LESSON #1
When it's cold outside, you want to make sure the one thing you never do is get wet. This is a basic tenet of survival I've heard time and again. Even sweat in sub-freezing temperatures is not your friend. Wet clothes don't hold heat well and when it's cold outside, they can quickly bring on hypothermia. Hypothermia, if left untreated, will lead to death. Avoid hypothermia at all costs.
I knew this tenet going into my last adventure weekend, so I went in with a plan to do it right. After reading several articles and watching countless videos from the various survival channels I subscribe to, I went into the weekend with what I thought would be a solid plan.
Purchasing two large 10' x 12' tarps from Orchard Supply Hardware and procuring loads of paracord, I set out to make a huge A-frame super tent over top of my tent, my fire and my dry wood. Had it not been for the gail force 40-60 mph winds, it would've worked out fine. However, nature decided to teach me a valuable lesson instead.
PLANNING
After stopping to talk to countless people I saw on the trail (unlike the last time wherein I saw not another soul), I arrived to one of two campsites there. There was no fire pit, but the site was clearly marked with a post. Its freshly engraved 11 had been recently painted bright yellow. Game on.
I sat down my gear and began the process of figuring out where to place my tent, fire, jumbo A-frame structure and extra fire wood. I knew by tomorrow morning I'd be experiencing torrential rainfall, a 100% guarantee according to various weather services, so I wanted to work hard today to set up everything just right.
I only had one option on where to set up my fire, per fire regulations, which was right in the middle of the sandy swath which was the campsite. I would've preferred to put it on higher ground, but the Earth was bone dry at this point, and I couldn't afford to risk starting Station Fire #2. The only issue, however, was there was only one tree to tie anything to--a massive dead oak--it's burned out branches a reminder of the fire that had all but destroyed this area several years ago.
However, there were loads of scrub and other chapparal nearby surrounding the other three sides of the site. I'd just have to make due.
The other issue I was up against was that the sandy pit was clearly in the bottom--the lowest point of this area. Any overflow of rain, and everything would be soaked. There was a 1.5 foot ledge surrounding the back and right side of the site. I decided to set up all of my firewood there, covering it with its own small tarp to ensure it stayed dry.
I cut down loads of chapparal with the new machete my good friend Cynthia had given me. The heavy 2' long blade made quick work of negotiating these otherwise very tough and thorny plants. Stacking the thorny chapparal branches on top of each other, however, created a sort of spring mattress. When I placed my wood upon its prickly fingers, it was held high above the sandy ground. After that, I used my Bahco-Laplander saw to cut down several dead trees in the area, as I knew I'd need a lot of wood to last through today and tomorrow through the night.
I also gathered about 5 more downed trees roughly 8-10" in diameter nearby. Dragging them all over to my campsite, I created a sort of animal deterrent fence around me while still keeping everything under the tarps. I had to plan everything out meticulously in order to keep the wood, my fire and my tent dry.
After spending hours cutting down wood and pulling up loads of dead mugwort for kindling, I set about to build my huge A-frame overhang. Pulling paracord as tight as I could, I strung it on all corners as well as each middle to something be it tree, bush, chapparal even sage brush. Once I got the fire started, and the smoke started to suffocate me as it gathered in the rafters, I jimmied one of the longer trees I had cut down into the center--both opening up a smoke hole and creating a sort of teepee, so the inevitable rain would run down each side. I marveled at how the Indians had perfected the teepee system so many eons ago.
I then set about to dig a 4" deep trench around my entire campsite to force the rainfall around my tent and down the small incline on which my site was perched. My tent lay at the bottom of this incline--far from optimal, but I believed the trenches would keep it dry. By nightfall, I was satisfied I'd have enough wood, that everything would stay dry, and that this would be another successful weekend.
What I didn't plan well for, however, was the 40-60 mph gail force winds and the effect they would have on the trajectory of the rainfall.
THE PLAN IN ACTION
I ate my breakfast and enjoyed my morning coffee--satisfied with my meticulous planning.
Shortly after, the winds started to pick up. The flaps on my A-frame construction began to billow violently. Gushes of rain poured off now in unexpected places. I was forced to re-dig my gutter-pits, to redirect the streams. Suddenly, a giant gust of wind snapped one corner. The wind was so fierce, it literally snapped the paracord in half. Rain gushed down one side onto my wood pile, Donning my cold weather boots, I pulled my rain poncho over my head and went out to reset it. I had to pull the tarp tent corner with all of my might against the crazy winds to reset and retie it. Fighting the violent rain, but determined to do so, I finally got it back into place. My fire was saved, only I was now drenched all the way through.
Since I was already wet, I decided to see if I could further fortify my structure when the tree I'd placed in the middle to hold everything up came crashing down. My entire tarp system, on the verge of total collapse, had to be saved if I was going to keep everything dry. Not to mention, if I couldn't pull the tree back up into place quickly enough, my fire was going to go out, and in my mind, no matter what, I had to keep that fire going strong.
What I believe to be 60 mph winds pushed my tarp into a giant sail. I stood in the middle, soaking wet, the 10' high tree I'd placed to hold up my structure, now pushing me into the ground. I stood like the unknown soldier, fighting to keep that flag up, anchored at an angle, feet digging into the wet sand. The winds and rains pummeling me with their ferocity, taking everything within me to stand my ground. I laughed, understanding that as a 51 year old woman, I take my strength for granted. All of the years of lifting weights were paying off in this one moment. The rains, now coming in at a 45 degree angle, were soaking one side of my tree fence. Pushing up against my center teepee pole with all of my might, I reset it into place, before sitting down, now exhausted, to reassess.
No sooner had I sat down, than snap! Another paracord broke. This time it was in the back, clean in the middle. The corner of the tent drooped, a veritable stream of water gushing down. I knew I was already wet at this point, soaked through. Now I just wanted to fight like hell to keep everything else dry. My fire still burned. From my viewpoint, it appeared my tent was dry too. That side of the tarp teepee had not yet been affected, so I wrongly assumed no water was getting in.
Standing in the pouring rain, battling the winds as they pushed the rain sideways, I marveled at how the sage bush had not buckled. No, it was the paracord that was failing me, not the trees to which they were tied.
I spent the better part of the next 7 hours fighting the elements. Still believing the insides of my tent and what it contained were dry, I mostly spent the day fighting to keep my A-frame tarp up, repairing 5 broken paracords, moving my wood pile 3 different times, re-positioning the tent, re-digging the trenches even re-cutting my teepee pole and digging a 6" hole to place it in, so it wouldn't continuously get knocked down. I laughed at how funny Mother Nature was. I was hoping to spend the day in the rain practicing throwing rocks with my new sling. Instead, I was being tested by her challenge.
At about 5 pm, I sat down to rest and determine my situation. It was still pouring, although the winds had let up slightly. Although my wood was wet, it still burned. It wasn't a very hot fire, but it was alive and well. My feet were drenched. The boots I'd purchased were water resistant, and now I knew they were far from water proof. My wool socks were so wet, I could wring them out. My clothes, even underneath my rain poncho were soaked through. My down jacket, which I had under the poncho was also soaked. Wet down does not hold heat, I thought. I had to figure out what to do.
I had laid everything out in my tent the night before, not thinking to roll up the sleeping bags or put them on higher ground. I had falsely assumed from quick glances within, that everything inside was still dry. This would prove to be a disastrous lack-of-paying-attention-to-detail later on.
It began to sleet and hail.
Small pebbles of ice now poured onto my tarp. I knew the temperature had dropped. The ice piles gathered in the trenches I'd dug, but I was grateful the rain had stopped pouring down.
As I got into my tent to warm up, now shivering mildly from the cold, I became aware of the potential severity of my situation. Not only was everything wet, everything was completely soaked through. I could literally wring water out of my sleeping bag, despite placing plastic underneath them when I'd set up my tent the day before. When I had looked in on the situation earlier, I could see little puddles of water pooling in the corners of my tent, but I had in no way believed everything was getting drenched through. I had even sat down in their earlier to take a break, and everything was still relatively dry.
I decided to see if I could get warm.
I put on the additional clothing I had brought. Stored in my upright backpack, it was still dry. Pulling my extra socks from the bag, I now realized they were the only warm footwear I had left. I decided to guard their dryness like it was my last dollar bill, opting to go barefoot when outside tending to my fire or the forces of nature. Much to my surprise, it wasn't as cold as it would seem.
Pulling the flannel liners from my soaked boots, I placed them by the fire to dry. I also hung my soaking socks over a log nearby. Sitting on my bear tin now stool, trying to stay warm, I mulled over my situation.
I placed my trekking poles near the fire and draped my soaked orange down jacket between the two, creating a sort of drying rack. I hung my wet wool undershirts from my teepee center pole. I was valiantly trying to see if I could get enough items dry that I might be able to stay the night.
I dug out my emergency foil blanket, wrapped myself in it and sat right next to the fire to get warm. The reflective surface worked well, foiling back the fire's rays to me. I was toasty here.
I wondered if I could use the blanket to find a way to stay warm inside my tent for the night. I wrapped myself inside its tin-foil like plasticness, then wrapped both sleeping bags around me, foiling off their dampness.
I was not freezing now, but I was far from warm. Out of the corner of my eye, peering from beneath my wet cocoon, I noticed one of my wool socks catching fire, a small hole now engulfing half of the toes. A huge wind swept up again knocking my jacket into the flames, along with my what-I-thought-was-a-fully-entrenched center tee pee pole. I raced outside my tent to quickly handle the situation, wetting my only remaining dry clothes.
Now being smothered by my tent and inhaling copious amounts of smoke, I grabbed my jacket from the fire and fought the wind to once again right my center teepee pole--surprised that my 6" deep hole had not been able to hold sway in the wet sand.
Sigh. Will this rain ever end?
It began to snow.
I sat down, now shivering slightly and realized I had to make a new plan. I was truly being challenged by the elements here, and I was grateful for the lessons they bestowed. That being said, I knew I couldn't take my situation lightly, and I had to decide what to do.
At least without direct rain, if I went out in the snow, I could stay relatively dry. I set out to gather some more wood, not sure if I could get now thoroughly soaked wood to light. I dragged several whole dead trees right up next to my fire. To my delight, after about 30 minutes of drying out, they begin to alight.
It was now dark, about 6:00 pm, and I had to make a decision. I could gather more wood, wrap myself in my foil blanket and wet sleeping bags, and vainly try to stay warm all night (which would mean continually getting back up to re-stoke the fire), or I could call this a loss and head back down the snow covered mountain.
I really did not want to leave.
I knew that if I stayed I would survive. I'm too smart and too stubborn not to. However, I also knew that I would be in for a VERY uncomfortable 12 hours until sunrise. Or, I could pack up right now and head down the hill.--a mere 3-4 hours of pain the assness.
The snow could potentially make the downhill trek dangerous too.
After much mulling, I decided that likely the snow would still be powder, but if the temperatures kept dropping overnight, then rose in the morning causing it to melt, it could likely turn to ice, making departing the next day an even worse idea.
I had to go.
PLAN B
I stuffed my wet clothes and wet sleeping bags into their respective pouches. I donned my now dry socks and now pretty dry boots, put back on my still wet, but pretty warm down jacket, my still wet fingerless gloves, my two hats and my ski pants and prepared for a long 4 mile trek.
The pack, now weighing in a 57# (I weighed it when I got back. It was only 40# when I left), was nearly impossible to put on. Although I truly love my Osprey women's heavy duty pack, it really is nearly impossible to put on alone without something high like a picnic table to set it on. Well, there was nothing remotely close nearby, so I had to figure out another way.
I lay the pack on it's back, the side where my back goes, beckoning me with its open spongy "hip hugging" arms. I laid into it and strapped myself in. Rolling onto my belly, I leaned heavy onto my trekking poles, and with a huge heave righted myself up. Once standing, its heavy weight, evenly distributed, seemed fine.
I set off along the snow dusted path into the void of night.
There was snow everywhere, so lulling in its beauty, I'd hoped the path would still be easy to follow.
I decided early on that if anything about this dark downhill journey seemed to put my life in danger, I would turn back, set up camp and wait it out. Fortunately, I was faced with no such decision.
I knew the first half of the trail would be uphill and the second half down. The downhill on the snow concerned me. I'd have to decide that when I got there.
As I trekked up the hill, the sandy path revealed itself--naked. The snow did not cling there. I was grateful.
Heading up the mountain the day before had taken me 2.5 hours to cover just over 4 miles. I'd come across ONE crossing which I considered a bit scary, a tree branch hung over the trail, making passing it precarious. A fall would send a hiker tumbling down potentially to their death. I knew I'd have to pass this again on my way up. I vowed to be super careful.
It would take me 3.5 hours to get back.
Wow! The heavy winds and rains had done great damage to the trail. I came across 3 huge branches, their spindly snow-covered fingers grasping tightly to the hillside, as they blocked my path. I picked up each 8 foot long sectioned, tumbling it down the mountainside to clear the way. I pressed on.
Bobcat tracks preceded me. I'd guessed they were bobcat because of the 4 asymetrical toes and the 3 tiered heel pad. Later upon perusing my tracking books, then attending a tracking class, I was sure I was right. The freshly sown prints lead my way for almost the entire first 2 miles. I never saw the bobcat though I hoped I might.
Downed tree #2 crossed the path. This was an entire full grown pine tree, its huge trunk thoroughly blocking the path alongside many of its spindly branches still attached. It's 2.5 foot circumference gave me one choice, to go over it, as it was too close to the ground to go under. As I looked at the angle in which it lead down the mountainside, I had visions of straddling the snow-covered tree only to slide down it to my death. I opted instead to remove my pack and go separately. Tossing my super-heavy pack over, I climbed over the massive trunk to the other side. Laying on my back to once again don the crazy thing, I righted myself with my trekking poles and continued on my way. I hoped there wouldn't be too many more of these.
No such luck. I wound up either having to cross over , belly under or remove a total of 10 trees and or branches from the path on the way back.
I decided if I felt it necessary, I would leave my pack behind to retrieve in the morning. I never felt it necessary.
I approached the backside of Strawberry Peak. It stood as a massive black silhouette against the dark and starry sky. It seemed far away, but I saw the pass to the other side clearly, and I pressed on. The bobcat tracks were still guiding me.
Streams where there was before zero water, crossed the path. I gingerly crossed them, not wanting to get my boots wet. The water in my water bottle began to freeze. I felt plenty warm, and indeed my spirits were high.
As I got to the top of the mountain pass, the lights of the City lay far across many valleys before me. I still had a long way to go, and I was already almost 2 hours in.
Rounding the corner, the winds picked up tremendously. I was grateful they were pressing me into the mountain rather than away from it, as otherwise, I'd likely have to abort or leave my pack behind.
The dusty snow, still powder, not ice lay below my feet. Mainly covering just outside the actual path, it stood as a reminder of the cold.
I pressed on.
The bobcat no longer accompanied me.
Periodically, when traveling at night, I've learned to put my headlamp on bright and scan the area. Two little lights peering back at me indicate an animal. All night, I had seen none. Now deep in the caverns of the valley below, two eyes peered back at me, watching.
I howled. Nothing howled back.
I kept along the trail keeping my eye on the animal. Its gaze followed me, but it in no way seemed interested in a pursuit. I figured it was likely a coyote.
I kept moving.
Boredom and weariness crept in. I stared to make up songs in my head and sing them out loud.
Another tree blocked my path. The mere size of its trunk would've made it impossible to crawl over, and going up the steep mountainside from whence it came was out of the question. I had no choice but to slide on my belly underneath it. When I got to the other side, my crazy tarp mashed-up-mess was lopsided. As I walked, I knew I had to stop and fix it. A big wind or a misstep with an unbalanced load was not a good idea.
Once again I had to lay on my back to don my overloaded pack. I laughed at the ridiculousness of it.
Realizing I still had another mile to go, I stepped up my song. My fingers were slightly numb now, and I needed to get home. I dreamed of In N' Out and a warm dry bed.
As I finished the trek and got into my car, I was grateful the roads hadn't been closed. The lights to the house near the Hahamonga Cultural Center were on, and if I had to, I could've slept in my car overnight or knocked on his door. That being said, I realized I'd made a lot of mistakes this weekend and had indeed been very lucky everything had mostly gone my way.
If I had to do it all over again, here's what I would have done.
1. Focus on keeping EVERYTHING in my tent dry foregoing a fire. My sleeping bags were plenty warm, and as long as they stayed dry, I would've been fine.
In retrospect, I should've secured both tarps directly over my tent and put my tent up on the ledge under the nearby manzanita bushes.
2. If I really wanted a fire, I should've built a separate teepee like structure large enough to contain that fire, with a tarp wrapped around it, and large enough to keep additional wood inside.
Had I just stayed dry, rather than worrying about maintaining an unnecessary fire, I wouldn't have put myself in a potentially life threatening condition.
Glad to be learning these lessons now before I head into the wild this August.
