Last fall I finished work early on a Saturday, wasn't needed on Sunday, and decided it was a great day to throw all of my things in a bag and go backpacking. It was my first solo overnight without car support and it went south and I wasn't prepared. Which is the lesson reviewed by this entry.
I spent the quiet times on Saturday researching a route, I called up the ranger's office and asked about trail conditions. When I got home I packed in record time, grabbed my trusty hound, and headed up into the mountains. I arrived at the trailhead with daylight to spare (I thought) and headed up towards one of several backwoods camping sites that the ranger had suggested. There was one other car in the lot, and two friendly climbers heading up who quickly faded into the woods ahead of me.
It got dark faster than I expected, and I didn't move as quickly as I expected. It took me a long time to ford a swollen river. I had another delay when I discovered my platypus was leaking and had to readjust my things to ensure nothing else got wet. By the time it started to get dark I still hadn't come across any likely sites. Instead of settling for one I kept going, thinking I was pretty close to my original destination. And maybe I was. I won't know until I go back up there because full dark came and then I started stumbling and then I decided it was time to stop. There was a clearing next to the path so I set up camp there. I had a quiet dinner in the dark and decided to go to bed soon thereafter so I could have more time in the morning to explore and figure out where I had intended to go.
Because I camp with my dog, I will generally wake up several times during the night when he barks at noises in the woods. I was just falling asleep when he woke me and I heard voices on the trail. They seemed to be heading down the mountain. I checked my clock: 2315. Okay, a little late to head 3 or so miles down a challenging trail with a river running high, but to each his own. I was woken again when they came back through 30 minutes later and shined their flashlights at my tent. My dog kept barking. I didn't feel great about it but I told myself the dark was getting to me, etc. I felt differently when I was woken again at 0030 by another set of voices heading up the mountain. These voices were all male, they stopped and let their flashlights linger on my tent, and only moved on after a few long minutes. What the hell was going on out there? Where had these people come from? Who hikes up a mountain at midnight? There's no way the original group went down again without setting off my dog, whom I'm not sure had slept at all. I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My instincts have always served me well, so that pretty much settled it. I struck camp in about 15 minutes and headed back down the mountain. I went slowly. I stopped whenever I got tired enough to stumble. I kept drinking water. I poked my trekking pole ahead of me every step of the way. I fought my scaredy-cat instincts and sang loudly whenever I heard rustling in the bushes. It took me almost three times as long to go down but I made it back to my car safe and sound.
I've had a season to reflect on what went wrong and here's what I've come up with:
Problem 1: It was a Saturday. When I was researching solo packing for women, I came across mixed reviews on whether to hide or to be visible: some women preferred to hike more high traffic areas for the increased likelihood they would come across help if they ran into trouble. Other women preferred to keep a low profile, erring on the side of risk of injury to avoid human complications. I feel more comfortable with the latter, and by going out on a Saturday night I ended up in a situation I wouldn't have been as comfortable in to begin with.
Problem 2: I did not leave early enough. This forced me to find a campsite that, while perfectly functional, was open to the path and to anyone who happened to be traveling along it in the middle of the night.
Problem 3: It was a new trail for me. Because I hadn't been to where I was going (a perfectly reasonable day hike distance) I was unable to judge whether to stop or continue when conditions like darkness and fatigue forced me to rework my plan. While I think this was the slightest of my mistakes since it could easily have been corrected by making sure I had hours and hours of daylight, it was still a factor.
Problem 4: I wasn't carrying spare batteries for my headlamp. The low battery light was on, so I chose to go without headlamp for most of the way down the trail to conserve what light I had left.
But, there were several things I did right!
I talked myself down when I thought I was just getting spooked, but when that strong instinct hit me I acted on it without dithering or panic.
I let logic and not fear dictate the speed at which I went back down the trail and what my response was to strange noises. It would have been easy to rush and break an ankle or not warn an animal that I was nearby and startle it, but I didn't. I stayed hydrated, I went slowly, and I used my trekking pole even when the path seemed flat and clear. And for those things I'm pretty proud of myself.
All of my mistakes were dumb mistakes and I knew better than all of them, and I just got excited. Which I suppose is a lesson in knowledge versus awareness, mindfulness, and checking in. I wasn't able to get out again after this last season, but it hasn't diminished my enthusiasm at all. I'm looking forward to backpacking both solo and with friends as the weather warms up.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Monday, July 25, 2011
My First Solo!
Something that's been a goal for me has been to eventually go backpacking solo. I'm enjoying backpacking quite a bit but we have a narrow seasonal window in the Pacific Northwest. With Dan frequently out of town for work, the only times I can go backpacking sometimes mean I can't find a partner.
This can be kind of scary, but I'm determined. I started by reading the forum posts and blogs of other women who hike and backpack solo. I consulted my grandfather (who felt having a dog was the best defense) and heard my mother's concerns. I talked it over with Dan. And I decided it's something I want to try.
So a few weekends ago I bought myself a can of bear mace, left my itinerary with two friends, and took the first step: seeing if I could spend the night in the woods alone.
Following advice from those forums (and my own common sense) that I would not want to spend the night in a populated campsite, I went scouting in the wilderness and found an isolated site down a logging road. This allowed me to go car camping while staying away from strangers. So I got home from work, packed up my knapsack, and drove out to this beautiful mountain retreat.
It was my first opportunity to try out my new BA Copper Spur UL1 which I spent a long time debating over. I've wanted a solo tent, it was a big deal for me that it be super light, and I balked over the price but I did find it on sale and I finally ordered it. It's lovely by the way - easy up, spacious, and freestanding except for the stakes you use to put out the fly.
I didn't get a very good picture of the tent. Here's a picture of Dodger in the wider head end of the tent when it arrived and I set it up in the living room.
Still a solo tent, but spacious enough for Dodger and I to be comfortable, even if he would rather sleep on my head.
The night was a little scary. I woke up several times during the night, once with a bad dream that there were other people out in the woods and they were screaming that there was a fire. At one point I'm pretty sure Dodger scared something away outside, but the rustling I heard was a small rustling. It was comforting to know I could climb into my car at any time and drive away, but I was brave and I didn't.
Dodger woke me up very early in the morning (see the above picture) by pretending to bark at stuff outside and then looking at me to see if I was awake yet. I discovered that everything in the REI review thread about this tent's condensation is true: the fly walls were sagging with dew even though I'd left the vent open. Next time I will bring my backpack and shoes inside the tent so they don't get wet (which they did when they'd been sheltered under the fly).
Dodger drove me out of bed at 5:30 am and we hiked along the ridge to check out the spectacular views.
I drove home around 9 in the morning, but I consider the trip an overall success.
Pros: Surviving a night in the woods by myself! Starting my own fire.
Cons: My knapsack was still heavier than I would want to hike with by myself.
For next time: I still packed too much food, which I always do. I need to get my pack down to a manageable weight if I want to actually go hiking by myself (with Dodger) and cross a reasonable distance. I think I'm looking at a good 5 or 6 miles in if I want to go to a backwoods site with a nearby ranger I can notify of my trip.
This can be kind of scary, but I'm determined. I started by reading the forum posts and blogs of other women who hike and backpack solo. I consulted my grandfather (who felt having a dog was the best defense) and heard my mother's concerns. I talked it over with Dan. And I decided it's something I want to try.
So a few weekends ago I bought myself a can of bear mace, left my itinerary with two friends, and took the first step: seeing if I could spend the night in the woods alone.
Following advice from those forums (and my own common sense) that I would not want to spend the night in a populated campsite, I went scouting in the wilderness and found an isolated site down a logging road. This allowed me to go car camping while staying away from strangers. So I got home from work, packed up my knapsack, and drove out to this beautiful mountain retreat.
It was my first opportunity to try out my new BA Copper Spur UL1 which I spent a long time debating over. I've wanted a solo tent, it was a big deal for me that it be super light, and I balked over the price but I did find it on sale and I finally ordered it. It's lovely by the way - easy up, spacious, and freestanding except for the stakes you use to put out the fly.
I didn't get a very good picture of the tent. Here's a picture of Dodger in the wider head end of the tent when it arrived and I set it up in the living room.
Still a solo tent, but spacious enough for Dodger and I to be comfortable, even if he would rather sleep on my head.
The night was a little scary. I woke up several times during the night, once with a bad dream that there were other people out in the woods and they were screaming that there was a fire. At one point I'm pretty sure Dodger scared something away outside, but the rustling I heard was a small rustling. It was comforting to know I could climb into my car at any time and drive away, but I was brave and I didn't.
Dodger woke me up very early in the morning (see the above picture) by pretending to bark at stuff outside and then looking at me to see if I was awake yet. I discovered that everything in the REI review thread about this tent's condensation is true: the fly walls were sagging with dew even though I'd left the vent open. Next time I will bring my backpack and shoes inside the tent so they don't get wet (which they did when they'd been sheltered under the fly).
Dodger drove me out of bed at 5:30 am and we hiked along the ridge to check out the spectacular views.
I drove home around 9 in the morning, but I consider the trip an overall success.
Pros: Surviving a night in the woods by myself! Starting my own fire.
Cons: My knapsack was still heavier than I would want to hike with by myself.
For next time: I still packed too much food, which I always do. I need to get my pack down to a manageable weight if I want to actually go hiking by myself (with Dodger) and cross a reasonable distance. I think I'm looking at a good 5 or 6 miles in if I want to go to a backwoods site with a nearby ranger I can notify of my trip.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Mt Higgins in June
A few weeks ago my partner and I shared a bottle of wine and pored over what (GreenTrails) maps we've collected to look for the lowest elevation alpine lake we could find. After some taking-charge on Dan's part it was settled that we would tackle Mt. Higgins at the south end of Skagit County. I got off work early on a Thursday and in an hour we were ready to pick up some jerky and get out of town. I really love that about backpacking. A speedy departure is not the case with other forms of camping I engage in.
We didn't bother to Google the trail or we might have come across this article in the Seattle PI which discusses the grueling elevation climb. Or this page from the WTA which identifies it as an endangered trail due to hiker safety concerns and provides what is, in our estimation, a generously inaccurate photo of what the 'improved' sections of the trail actually look like right now. But honestly Dan was so excited about taking off for some unknown unexplored land that even after learning the 'look it up' lesson I'll probably keep the info to myself the next time he picks a spot and pack emergency supplies accordingly.
We arrived at the trailhead with a few hours to go before dark and wishing I'd had a few inches more clearance on my SUV to get back down the logging road that got us there. It's a brief jaunt through a shady forest before the trail widens into an old railroad track. At this point we ran into some kids with a plastic bag of fish who let us know the top of the mountain was still covered in many feet of snowpack. This was not going to stop us, oh no.
The broad grassy and reasonably gentle elevation climb gave way to an almost-narrower-than-Dan's-pack cliff edge trail with a stunning view of one of those cute little Skagit valleys.
I don't know if this happens to other hikers (or just ones with fatigue issues) because I'm new and Dan is immune, but I am always weak as a kitten for the first hour or so and have to stop and take frequent breaks until I get my first wind. Since we were looking at something like 2300 feet of elevation gain, the breaks were even more frequent than normal and when we hit the shaded side of the mountain we slowed further as the light started to dim. As a result we didn't make it to the top that first night even though the trek is barely 4 miles. We camped in a little dell near the trail, a mossy little fairyland bowl complete with a trickling stream running through it.
There's a picture of Dan packing up the morning after our first camp which of course I didn't take a picture of. Under that log over there is where we pitched our tent.
The next day we headed up the rest of the mountain. We'd left the cliff behind at this point and it was beautiful old growth rainforest with spongy sopping wet ground and many long stretches of muddy trail. I am now even more in love with my boots which were worth every penny I paid for them. Dan who prided himself on buying much less expensive boots had wet feet all weekend. Especially when we got to the snow which started about two-thirds of the way up the mountain.
We got a little off course in the snow pack but since it wasn't that cold it was pretty fun and Dodger had a great time sledding. Really, he would get a running start at a snowy hill then put his paws out ahead of him, lower his body and skid down. The only wet in my boots was snow coming in the top and I had a great time throwing snowballs at the dog. By midday we'd made it to Myrtle Lake at the top of Mt. Higgins.
I hadn't packed my extra pair of longjohns and my fleece (a mistake I won't be making again) but wrapping my down bag around me the previous evening had kept me warm, and I'd slept fine the previous night, so after much convincing I agreed to camp next to the lake. Here. In the only dry patch big enough for both our tent and a fire in the middle of the snow.
That's our REI Half-Dome 2+ (with footprint) holding up like a champ with one corner on the snow. A reasonable distance behind our tent is our fire which took Dan about two hours to light with frozen wood. I know that stuff around the clearing looks dry and dead, it is absolutely not -- everything was dripping wet. Our fire was surrounded by three snowbanks which made it extra snuggly and warm and comfortable to sit next to it that evening. But not before Dan and Dodger got some Zen time in late in the afternoon.
The next morning we woke to rain and were delighted to figure out that we can stay snuggled up in the tent and have room to boil tea under the fly with some flaps open for ventilation. On the downside everything the comments on the REI site say about the Half-Dome's fly design pouring water into your tent is true and we had to be very careful when opening said flaps for said ventilation. Around 10am I finally admitted the rain was not going to stop and we packed up and headed down the now-even-wetter-and-muddier mountain. I discovered that my 10-year-old 'waterproof' shell doesn't love me anymore and is basically a sponge to hold water close to my skin. But we made it back to the car in good time and I've never been so happy to have invested in seat warmers in all my life (and I've been very happy about it before). I also ordered trekking poles as soon as I got home.
Overall: A great time. Even with the dangers and poor trail conditions the view and the old-growth forest are incredible. It was beautifully secluded, we felt like we had the whole mountain to ourselves and there's a good chance we were right. I think it'd be bug city in the full summer though and I'd probably try and visit this site again later in the fall.
Things I wish I'd taken: Rope, and those extra longjohns.
We didn't bother to Google the trail or we might have come across this article in the Seattle PI which discusses the grueling elevation climb. Or this page from the WTA which identifies it as an endangered trail due to hiker safety concerns and provides what is, in our estimation, a generously inaccurate photo of what the 'improved' sections of the trail actually look like right now. But honestly Dan was so excited about taking off for some unknown unexplored land that even after learning the 'look it up' lesson I'll probably keep the info to myself the next time he picks a spot and pack emergency supplies accordingly.
We arrived at the trailhead with a few hours to go before dark and wishing I'd had a few inches more clearance on my SUV to get back down the logging road that got us there. It's a brief jaunt through a shady forest before the trail widens into an old railroad track. At this point we ran into some kids with a plastic bag of fish who let us know the top of the mountain was still covered in many feet of snowpack. This was not going to stop us, oh no.
The broad grassy and reasonably gentle elevation climb gave way to an almost-narrower-than-Dan's-pack cliff edge trail with a stunning view of one of those cute little Skagit valleys.
I don't know if this happens to other hikers (or just ones with fatigue issues) because I'm new and Dan is immune, but I am always weak as a kitten for the first hour or so and have to stop and take frequent breaks until I get my first wind. Since we were looking at something like 2300 feet of elevation gain, the breaks were even more frequent than normal and when we hit the shaded side of the mountain we slowed further as the light started to dim. As a result we didn't make it to the top that first night even though the trek is barely 4 miles. We camped in a little dell near the trail, a mossy little fairyland bowl complete with a trickling stream running through it.
There's a picture of Dan packing up the morning after our first camp which of course I didn't take a picture of. Under that log over there is where we pitched our tent.The next day we headed up the rest of the mountain. We'd left the cliff behind at this point and it was beautiful old growth rainforest with spongy sopping wet ground and many long stretches of muddy trail. I am now even more in love with my boots which were worth every penny I paid for them. Dan who prided himself on buying much less expensive boots had wet feet all weekend. Especially when we got to the snow which started about two-thirds of the way up the mountain.
We got a little off course in the snow pack but since it wasn't that cold it was pretty fun and Dodger had a great time sledding. Really, he would get a running start at a snowy hill then put his paws out ahead of him, lower his body and skid down. The only wet in my boots was snow coming in the top and I had a great time throwing snowballs at the dog. By midday we'd made it to Myrtle Lake at the top of Mt. Higgins.
I hadn't packed my extra pair of longjohns and my fleece (a mistake I won't be making again) but wrapping my down bag around me the previous evening had kept me warm, and I'd slept fine the previous night, so after much convincing I agreed to camp next to the lake. Here. In the only dry patch big enough for both our tent and a fire in the middle of the snow.
That's our REI Half-Dome 2+ (with footprint) holding up like a champ with one corner on the snow. A reasonable distance behind our tent is our fire which took Dan about two hours to light with frozen wood. I know that stuff around the clearing looks dry and dead, it is absolutely not -- everything was dripping wet. Our fire was surrounded by three snowbanks which made it extra snuggly and warm and comfortable to sit next to it that evening. But not before Dan and Dodger got some Zen time in late in the afternoon.
The next morning we woke to rain and were delighted to figure out that we can stay snuggled up in the tent and have room to boil tea under the fly with some flaps open for ventilation. On the downside everything the comments on the REI site say about the Half-Dome's fly design pouring water into your tent is true and we had to be very careful when opening said flaps for said ventilation. Around 10am I finally admitted the rain was not going to stop and we packed up and headed down the now-even-wetter-and-muddier mountain. I discovered that my 10-year-old 'waterproof' shell doesn't love me anymore and is basically a sponge to hold water close to my skin. But we made it back to the car in good time and I've never been so happy to have invested in seat warmers in all my life (and I've been very happy about it before). I also ordered trekking poles as soon as I got home. Overall: A great time. Even with the dangers and poor trail conditions the view and the old-growth forest are incredible. It was beautifully secluded, we felt like we had the whole mountain to ourselves and there's a good chance we were right. I think it'd be bug city in the full summer though and I'd probably try and visit this site again later in the fall.
Things I wish I'd taken: Rope, and those extra longjohns.
Requisite Intro
Hello
I am new to blogging. I'm not even really good at taking pictures. But I'm also entering a new phase in my life and starting a new hobby: backpacking*. Not just backpacking, but sometimes backpacking solo. With my dog. With arthritis. And I thought this might be interesting to someone more than myself. It will, at the least, be a way for my mom, my family, and my friends to keep up with our adventures. If there are other new backpackers, solo women, or people taking on strenuous outdoor hobbies with health issues who find this blog informative or inspiring then that'll be grand!
I intend to post about the adventures of myself, my partner Dan, and our dog Dodger as we learn and explore the Pacific Northwest. I also hope this blog will inspire me to take more pictures and reflect on the experience so I'll get even more out of it. Thank you for reading along.
* The camping kind, not the hostel and railpass kind. Though who knows someday in the future?
I am new to blogging. I'm not even really good at taking pictures. But I'm also entering a new phase in my life and starting a new hobby: backpacking*. Not just backpacking, but sometimes backpacking solo. With my dog. With arthritis. And I thought this might be interesting to someone more than myself. It will, at the least, be a way for my mom, my family, and my friends to keep up with our adventures. If there are other new backpackers, solo women, or people taking on strenuous outdoor hobbies with health issues who find this blog informative or inspiring then that'll be grand!
I intend to post about the adventures of myself, my partner Dan, and our dog Dodger as we learn and explore the Pacific Northwest. I also hope this blog will inspire me to take more pictures and reflect on the experience so I'll get even more out of it. Thank you for reading along.
* The camping kind, not the hostel and railpass kind. Though who knows someday in the future?
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