get the signal on Redfield I knew I had a long night ahead of me. Now instead of crawling back into my nest at Upper Works I had to drive to a phone or phone reception. I was not looking forward to that! But I knew he would be way too worried about me to not call and I was grateful that there was someone to worry about me.
Uphill lean-to had a sleeping person all bundled up in a bag. It's 6:20 and this guy has had it for the day! Thoughts of asking him to share his bag so I can get some shut eye dance through my head giving me a giggle but I decide to eat back on the trail so he can sleep in peace. A quick snack and filtering some water gets me started at 6:30. Down near Colden I run into the couple from Redfield and we say goodnight. I'm jealous of all the campers. I can hear their light chatter and clanking of pots as they get dinner ready and I wish I was camping also.
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