Realistically, I figured I'd be at Vincent Gap, my starting point, by 10 am. With 20.4 miles laid before me as that day's goal, I figured I could readily cover that in 8-10 hours, putting me at Buckhorn Campground, my endpoint, between 6-8 pm.
Fortunately I'm not a superstitious woman, because if I was, I would've turned back twice. First, Highway 2 was closed through to Wrightwood, which means I couldn't access my starting point from here. After asking a few detailed questions of the forest ranger at the station I stopped in, he told me I could definitely access Vincent Gap via the back way on the 2. Great. This meant, I'd have to back track, pick up the 210 Freeway to the 15 Freeway to the 138 Highway and back on the 2. This would add another 1/2 hour to my trip.
Now I'm a determined mother, and when I want something, dammit, I'm going to go get it. I was so excited about my trip the night before, I'd barely gotten 4 hours of sleep. I cranked up the Delicate Steve tunes and set out on my way. Holy shit! Wouldn't you know it. Both the north and south routes to the 15 were closed, which meant I'd have to drive up the 215 to the 15 to the 138 and back to the 2. I did some quick calculations realizing this would likely mean I'd be hiking in the dark, now a full hour behind schedule, and decided to continue on as planned.
Although it was a scorching 95 degrees in Los Angeles, it was windy and a beautiful 78 at Vincent Gap--the start of the beloved Mt. Baden-Powell trek as well as the High Desert National Recreation Trail. My plan was to summit Mt. Baden-Powell, cross over via the Pacific Crest Trail through Mt. Burnham, Throop Peak, Mt. Hawkins, through Windy Gap and Islip Saddle, then climbing along the South side of Mt. Williamson back to Eagle's Roost picnic area along the 2. As I wanted to ensure water, I would then walk along Hwy 2 for 5-6 miles to Buckhorn Campground, where I planned to stay the night and refuel. Yes! My map reading skills have improved tremendously, and I can identify a campground with the works.
At 11 am precisely, I took my pre-trip selfie and headed up Mt. Baden Powell. Holy shit!! If you want a well-groomed, incredibly beautiful, strenuous (but not particularly dangerous) hike to start your day, the 3000' elevation gain in 3.7 miles up this mountain will have you gasping and realizing that God is.
The wind was crisp, the temperature in the mid to low 70's all the way up. There were so many people! Most folks were day hikers, but everyone asked (since I was wearing a 40# pack) if I was a through hiker on the Pacific Coast Trail. "No, no", I'd tell them, then I'd proudly spout off my plans of my 42 mile 2-day planned journey, to which I still got many oohs and aahs.
I'd decidedly donned my Garmin 305, which I bought 7 years ago, so I could get an accurate read of my pace. Damn you, Andrew Skurka! I am going to catch you one day. His 3 mile per hour average pace loomed largely in my mind. It is a goal I strive for whenever I do this type of training.I pounded up the mountain, high on life, a wide grin splashed across my face, as I passed loads of young people coming down the mountain from what was obviously an early morning training run. I passed a 70 year old Asian man, who pushed to catch up with me, just so we could chat. He was thrilled to hear of my solo journey. When he told me he was 70, I nearly spit up my Gatorade. Lord! I thought he was 50! I made it to the top of the mountain at a record pace. My Garmin said 5.6 distance and 1:56 time elapsed. Holy shit. I'd gone faster than 3 mph.
Amazed at myself, I found myself excitedly telling almost anyone who would listen. A young woman stopped me to chat and asked to talk to me about my training. An older man at the top shared stories of his adventures and how his desk job had caused him to put on a gut.
It was a beautiful day! I was high on life and grateful, oh so grateful to be alive.
I continued down the other side of Mt. Baden-Powell enjoying the mellow elevation drop. Right about Windy Gap I came across a boy scout troop. The troop leaders couldn't remember which trail lead to Islip Saddle and which one to Dawson Saddle. They were perplexed. I pulled out my handy-dandy Tom Harrison "Angeles High Country" map, which I now carry on every hike, and together we figured it out. It was a good thing too, because my head was so in the clouds, I would've missed the fork altogether.
I plunged on ahead, working my way what was now down the other side. I was making spectacular time, and I was going to hit camp early tonight. Although I'd originally planned to trap a bird tonight, I realized I'm going to need to be in camp long enough to make that happen, and I won't do it in a public campsite, so I decided to focus on putting some mileage on my skinny legs instead.
Now, at the top of Mt. Hawkins, my strap broke. Awesome! Grab my knife, cut some cordage, tie the two ends together, and voila! It still works. Besides, there's nothing cooler than pulling out a knife to fix stuff when you're a 50 year old woman. I ain't gonna lie. It was cool watching the boy scouts wonder if I was from Mars.
Oh the day was so beautiful! There were loads of amazing plants, but besides chipmunks and gray squirrels, I didn't see too much wildlife. I did stop to eat some Yucca seeds along the way. Did you know that 100% of a Yucca is edible? Did you also know that when it shoots up that giant trunk into the air emitting its seeds, that signals its last year of life? My Survival teacher, Christopher Nyerges is a font of plant knowledge. It's been a blast going to his class at PCC on Friday nights and eating everything from wild mustard to purselane to cactus to wild cherries to carob.
Last week we learned how to make water by putting a clear plastic bag around plants while they aspirate. I always carry a trash bag anyway to act as a pack raincoat in case of rain. Making it a clear bag will now be protocol.
The day pressed on. I kept walking. I saw a beautiful young couple with their dogs between Little Jimmy and Islip. For a moment, I did a double take. They looked from afar like two friends of mine, but their dog gave them away as someone other. It was an Australian Sheepdog. They have a boxer.
Although I was making stellar time, I kept leap frogging the boy scouts. Everything from fixing my pack, to putting tape on my feet to sitting down to eat would eat up the lead I had made on them. Finally, at Little Jimmy campground, we said our final goodbyes, and I headed further down the mountain.
Yes! I had done 17 miles thus far! I had only 3.4 miles to go, and it was a bit before 5 pm. I stopped off the side of the trail to take a pee. I looked again at my Garmin. Funny, usually when I stop, the average pace really changes. I'd noticed it earlier today, but shrugged it off. Now I really noticed it.
Oh my God! Oh my God! I'd had it set for kilos per hour not miles.
Oh. My. Fracking. God.
My heart sunk. I knew what this meant. The illusion of Super Shannon was shattered. I was not that super. And now, I was severely behind schedule. Seventeen kilometers is only 10.5 miles. I hadn't been averaging 3 mph. No. I had been averaging just over two.
Once again STOP. Think. Don't panic. Make a plan.
I knew I had 2.5 hours left of daylight, and I had about 10 miles to go. Think. Think.
PLAN B
My plan was to make it down to Islip Saddle, then reevaluate. When I got there, I had about 1.5 hours of daylight left. I knew I would not make it from there to Eagle's Roost along the trail before nightfall, but at 4.1 miles, I figured I could make over half. I'd camp at the top or hike down in the dark, but I just had to try. Doing 30 miles tomorrow just wasn't in the plans.
I made excellent time huffing and puffing up the nearly 2000' of elevation gain to the top of the trail. It was still daylight, but barely. I felt good! I was going to go for it.
The trail scared me a bit. Even in the daylight, there were sections that strangely resembled Little Fish Fork, my only aborted mission. A 15' drop-off section would've had many of you jumping down in 2-3 fell swoops. Something about loose rock and unstable footing terrifies me. That added 15 minutes to my journey. Fortunately, this was the only spot like that on this section of trail.
Back on the track, the sun set fully. It was pitch black. Donning my super-bright headlamp, I began to sing as loudly as I could, as I'd read being noisy keeps the animals away. "Sing. Sing a song. Sing out loud. Sing out strooooong." Looking around, I half-expected to catch the eyes of a hunter with my headlamp. Instead, I caught dozens of iridescent diamonds on the backs of black mini spiders. These spiders were everywhere. I'd say one every dozen feet or so. They were small, about the size of the top of a thumbtack, legs included. However, on the back of each one was one spot that caught my headlamp as it crossed over their turf. They looked like tiny diamonds in the dirt.
I wondered if they bit. I wondered if animals disliked spiders too.
Recently, while watching an episode of The Last Alaskans, one of the hunters on the show spoke of how almost no animal in nature dies of old age. He spoke of how hunting, in some ways, is the more humane way for these animals to die. Many starve to death or are eaten by other animals.
I realized some probably die from rattlesnake bites. They can't go the nearest hospital for anti-venom like we can. I wondered if black widows were an issue to animals too, although I have yet to see a widow out here.
Suddenly, a light appeared behind me. I turned around quickly, alarmed. The wind picked up, and it sounded like a motor bike. Frack! Peering behind me, I had rounded a corner, and now the full moon, which was hidden, had literally now popped into view from behind the mountain which had been blocking it. The wind was blowing fairly hard, thus the motor bike sound. Add to that the fact that the temperature was dropping a bit, and literal chills went up my spine. Whew. False alarm. Nothing to see here, lady. Keep moving on.
I pushed forward. John Denver, Sinead O'Connor, Aretha Franklin, Roberta Flack, Eric Clapton, Blind Melon, and the Eurythmics all kept me company. My tired voice cracked as I struggled to humor the bears with my tunes. My light revealed no peering eyes. Safety.
Finally, around 8pm, I reached Highway 2. I was relieved. Although I will hike in the dark for a bit, I don't particularly like it. It's a little unnerving.
Although I knew I would still be in the dark, I was now walking along a lonely stretch of seldom traveled highway. At least I felt safe from animals, but man was exhaustion starting to creep in. I'd made it a point to eat and drink regularly, but I was now 15 miles in, I hadn't slept well all week, and I still had a long ways to go.
I considered hitchhiking, but then I thought against it. This was my 20+ mile day!! I can't throw that out! So when one, then two cars passed, I smiled, waved, and kept moving. After about an hour, the thought of hitchhiking entered my mind again. "Screw it. I'm tired", I thought.
I stuck my thumb out, but neither of the next 2 cars felt comfortable or willing to pick up the likes of me. I was cute, though! I was also probably smelly. My white bandana was pleasantly arranged over my bright red bob. My new pale yellow long-sleeved top I got on sale at Sport Chalet had a happy picture of a hand and a flower. My patterned knee socks even matched my orange gaiters. My friend Maryann would be so proud that I took the time to match and care about my cuteness factor. However, to the average Joe, I probably look like a scary mass murderer, or at the least an unclean hippy.
Finally, even though I knew I was but a half mile from the campsite, I heard one more car. I stuck out my thumb, and to my great surprise, they pulled over. A young Asian couple who both could've been models opened their doors. I told them I was exhausted and that I'd walked 20 miles, and I wondered if they'd mind giving me a lift just around the bend.
I stuffed my beat up black pack into the front seat of what appeared to be a brand new black BMW with a leather cream interior. After cramming my trekking poles in, being careful not to touch anything for fear of ruining it, off we went. Not more than 30 seconds later, we arrived. That 30 seconds saved me 15 minutes. I was grateful.
I walked down the long winding hill to the campground proper. Why is it that every time I go camping, there's that one group who is partying so hard, whooping, yelling, loudly singing who is completely oblivious to the fact that out of 100 campers, they are the only ones doing this, and everyone else is trying to get to sleep?
One thing I've learned, however, from the last few times dealing with this is that kindness works best. After a short discussion, they agreed to call it a night. Thank the Jesus. I might get to sleep after all.
Being a first-come first-serve site, however, it didn't look good for me. Site after site was packed. I finally picked site #11, set up my tent, then went to the pay box to pay. When I got back to post my ticket on the post, I was horrified to realize my site was already reserved for a group in sites 8, 9 and 10. Looking over, it appeared they were all asleep, so I decided to hope for luck and camp here anyway. I didn't see another empty site.
I ate another Cliff Builder's Bar for dinner along with some macadamia nuts, brushed my teeth, then curled up in my new sleeping quilt and went to bed.
I'd read two books of long-distance hikers recently. They'd both told of similar tales. That being said, they both told of taking a day off or lightening the journey to give their knees time to heal, so I went to bed making a new tomorrow plan to do just that.
No comments:
Post a Comment