A Walk Home in the Snow

This is a rewrite of the second part of an earlier blog entitled, "Preserving Fire Through Gail Force Winds, Rain and Snow". I felt that I did not capture the beauty and truth I felt on the walk back down the mountain that night via my writing.

Doing the adventures is a blast, but I'm also finding a great challenge in writing about them afterward. I try to find ways to capture the adventure that is both compelling and educational. Here's a better attempt.

I was tired. I was wet. I was cold.

My plans of maintaining a fire at all cost during the catacylsmic rainfall I'd been arguing with over the last 11 hours had taken its toll. My sleeping bags were soaked, my clothing was soaked, my wood was soaked, and now snow covered the ground. Even though my weak fire had dared not sputter, I had sacrificed all semblance of sanity by protecting it over my warm clothes. Now I sat shivering and realizing I had but one choice. I had to leave, tonight.

Staying here shrouded in my dripping bags and crinkly silver emergency blanket next to a fire I'd have to stoke all night long sounded exactly the opposite of intelligent. I'd just scored 130 on an IQ test. Maybe I ought to put that demonstration of brilliant logic to use.

Donning my headlamp over my  funky red sweater cap in the pitch black of night, I cut down all of the now frozen para-cord. Its heavy weightiness made folding it up awkard and tedious. It lay like cold al dente linguine in my hands--thick and icy, bending unnaturally against itself as I wrapped it up.  My new-as-of-yesterday-tarp, now torn in multiple places and much heavier due to the ice encrusted all over it, could in no way be forced to regain the meticulously seemingly-ironed-flat folded shape it had when I purchased it. It now resembled more of a giant fitted sheet whom someone had given up on folding and just wadded up into an impatient ball. Bungee cords wrapped tightly around it enabled it to smashed down just enough to fix it to my pack.

I stuffed my water-logged wet clothes and sodden sleeping bags into their respective pouches. I donned my now dry socks and now pretty dry boots, which I'd valiantly placed next to my fire after I saturated them fighting 60 mph winds to keep up my giant super tent. I put back on my still wet, but pretty warm down jacket, my still wet fingerless gloves, my second hat and my ski pants and prepared for a long 4 mile trek back down the mountain.

The pack, now weighing in at 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 with "back saving" technology. I laid into it and strapped myself in. Rolling onto my belly, I got on my knees, then leaning heavy onto my trekking poles,  righted myself up with a huge heave. Once standing, the pack's heavy weight, evenly distributed, seemed fine.

I set off along the snow dusted path into the void of night, saying goodbye to the freshly painted sign post marking campsite #11.

There was snow everywhere. Only 3000 feet up from the City of Los Angeles, I was blessed to be here observing nature as only a few ever cared to dare.

The white snow was lulling in its beauty. I intently hoped the path would still be easy to follow, but I had no idea. 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, about 2 miles, would be uphill and the second half all down. The downhill on the snow concerned me, but I'd have to decide that when I got there. It couldn't be worse than fighting freezing to death by staying here would be. 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, but I had no idea what I was in for.

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 section, tumbling it down the mountainside to clear the way. The sticky fingers seemed determined not to let go, but my determination was greater than theirs, and I prevailed. They lay lifeless, now on the other side of the trail, yearning to pull me down with them, even angry I had dared to invade their space. Beckoning, I left them wanting, and 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. "What was he hunting?", I thought, and I wondered if he was enjoying the snow. I never saw the bobcat, though I hoped I might.

Downed tree #2 crossed the trail. 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, with an inch of powder covering its length, 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. Heaving 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. Its very blackness blocking out any semblance of there ever being a city on the other side. It seemed very far away, but I saw the pass through to the valley 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. The tips of my fingers felt a little cold. I felt plenty warm though, 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 snow was sent into spiraling flutters, as my hats blew off my head into the mountainside. Backtracking, I was able to retrieve them without thankfully having to undo my pack.

The dusty snow, still powder, and thankfully not ice lay below my feet. Mainly covering just outside the actual path, it stood as a reminder of the cold.

I forged 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 started to make up songs in my head and sing them out loud. "I love the snow, oh look at it blow" and "all night long I love to hike, it makes me happy, like riding a bike". I rotated back and forth between singing them over and over and counting my steps. Counting my steps gives my mind something to do when boredom creeps in. It keeps me from focusing on how far I still have to go or whether or not the road is going to be closed or whether or not that coyote is following me.

Another massive tree blocked my path. The mere size of its nearly 4 foot in diameter trunk would've made it impossible to crawl over, and going up the steep slippery mountainside from whence it came was out of the question. I had no choice but to slide on my belly underneath it, despite the shallow tunnel it made. When I got to the other side, my crazy mashed-up-tarp-mess was lopsided. It bounced when I walked and wobbled, forcing me to create awkwardly spaced tracks like that of a drunkard. As I walked and the wind blew me sideways, I had to stop and fix it. One misstep with this unbalanced load, and I'd join the recent spate of hikers lost over the edge.

After readjusting the pack and tightening it up, I laid on my back again to reload my heavy pack. I laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Realizing I still had another mile to go, I stepped up my song and my step. My fingers were slightly numb now, and I longed to get home. I dreamed of In N' Out and a warm dry bed. I'd order my usual--a Double Double protein style, no onions, extra pickles, an order of fries, no ketchup, two salts and a cup of water no ice. The thought of it gave me comfort. I thought about the benefits living in society brings.

As I finished the trek and got to my car, I was grateful the roads hadn't been closed. Someone had clearly been concerned for me, however, as the passenger side's window had been wiped of snow. Although I'd left my Adventure Pass in plain sight, I hadn't quite felt comfortable leaving my plans on the dash. Funny, but I'm more afraid someone will take that opportunity to break into my car than I am afraid of being in the wilderness all alone.

The lights to the house near the Hahamonga Cultural Center were on, and I wondered if the purveyor could see I was okay. I figured he'd figure it out the next morning, and I got in to drive away.

Listening to the Universe through Cougar Scat

On July 21 last year, I felt fear and did it anyway.

After another hot Summer which followed the year in which we had no winter (literally, we had one cold month in October, then it was warm enough to wear shorts all Winter long), it rained.

That Thursday, it gushed rains, the promise of the gods we'd all been praying to for the better part of the last four years as drought went from sorta kinda to serious panic. This was the kind of drought in which you don't even get to legally water your lawn except two days a week, and they give you a fine if they catch you watering more. (Fuck your roses!) It had not yet reached the stage where it is today, where you really aren't allowed to water your lawn, as in the El Nino we all counted on, so far has been a huge small bust, and now there's real concern in the air that we might truly have to do something about it. (Can you imagine a life with no lawns?)

Anyway, last year in July after the first rain that Summer, I set out on my first ever solo adventure. The recent rain lent an air of hopefulness and a sense of foreboding. We'd all been warned of an enormous El Nino year, but the gushing inundation of water flooding our searingly dry drains was a long overdue and welcome sight. Having recently finished the best fiction I'd read in a long time,"Wild", about a girl who finds herself by solo hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, I too decided I was going to set out on some sort of wacky adventurous path.

I didn't want to do the Pacific Crest Trail, however, because face it. Now that the magnificent book has been made into a popular lame-ass horribly disjointed movie, throngs of young women (and men) were now rushing to do the PCT as an act of finding out who they really are. The once rarely touched landscape had become as clogged as some of their acne-laden pores. True. I had been compelled by "Wild" to go searching too, but I wanted to do something different--something more off the beaten path.--something that would scare the shit out of me. Something that felt more true.

My original plan was to re-do Andrew Skurka's Great Western Loop , so I set out to do regular weekend hikes to prepare myself for what lay ahead. Andrew Skurka "is most well known for his solo long-distance backpacking trips, notably the 4,700-mile 6-month Alaska-Yukon Expedition, the 6,875-mile 7-month Great Western Loop, and the 7,775-mile 11-month Sea-to-Sea Route. In total, he has backpacked, skied, and packrafted 30,000+ miles through many of the world’s most prized backcountry and wilderness areas—the equivalent of traveling 1.2 times around Earth’s equator! He is the author of The Ultimate Hiker’s Gear Guide: Tools & Tips to Hit the Trail and guides about 15 trips per year under his company."

I knew it was a long shot, but for some reason I am drawn to trying the world's most difficult things. (Hell, I started a CrossFit gym, didn't I?) The biggest hurdles to overcome would be training my ass off to mimic his blazingly fast hiking speed, ensuring I left at precisely the right time of year assuming the weather cooperated and preparing myself for the rigors of solo hiking for thousands of miles over a span of six months--alone. As I sit here writing this, I must admit, this still sounds like one cool-ass ride.

My life was in turmoil at the time. My long-term relationship had become deeply unsatisfying to me. I was desperately trying to stay sober, and I was going through seriously painful emotional upheaval everywhere. I started seeing a therapist for the first time in my life, and through her, I began to make sense of my very loud and pissed off inner voice that had been trapped inside.

My first adventure found me camping in a leaky tent in a torrential flash-flood-kinda rain, and as scared as I was about being eaten by a mountain lion, a snake or a coyote, I loved every freaking minute of it!

After that, I set out on solo adventures every few weeks continuing to purposefully scare and challenge myself.

I saw a dozen wild pigs and had a coyote howl just outside my tent while in Dallas. I got lost on a trail and spent 3 hours hiking back up a mountain an alternate way from Little Fish Fork. I've hiked Condor and Strawberry Peaks seeing nary another soul and only a trickle of water. I spent the night near the Bridge to Nowhere and hiked 20.4 miles in one day from Mt. Baden Powell to Buckhorn Campground including the last 6 miles alone in the dark.

I really didn't know what I was looking for, but I felt compelled to find it. Pushing the boundaries of what terrified me started to wake ME up.

In the meantime, I moved out from my long-term boyfriend, and started facing life solo for the first time in many years, living in a teeny garage apartment to save money and trying to make sense of my life.

One night on a whim, I decided to search "Living in the Wilderness" on the internet. I wound up on an unusual forum with loads of people looking to do just that. Most were kids, many were dreamers, and a few had actually done it. I wound up meeting a thirty-something dude with similar plans, and we just clicked. We both started planning and my life took on a joyeaux de vivre and an urgency I hadn't felt in years.

As a workaholic woman who dearly loves her craft, I had forgotten what it meant to have a hobby, a joy, a passion for something outside of work. Suddenly I was faced with the idea of living in the wilderness with a complete stranger whom I met on the internet, and I loved the audacity of it!

We started planning immediately, conversing back and forth via spreadsheets and Google Drive. We shared You Tube videos on building shelters with subterranean heating systems, videos on animal skinning and stories of bears, He turned me onto Survival Lilly and I turned him onto Sigma III Survival School. We both watched countless videos and discussed their unique challenges and virtues.

I spent Friday nights figuring out the weight of every piece of equipment on our list of items we planned to take, becoming obsessed with this idea and in love with everything about it. For a long time I told no one, because I knew it was pretty far-fetched, and also because I needed to make sure my compadre-in-arms was going to stick around for the ride. As crazy as this adventure sounded, no one but a fool would go out on something like this for the first time alone. My Mom made me make sure he wasn't a stalker. (He's not. He's clean as a whistle, loves his Mom, and is a seriously nice guy.) I told him I wasn't looking for a boyfriend, we've got 20 years between us, and neither of us gives a damn about any or all of that.

Well here we are six months later, and we're both still raring to go. We speak by telephone or chat online regularly (as who wants to commit to living in the wilderness with someone you can't stand), continually run "what if" scenarios by each other, plan for things like hunting permits and seasons, study edible plants, figure out ways to keep our food away from bears, and drill each other on what to do in case of hypothermia. Happily, we both work very hard, and we seem to get along just fine.

The fact that what we are going to attempt is life-threatening lends a unique intensity to our plans. Seriously, we both leave no stone unturned when it comes to ensuring we are prepared for our journey, as we are both aware a mistake could seriously cost us our lives. We're going to be in the northern hemisphere, for god's sake through late Summer, all of Fall and early Winter. It will likely freaking snow.

Since then, each weekend I set a goal. From getting my hunting license to taking multiple wild-edibles classes to building an all-night fire to studying navigation, to target practice with my rifle, not a weekend has gone by since then in which I wasn't fully engrossed in learning something to ensure our success.

My original plan was six months. Now it's five. I'm attending Sigma III Survival School's 40-Day Instructor program in April, where our final test is 5 days alone with nothing but a knife. I figure if I include that, it's still 6 months total to challenge myself with my new survival-skills-for-life. As hard as I'm studying, I'm just not willing to put my ass on the line without seriously investing in the knowledge to succeed, and Sigma III's program is the most comprehensive I've found anywhere.

I don't know what compelled me to this point, but I do wonder sometimes if we aren't guided by some mysterious voice to a particular path. The fact that I found such an excellent colleague lends credence to that.

As I set out today to practice my topographical map-reading, animal tracking and wild edible identification skills, I came across not one, but two piles of what clearly appeared to be mountain lion scat. I pushed the toe of my shoe into one. The telltale signs of animal fur along with the 5" length and 3/4" girth lending credibility to my observation. I found another pile not an eighth of a mile further, so I decided to look for tracks.

Sure enough, there were clear tracks leading off into a side wash, so I decided to follow them for a while. It was fascinating to note how much we miss if we don't learn to read the signs.

Mark Elbroch's book, "Mammal Tracking and Sign" with its amazing photos of tracks of nearly every animal one might come across in the wilderness along with numerous photos of their scat, seemed to lend authority to my thoughts, but I'm far from an expert here.

This cat was big. The length from the hind foot to the next hind foot was nearly 4 feet long, and the paw prints were roughly 3.5" wide. Knowing from the multiple stories I've read that cats rarely kill humans and flee from nearly anyone who fights back, I pulled out my machete just in case. After following the tracks for about 150 meters, I stopped, as they lead up a crevice which would've been hard for me to climb. Add to that the fact that I didn't really want to rustle this thing into a confrontation, and I decided to turn around.

When I first got sober, I joined a group called HSM (www.hellosundaymorning.org). A woman there, whom I befriended, supported my adventures and my stories. She christened me with the moniker "Woman Who Walks with Mountain Lions" after I shared the story of my first adventure there and how afraid I was of being eaten by one.

It's amazing how far I have come.

I used to walk slowly on every trail looking at every cranny in a mountain's face fearful I might be attacked at any moment. Now I know I'll never see one coming anyway, so I don't even bother. But I have to admit, much like running into an artist or someone you're really crazy about, I still think it would be really cool to get a live glimpse of something that I truly admire.

Mountain lions represent much of what in the wilderness draws me--a sense of danger, a sense of the unknown and a sense of adventure. Here's to living a large and daring life full of mountain lions to set your imagination on fire.


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On Edible Plants and Foraging

We are lucky.

Here in Los Angeles County, there are several experts on wild edible plants. I've worked with two of them thus far--all for the cost of $20 per class.

I've only taken one class with Alan Halcon, although I believe he's more known as an overall survival guy than a plant expert. However,  I learned from him that you can use coyote weed to stun fish and that there are many varieties of willow. I first saw watercress with him. The class I took with him was on trapping basics, but I learned a little about wild edibles as well.

Christopher Nyerges is probably the best known in the area, as he's been teaching survival skills to the Los Angeles public since 1974. His field guide, Foraging California, is an excellent resource for wild edibles found in our own state. He also teaches regular classes at Pasadena City College, and has been a go to resource for National Geographic as well as the TV show, "Naked and Afraid".


He was the first one to show me how similar deadly Poison Hemlock and Filaree are. Through Christopher I was exposed to Curly Doc, Watercress, certain mushrooms, Filaree, wild cherries, Chickweed, Buckwheat, mustards, Yucca, Purslane and Carob among others. I also learned how to make incredible acorn flour pancakes from him.

Christopher taught me how to make a bird trap and some basic dead falls. I honed my skills with a bow drill and hand drill because of Christopher. I also now carry a magnesium ferro rod on my key ring at his suggestion that "everyone should always have a knife and a ferro rod wherever they go." You can find him on Meetup.com .

Pascal Baudar is mainly a plant expert--specifically in making wild edibles into gourmet fare. His new book to be released on March 4, 2016, "The New Wildcrafted Cuisine: Exploring the Exotic Gastronomy of Local Terroir" promises recipes using bug shit which turns to sugar, fermented beers from Mugwort and recipes incorporating mushrooms collected near Hansen Dam. Pascal not only knows a tremendous amount about foraging edible foods in California, the creations he concocts are nothing short of truly inspirational and forward thinking.

He hosts weekly meetups at $20 a pop under the name The Los Angeles Wild Food and Self Reliance Group. There are always at least 10 people along for the culinary ride. I honed my knowledge of Watercress, Curly Doc, Buckwheat, Chickweed and Yucca from him. I learned about Turkey Tail Mushrooms, firmly learned how to distinguish Poison Hemlock from Filaree and/or Chervil, learned about Blue Dick, poisonous Wild Cucumber, Miners Lettuce, Wood Sorrel, Mugwort, White Sage, Black Sage, Yerba Santa, Meditteranean Mustard, Everlasting, Cleaver even Agave from Mr. Baudar.

I even now understand how to easily tell blackberry from poison oak.

Through him, I got to enjoy pears poached with mugwort and sage topped with a sugar made from bug poop. Extraordinary! If there's one thing Pascal has taught me it's that perhaps I won't have to choke down charred squirrel, Instead, maybe I can wrap it in wild herbs and bake it in a clay oven. Perhaps rather than simply surviving, I will be thriving.

Both his and Mr. Nyerges' Meet-Ups are a steal for the money. I highly recommend them both.

I depart for my wilderness trip the last week of July, 2016. I still have much to learn, but my plant identification skills are right on track.

I get to hunt wild turkey on Saturday, and I've got a navigation class next week. I study every spare chance I get.

Things are getting exciting!