The Adventures of Hot Wing & G

Six incredible months of hiking has come to an end. I am exhilarated, stronger, more learned, passionately motivated for my future, yet exhausted, pained, and displaced. I left in April for my second major hiking season with certain expectations. Each one become either shattered or amplified. I am humbled by this country’s people, of the incredible generosity and love that lays in their hearts. There are many stories to tell, not just of my adventures and the unlimited possibilities we have in life, but mostly of the individuals who molded my experience. For you Cherie who held my hand firm as your eyes beneath a red Stetson brim locked mine, “write for us, write for this town, this town needs to be known and understood.” I will. For you Missy who snatched my attention then saved me in my 10 days of illness. For you Cheryl and Pekka for opening your home and community to me. For each incredible friend, town and stranger I met along the way. For you Dad who made this journey possible. But for now I shall start with Sam Theule, my mountain SoCal brotha, G, my World Class Wrecking Krew mate. I made this little movie in honor of you. I always have your back, as I know you have mine. Enjoy.

A Fresh Page

The clink of silverware above my head drifted its way through open balcony doors. Footsteps shuffled on pitter-patting floors enticing me to turn and enter a promising remedy for my grumbling stomach and aching soul. A faded red paisley carpeted staircase ascended me to the blond hostess. She sparkled, “Good evening sir, how many are with you tonight?” Rustic floorboards remembering dance steps a century old stretched across a wide open space. An old blues boy tuned his guitar in the brick corner. Gold brass railings shone clean, her smile brought comfort. “I am alone thank you, I will be happy at the bar.” She smiled sweet and spoke sweeter, “happy to have you, Eddie is playing tonight, you are in for a treat.” I couldn’t help but smile back warmly as I turned towards the old mahogany bar.

“Hows it be?” The bartender in a casual white slapped down a menu boppin’ his head to a tune within.

“It be’s good brotha. You have a house cab?” I responded with less bop, settling in and remembering the days before. This is what I needed, new energy. I was in the right place. Bartender Tony slank a glass of red in front of me, I sipped it satisfied and grabbed the menu. Bustle grew around me as I slipped inside remembering the days before.

“Looks like we will be separating again then huh. Might not be seeing each other for awhile.” G spoke calmly as I fumed. We sat alone in the woods, he let me rip as I dragged my cigarette.

“I’m just exhausted man.        I need to get it back.        You must understand. I would love to hike 10 more miles with you tonight but I don’t know. This shouldn’t be happening at this point, but I have weakened. Between the giardia and the wedding, unexpected long time off I lost the edge I gained after hiking three months straight. I am killing myself on miles when my body needs to slow down, recoup, then I’ll be back where I want and be able to crush miles and catch you before Canada. I just cannot push the miles you want to push right now.” I spoke with a frosting of hope even though my heart had none. For my brothers sake. For Sam who I’d known since the hot limping days of desert fatigue. My boy who’d grown right before my eyes from a restless dormant man to a confident motivated new soul. “I will always push for a legendary lifestyle.” I clamored waving my ice axe savagely around above my head drunk on cheap whiskey a few moons before. “So that is why I will be hiking Whitney the hardest way I can with or without you.” Sam, G, my boy stood up opposite I, the fire bouncing off the mountain rock. His voice stone with promise. “I would never let you go alone. I am coming with you.” That is who he is. My back, my mate, a comrade in combat against the average or anything less than more. Another alpha to co lead an ideal around the world. A higher bar. ‘Here we are fellow hikers, fellow humans, let us not allow this path, this skinny destined path be our only focus. Our journey is far wider than that. To leave a world of unnecessary socialistic restrictions and then come here in search of freedom then bind yourselves into a prison of only puristic trail, path, this damn brown thing and that’s it!? No, let it be more. It is what is around you, the accidents, diversions, the people, the pain, unexpected gifts of generosity and human love. It is the idea that even this can be elevated if we let it. That confidence bred here should be used out there. That kindness received here should be given forward everywhere. Hike onward North to Canada yes, but take off the horse-blinders and stomp them into a fire for it is the more that makes this truly yours.’

A red sauced fra diovolo with plenty of meat glowed before me on the menu. The sparkling blond stood beside me dropping off empty beer glasses. I leaned in her direction gaining her dish review. “If you do not like it I will eat it, spicy and creamy, they make it right.”

“Then I suppose I should order for two.” I joked as she laughed and ran off gathering strewn menus. I settled in, thanked Tony as he refilled my glass heavy with red and returned to the deepest crevasses in my mind. Eddie began to play his guitar.

G charged forward, I pushed behind. Why is it that I crave friendship, company, I fight to be with, I awake wishing I was held by the soft arms of a beautiful girl, or that I can holler to a friend a tent away then every bidding a good morning. Then every force in my body stops me, hating the sight of another. Scared ducking into undergrowth I hide from being seen. I dream of shared company on mountain summits and company to bath in alpine lakes, but then they will see me weak like this. I let G go ahead and stopped alone on a ridge feeling more confused and trapped then ever before. Before me lay miles of dark trees. Behind me lay miles of dark trees. My friend could only hear of my pain, but not see it. I must be alone for this, no one can see this. The sun hung above the distant peaks promising more evening light but I could not go on. My knees hit the rocky ground and I groaned. Why was I trapped, where had my motivated soul gone. Why did the line ‘even the inspired can die’ plague my grinding mind. What had happened? I did not want to go on. For what lay ahead? Was I walking into a black hole simply delaying money, real relationship and an ultimate complete personal crumbling. Walking a slow death. What does it matter or even mean if I complete this pointless hike. The mountains will be here, my sanity felt far less so.

This was not me. Incorrect this was me but I would not accept this confusion and misunderstood inside pain. Where is the strength I had acquired? Breathing slowly I forced myself to begin a true mental readjustment. The ridge I sat upon dropped off steeply below my dangling feet into black Northern California forest. The peaks beyond surely lay in Oregon. I was nearly to a new state, a fresh page. 1700 hundred incredible miles of Cali lay behind me. They had blessed me, tested me and allowed a seed of discouragement to be planted of recent. The seed had grown and now festered my soul with invasive poison. It was time to cut the stalk, pull out the roots and be rid of this disease once and for all. I stood up and forced myself to continue hiking North one leaden step at a time.

My food arrived and Eddie began to play. I looked at myself in the giant bar mirrors standing behind an assortment of liquors and mixers. I smiled remembering I was now in Oregon. The sauce was good, the prawns better, and the air heavy with expression. I had made it, I was in Ashland. A beautiful town of love likening a mutli-colored quilt. Transients filled the squares between the backpackers and the hippies. Pot was smoked openly and given freely. Rest laid beneath shaded trees on cool summer grass in parks harboring jugglers, lovers, mothers, and pups. I had made it, I had motivated myself out of a black dark spot, out of my should be sanctuary, the deep dark forest that had haunted me just days before.

“Walk yourself well. Walk yourself well Hot Wing. You have done it plenty before.” I spoke to myself as night began to saturate the wilderness. “You must remember why you are here.” A small campsite unveiled itself beneath a dark grove. The perfect place to be alone and let myself listen, let myself remember. Too smoke a joint.

The night wrapped itself around me as the forest became alive. Surrounded by bears, lions, fishercats, wolverines, snakes and birds the trees began to sing a nighttime lullaby. This is the world I loved, the world I had learned, my home. A flying squirrel zoomed out of nowhere. An incredible zip of freestyle soaring. I laughed amazed as his black body peered out at my headlamp. Letting out a loud KOOOIEEE! sparked by the moment of peaceful woodland solidarity, kindling of inspiration had arrived. The distant responding koooiee of a friend another ridge away inflated my joy. I smiled remembering I am not alone in this. I have a community, a family, a following of supporters who I hike for. This is not about just me. It has grown into rich velvety layers of purpose and community love, of relationships birthed creating a better world than when I began. Each mile I hiked bred another genuine interaction. Blessings of love, knowledge and compassion had showered me. A nod on the street, admiration from day hikers, a free sandwich because I walked, my grandmothers prayers, a free ride, an afternoon spent sharing extravagant stories. Beds, showers, food and drink were all given constantly by strangers. Id been hugged, kissed, supported and inspired. My walk had given me more than I could ever dream so why would I ever stop now. I owe everyone that. The confused pain that blocked my motivation fell in decaying shrouds off my soul. I had remembered and become re-inspired. Get to Ashland, talk to people, write the way I must, and go share something real. This is why you walk, so hold your head high and fight the good fight.

Mt. Shasta, a brief introduction.

The descending sun slithers behind Casaval Ridge firing off cannons of sun rays behind her strong silent black fingers. Purple pink and orange separated by crystal white lines fill the sky. Clouds have awoken from a dull grey sleep and now parade with celebration dancing across blankets of color. Shasta breathes methodically and awaits. Every mountaineer at her mercy, seduced by the beauty that splendors above. As her granite covered breast rises under my feet I watch the ever changing white that shrouds her shoulders. A snowy sea of pearls dance in time growing tired one by one, until the sun lays to sleep under beneath the black blankets of volcanic rock.

“I’ll be honest with you I wouldn’t go up there this time of year.” G and I looked at each other tacitly agreeing this opinion was worth listening to yet not wanting to hear the grave report. The Mount Shasta Base Camp store manager elaborated upon his statement. “It has been so hot lately that the rocks up there are incredibly loose. You will be exposed for most of the hike. Lightening storms come out of nowhere and most of the people who die on Shasta die this time of year.”

“Sounds exactly like what I had anticipated.” I spoke knowing humbly yet knowing there was no way I could not attempt my anticipated Shasta summit. In my mind I remembered,  ‘a key to being great and surviving is knowing when to climb, and knowing when NOT to.’

“You guys are strong, I understand you are here now and want to summit now. I believe you can, just be very careful.”

G and I met with Safari, the third member of our expedition and told him the news. We would watch the weather, watch for falling rocks, loose snow and ultimately make our decision on the mountain. Shasta had brought the three of us back together. We knew how each other hiked, our strengths and weaknesses, and as a team we believed this summit was possible.

On the evening of Friday August 17th we set out for the mountain ready for our Shasta adventure. The hike started at Bunny Flats trail head. The sky was clear but the air was hot. We wasted no time in gaining elevation arriving at an old stone hut just a mile and a half later. The tall pines had now thinned out, just a few more trees  lay between us and the exposed grand mountain. Old books on mountaineering were harbored inside the cool sanctuary. I thumbed through dusty literature and read old prayers mountain men had written upon this mystic volcano. Many had come here to commune with Shasta’s mystery looking to discover a different life and themselves, many had come here and died. Here I now stood smelling the same dry summer heat they had, staring up at her greatness full of anticipation like they, not knowing of a possible tragic end to come. It was my turn, what would she bring?

We would hike up to Helen Lake to camp at 10,400 ft well above treeline which ended before 8,000 ft. There Safari G and I would create a base camp. Our tents would be staked down and hold any unnecessary gear while we pushed the steep 4,000 ft up to the summit. The idea of light efficient packs sounded ideal for a direct steep climb up the ice chutes. So we did, and after climbing 2,600 ft of elevation up the base of Mt Shasta we arrived at Helen Lake just before dusk. A handful of other hikers lingered around creating a mini tent city.  Low stone walls sat in rings around the flat plateau providing wind break for tents. Here we each chose a stone ring and quietly sat down our packs. I stood straight and breathed in the pure 10,400 ft air. It felt healthy and right.  How I had missed it since the Sierras, my clean alpine air.
With a new excitement we laughed and hollered. “Mt Shasta boys! We Are HERE!” Safari G and I laughed together smiling with joy. We were here, on Shasta, doing it, continuing to elevate our hike and go get more.

“If there is any mountain you have the chance to climb when you’re out west,” my friend Tim had said back in the PCT preseason days in New Hampshire, “go climb Shasta.” He had said it with such earnest that it had planted the seed inside, and had grown into a determined goal as I hiked North towards her base. ‘Well buddy,’ I breathed my thinner air satisfied once more, ‘I’m doing it. I’m climbing Shasta.’

As we set up our tents the beat filled the air. My head started bobbing, go get it go get it. Warm with adrenaline the music in the air grew into symphony, the sky became alive. Grey sloths transformed into majestic clouds. The great mountain walls began to breathe and the rocks began to fall. With crashing precision they bounded down her flanks then slid to a stop in the snow. The mountains roared around us welcoming in the night. G Safari and I made dinner together watching the light show and listening to the mountains roars. We set our alarms. 4am we would awake and begin our 4,000 ft climb to the summit before any other hiker had disturbed the rocks. It would be cooler in the morning so the snow would still be hard and hopefully this would keep us safe. We parted to our separate tents and each lay down drifting into sleep, dreaming of the morning to come.

I awoke to the ominous flash of light. Eight seconds later a long rumble of thunder shook the mountain. Another flash of lightening lit the sky. I sat up in my tent realizing this was real becoming aware of the situation. A storm had rolled in and was not far away. This could quite possibly be the end of me. Exposed at 10,400 feet on the side of Mt Shasta, with nothing to hide my metal crampons and gear from I would make for an attractive lightening strike target. As thunder shook the mountain again I threw my ice axe, trekking poles and crampons out away from my tent. The storm was moving closer. Lightening flashed, thunder roared now only 4 seconds away. G and Safari awoke yelling through the loud rumbles and growing wind. “Just gonna have to ride this one out!” The wind died to an eerie silence leading to another almighty roar as hail began to pummel our tents. Lightening and thunder became one and the mountain shook violently. Death could come at any second. The mountain screamed above as rocks tumbled down into Avalanche Gulch where we lay. I laid in my tent sharpening my courage.It was 4:30 am our intended start time, but Shasta had other plans.

A few dream patched and lightening awoken hours of sleep later the storm had passed on. Hail and snow had battered in the rain flies on our tents. Mt Shasta’s summit could not be seen harbored in a thick mushroom cloud but blue sky lay beyond. We had made it through the storm. Other tents became alive as all other hikers packed up camp and headed back down the mountain forfeiting their summit plans. G Safari and I stayed put. We would wait to see what the sky would bring. The multiple types of precipitation had perhaps solidified some of the loose rocks, hopefully. We would not give up yet. We ate, watched and prepared, the clouds began to fade. We must have time to get up and down before more afternoon weather rolled in. At 8:30 am we finally received our window. It was time. Time to summit this crazy mountain.

The three of us set off with 1,000 ft to climb straight up steep shale and loose rock skree to the base of a major snowfield that would lead us to The Heart. One by one we progressed keeping space between us and warning of falling rocks. With strong thru hiker legs and lungs we never stopped, just moved steadily higher. We reached the edge of the snow, strapped on our crampons and assessed the routes before us. The mountain now was set up with The Heart 1,000 ft above us as a large snow free steep slope. On either side of The Heart lay wide then narrow snow/ice chutes leading around The Heart. At the base of The Heart lay the giant semi steep snowfield that we now stood beneath. This snowfield connected the two ice chutes beneath The Heart. Above lay the Red Rocks. These would have to be either traversed around, over or through and included some of the steepest climbs and loosest crumbling rock holds. Upon getting past the Red Rocks and Mt Shasta’s ‘Thumbs Up’ to our right we would then approach a snowless rock falling Misery Hill, then tread through another slightly less steep snowfield to the base of the steep summit scramble. Each route contained one key possibility. If you fall you die.

Safari G and I agreed. Confident in our crampon and axe use we went straight up the steepest snow chute to the right of The Heart. With options for getting off halfway up then scrambling around the Red Rocks we pushed on. The sun glared off the white ice as we climbed higher and higher shielding our eyes with shades and our grins with bandanas. Occasionally one would yell out the oncoming bound of boulder. My helmet sat tightly strapped to my head. One two three, step, set spikes in ice, bury the axe deep, step. We gained elevation quickly, never growing tired or out of breath just stopping to look behind us in awe. As the chute narrowed we approached the Red Rocks, water gushed beneath the ice forcing us to choose steps very carefully less we break through the ice and get pulled into the mountain forever. Through the Red Rocks, up 2,000+ ft on snow and ice and to Misery Hill. We were getting closer now at 13,000 ft.

Misery Hill was comfortable, steep but enjoyable. At the top I had my first close view of Shasta’s summit. She towered above at 14,179 ft.  A crown above Northern California, a lady of mystery, Mt Shasta and I were finally face to face. Her beauty reflected around the entire high mountain snowfield, she pulled us in to her so together G Safari and I walked to the rocky base of her desirous summit. We chose our route and climbed clinging to the cold mountain walls. The wind tore at our limbs pulling us away from our one firm hold. With deep breaths and quick committed jumps, holds and scrambles we pulled ourselves higher and higher until there was no more rock above, just a metal register to sign and pure priceless victory.

Drunk with success we knew only half the battle had been won. We had survived the storm. We had climbed up the snow and ice, dodged the falling boulders and conquered the summit, but we must still get down. We chose new routes, jumped off Red Rock precipices and glissaded down the snowfields. The steep loose shale followed us as we descended, safely and successfully back to base camp and then treeline where we sat in wonder looking back up to what we had just climbed and accomplished.

I could write much more, for there is so much to say, but for now a skeletal description is all I have time for. I must continue on North towards Canada, and when I have time I have much more to tell. The layout of the pictures, grammar and flow of my sentences may be a bit off and I apologize. I will edit when I have a better computer available. Mt Shasta video to come!

Gametime

It is time. Mt Shasta looms 10,000 ft above as G, Safari and I strap down our packs one last time. Her prominent summit sits well above 14,000 ft, yet acts unlike any other mountain on this land. Loaded down with the 10 Essentials, crampons, ice axe and helmets we are ready to tackle this esteemed vortex of the world. She will be my greatest test yet as a maturing adventurer and blooming mountaineer. The late summer heat has made the volcanic rocks very loose up her steep flanks. Glaciers and ice fill her ravines and gulches. There is a 30% chance of thunderstorms, and 100% change of having to cope with the unexpected, yet I am ready to live another day of chasing my dreams and to discover Shasta’s mystery. I fear her unpredictability. I respect her mountain strength. Each steep step I take be it on shale or ice must count. Each step WILL count. I will have an incredible story to tell, but first we must climb, and as a team we will succeed. Mt Shasta expedition August 2012 with G, Safari and Hot Wing. Many pictures, video and words upon survival. I love you all.

Just An Update.

I know I have been quiet. Alot has happened. I recovered from my Giardia and retackled the trail with a new found strength and tenacity. Discouraged by the many days off due to illness and injury I continued to hike North to Canada. Fires have swept across Northern California threatening both hikers and towns. It has caused local politics to flare and trekkers to reexamine their path. A mountain lion stalked me for 7 miles, a close friend to the PCT hiking community died in the forest alone. The PLAN was sabotaged. But that is life. You deal, roll and readjust. Joy returned as I hitch hiked out of the mountains and flew back east to Virginia for my brothers wedding. No mountain summit has made me happier than to see my younger blood inflated with pure true love. It was the most RIGHT and personal deserving event I have ever experienced. Michael and Melissa are blessed for the righteousness they have lived. I now return to Northern Cali missing my cornucopias home of conifers and wildlife. I have much more to hike, much more to write and many goals to stretch out my heart, arms and soul to reach. I WILL become a published writer. I WILL grow as a mountaineer. This week I WILL climb Mt Shasta. I WILL share and attempt to inspire even when my heart feels ache. Life does not always go as planned, thank God, for our plans are often filled with faults. There is no picture today, for I simply wanted to tell you this. But as I move forward I promise you this. I will hike harder, I will love harder, I will write better. There is much to come, hang with me, I will make it worth it. Thank you for reading, supporting and following me.

Lake Giardiasis

The day started much like any other. My eyes opened slowly at 5:45 am to a dim-lit Yosemite sky. The same fluid sound I fell asleep to still caressed my ears, of cold fresh water meandering its way through the lush narrow valley. I lifted my head and considered unzipping the flap on my tent. The mosquitos would not be awake yet, but I declined as the cold air convinced my limbs to stay tucked in my warm sleeping bag. I could see about anyway. My rain fly laid at my feet as usual. I was cocooned by the see-through mesh of my Marmot tent which helped to avoid the bugs. Had I slept above this valley upon the granite crests I would have let my tired body sleepily melt into the ground beneath an intimate meeting with the stars. Uncocooned. Unobstructed. Just a clear view into a gargantously magnificent universe.

I stretched my toes and legs out as far and straight as I could, satisfied with my body. Happy to not wake up sore anymore, just stronger than each day before. Everything in me felt healthy, my deep long breaths, both knees, each joint, my tight fatless core, my appetite. Still managing to keep most of my skin inside my EMS Boreal sleeping bag I rolled a morning cigarette, lit it and indulged my mind on that strong appetite of mine. I loved mornings such as this. No one had moved in on my camp spot while I was sleeping during the dark so I was still completely alone. I would lay here until I pleased, read a bit, then after my cigarette blow life into the lukewarm embers of my little fire ring and cook up a feast for breakfast. 2,000 calories would be my goal for a kickstart meal.

Two packets of chocolate Carnation Breakfast Essentials with powdered milk and a healthy squeeze of olive oil shaken up with chilled water, 500 calories-ish. A can of Chili, 600 calories. Two Clif bars that I carefully selected from my collection of 7, including my favorite White Chocolate Macadamia Nut, 480 calories. A handful of Swedish Fish, 80 calories, the rest of my Goldfish bag, another 80 probably. Still hungry I looked at all of my options that I had laid about me. I really did not want to eat a packet of instant mashed potatoes so I chose to slap some peanut butter and honey on a couple of flour tortillas instead. 2,000+ calories down I felt like I could now think about packing and making the move. I left an apple out of my pack knowing I would probably be hungry within the hour.

As I sat by my morning fire and ate the sun had adequate time to rise above the granite wall to my east. Its warm rays turned each droplet of dew into silver dancing steam rising out of my sleeping bag and scattered clothes. I began to pack in the same order per usual. First putting each item into its appropriate ziplock or Sea to Summit mini bag, stuffing my sleeping bag away, breaking down and rolling my tent up then placing each item into its one specific perfect location into my Osprey pack. By the end of the process everything was where it should be. My pack was completely balanced and organized. As the last flickering coals surrendered I rolled over onto the dirt and did my first max set of push ups for the day. Time to hike.

I had a few miles of uphill til I reached a pass two thousand feet of elevation above, so I walked easily to start. Everything smelled fresh and clean, a brand new day in Yosemite had awoken. Every hundred feet or so the sun’s rays shone upon thin wisps of spider’s cobwebs that were strewn across the trail. Thankful for the warning I simply twirled my trekking poles in front of me, breaking each one away before they stuck to my beard, neck or forearms. In the shadows I was not as lucky, but I smiled knowing this meant I was the first to walk the trail this morning. I picked my feet up and onto solid rocks lodged in the dusty ground climbing higher with each step. Looking back down the trail behind me I spoke. “This land needs rain.” A ground squirrel chirped approval and dashed across the trail as the loose dirt we had kicked up failed to settle quickly.

As each mile passed behind me my muscles warmed and extra layers donned from the cool morning were stripped. I was atop the pass within an hour no problem. High alpine passes always mean new scenery, new canyons and land to explore on the other side. So I dove down into my new nook of wilderness until I reached a fast moving river and dropped my pack, tore off my boots, socks and clothes and jumped into the cold Sierra water. As I was scrubbing my dirty body clean I felt eyes upon my back. I turned to look but saw nothing. Strange, I thought, I am almost always alone out here so when there is another being around I can feel it on the air’s invisible energy field. Looking closer I saw him move. It was a deer, which I see 1,000s of, but this was a Grandfrickindaddy of the woods. A royal buck. His giant rack sat trophied upon is regal head still shrouded in velvet. His chin lifted high and his eyes bore black and confidently into mine. My bath must have interrupted his morning drink but I never scared him. For why would I? We both were citizens to these forests and he knew that. My smell and step was not city or danger, it was of another man at home. We conversated for a moment, then I dressed, ate my apple and moved along.

My afternoon brought me deep into mountain ravines then steeply back up over forested passes. As I descended back down I found myself in a thickly wooded virginal forest. Pines and cedars towered around me stopping me in my tracks. Thick majestic trunks of dense wood rose a hundred feet into the sky. Boughs sweeping laterally through clean filtered air were sleaved with thick lucious green moss. The forest floor was littered with these fallen giants and thick underbrush. The trail was nearly impassable, so I climbed up and over, crawled under and around until I reached a small intersection. Benson Lake home of the Benson Riviera was just .4 miles to my west. I turned off my safe Pacific Crest Trail to evil disguised as a beautiful Sierra paradise. My doom lay just ahead.

I heard the laughter of people as I ducked beneath some Aspen branches and out of the dark forest. My feet sank into thick white sand. Without noticing the others I headed straight to the perfectly blue water. Never had a lake high in the mountains felt more like a tropical neverland. My clothes fell to the wayside as I walked straight into the warm toxic premeditating water. It pulled my legs in til I was up to my waist then sucked me fully under. I swam 15 strong strokes underneath deep out into the emerald briliance. Emerging I treaded my feet to keep afloat. Looking back to the beach I saw it stretched for 1/4 mile around 1/4 of the lake. Soft glittering sand went for over 100 feet deep towards the forest I came from. The entire beach was dotted by scattered Quivering Aspens. Leaves clapped as the breeze brought their name to life. Probably celebrating my seduction. Behind me, surrounding the other 3/4 of the lake were sculpted granite mountain walls rising above a layer of rich green conifers. Ducking, rolling, drinking in large mouthfuls of luscious Sierra water, I swam with joy. SOLD. I would camp upon this highland tropic beach. So I filled my water bottles, built an epic firepit to perfectly break the wind and nestled in the sand between two aspen trees to watch the sunset and eat another feast. I found a good conversation, I found peace, then I faded into undisturbed sleep…

A few days later, many miles down trail I awoke feeling a bit strange. I could not eat for two reasons, one I was about out of food, and two even if I had something decadent I could not eat anyways, it felt. My appetite was gone, and after burning 20,000 calories the day before this should not be. “Very odd,” I thought. “Something is about to happen and I must get off this mountain.” So I did, I tore down the trail and found my way to the highway. With my thumb out I made my way to a plot of grass in the yard of a small town motel. My body was already beginning to shake. My face felt pale, my stomach bulged as if I was too full. After a phone call arrangements were made to be saved by a friend who would drive to get me in a few hours. This made me feel safer and thankful, so I sat onto the ground against my pack and layered clothes around my body, tucking sleaves and socks between my knees and back. My body was too cold, yet everyone who walked past me wore shorts and smiled up at the sun. “What was happening to me?” I shook violently and clenched my eyes shut. “Please don’t let this be, did I screw up? Where would I have screwed…. SHIT!”

I then knew. I made a big mistake. I had screwed up. “Freaking Benson Riviera, I had drank it’s water all night unfiltered, tranced, seduced by what seemed like the most perfect haven. I drink running water with confidence and strength but this lake would be contaminated! WHAT WAS I THINKING! I wasn’t thinking. There was a freaking boy scout troop back in the woods I learned later on Benson day. It was a paradise, everyone would hike into there who doesn’t care about pissing or crapping in the water. Trash probably lay buried in the sand. There was probably rotting flesh of others who drank the water washed up on the shore somewhere. What was I thinking???” Pealing my weak body off the grass I ran to the bathroom but could not make it. Falling onto all fours my body shook and I threw up everywhere onto the motel’s manicured lawn. Like a dog, a sick beast covered in hair puking onto the ground in front of strangers. I ignored anytype of shame or embarrassment. “Who cares.. I don’t care,” I thought to myelf as I continued dry heaving until I fell onto my side. “I don’t even care. Let them watch.” My mind went black as I limped to the bathroom to wash and drink water. There I laid on the cement floor with my foot holding shut the unlatchable door. Occasionally I pulled myself up to dry heave and spit acid into the urinal only to fall back down before I fainted.

Hours passed and the call finally came. My ride, Missy my savior. I had washed, scrubbed my teeth, sipped water only to spit it out and then struggled to the car. I fell into the passenger seat and explained my situation, home, a bed that is what I needed. The ride lasted an hour but felt like 5 days. Bed came, blankets were piled as high as my wrenching fever and I fell into a miserable grindstone crushing sleep only to awake in a personal hell. I ran to the bathroom and spent most of the next few days contaminating the small white walled room. I still am. My body sank into deep dehydration. Gas, acid, and anything possible that could be stripped from my inside body constantly came out any way it could. Ten pounds fell off my body in just a few days. Each morning I awoke weaker than the next. Imprisoned by my disease, by my Giardia I suffer. I now have the antibiotic, there is a light at the end of this. I yearn for the trail, for my strength.

“The Queen is testing you” I hear my homie G say. It is true, she is. The Queen who is the trail is testing me. The trail, this damn world, people who think they have a right, God who does have a right, everything will keep testing me. But I will always stand back up. I will always move forward. I will always be stronger than the test. I will never give up even after I die.

“To the Queen!”

Little did I know then of the horror to come.

Ready Now

 

The Southern Sierras

After leaving the desert behind, reaching Kennedy Meadows then moving on into the promised land, everything changed at once. Our hard work had paid off and we were instantly rewarded with landscape that turned from sandy hills into granite mountain peaks. The air was clean, the bountiful water roared down from above full of fat delicious trout. 2,000 yr old trees dotted the horizon. We now had a new world to explore, a new playground to make home. In this southern Sierra wilderness lay Mt. Whitney which provided an unforgettable adventure, but what surrounds her is even more impressive. For it is behind the switchback highways where true peace is found, in the aromatic whispering nooks of the Sierra Mountains.

A new chapter has begun.

It is much more difficult to hike 25 miles a day when this is an option.

Gradually we trekked into higher elevations.

Crossing a causeway in Gomez Meadows

Late night Taco truck in Lone Pine with good friends.

Resting at Guitar lake after my Mt. Whitney climb.

Tawny Point on the Bighorn Plateau.

The Great Western Divide.

Beginning my Forrester Pass ascent.

A highland marmot.

Highest point on the PCT.

Looking back at Forrester Pass.

Kings Canyon brought a new lush shaded world.

The view from my camp that night.

Finally below 10,000 ft we bonfired and awoke this guy.

Climbing up to Kearsarge Pass.

A crossroads of trails in the wilderness, and where I shall return to in the morning, and continue my hike north to Canada.

Mountaineers Route. Success.

The plan was simple, climb to the top of the world via the most intense route possible. Sam and I, trail names G and Hot Wing, climbed out of the Sierra Mountains, off the Pacific Crest Trail and made our way to the Whitney Portal where we could access the beginning of the trail and begin our ascent up to 14,505 feet, the summit of Mt. Whitney. Legistics were made, camp was set at 8,500 feet, food was strategically hung so no bear could steal it. Over fire and whiskey in the black night beneath looming granite spires we jived, both stoked for what we were about to attempt. 

I had never climbed above 13,000 ft, G had summitted Whitney twice before, but never by way of this steep route. For both of us this would be a brand new conquest. Bodly we threw on our 50 lb packs and began to hike up with our video cameras REC and strapped to our heads. This was no PCT grade, our calves and quads burned as we rose a foot with each step. Through a lush canyon filled with cold flowing water we ascended. The granite walls rose 1,000s of feet on either side and we climbed through Aspens and Willows until we reached the top and met a bowl beneath more high canyons and Lower Boyscout Lake. Here we ate lunch in some of the last shade we would encounter before moving on above treeline. Our skin burned warm in the high mountain sun, and since it was the summer solstice, June 21, hike naked day, we both chose to climb shirtless.

As we climbed higher it was clear that this mission was broken down into 3 stages. First get to Lower Boyscout Lake around 10,000 ft, check. Then get to Upper Boyscout Lake at 11,300 ft. Continue to ascend to Iceberg Lake at 12,000 feet, then after that would be a harrowing final 2,000 foot ascent straight to the summit. 

We accomplished each stage slowly. The hike started steep, then became steeper, more slippery, more loose shale, thinner air. Each step upward we took required more attention to detail, for what once could have been a simple trip on a granite slab became a possible death. Upper Boyscout Lake met us above treeline and we shared some shade beneath a granite cliff with some snowbanks and pounded as many calories as possible. “700 calories down,” G smiled as he pocketed a Clif Bar wrapper with some others. “Right on homie, this should be 675 for me.” I responded while grinding my way through the end of the Hot Peanuts bag. We drank much water and our bodies were holding up very strong. The air was not alien to us yet, and our lungs were strong from living mainly above 9-10,000 ft for weeks. However it was getting cold and time to end hike naked day so we layered up and made a steep exposed push to Iceberg Lake.

Finally approaching 12,000 feet the air began to thin. We found ourselves now surrounded by the spires of Mt. Whitney. It’s summit cast a cold shadow upon us as we stared in wonder at this Alpine land. No green was in sight, just the blackish blue of pure snowmelt lakes and the chilling grey of the monstrous walls that surrounded us. At Iceberg Lake we found some of the last sunlight to bath in as the sun was soon to disapear behind the highest granite in the land. Two other tents stood out in the grey. A lonely orange and yellow of other mountaineers like us. We nodded from a distance noticing their day ending chores, they would be hiking no more today as the sun would set in a few hours. As for G and Hot Wing, we were not done.  

“You ready Hot Wing?” G looked at me as we strapped our packs tight to our back. I smiled wide, “you bet brotha, lets finish this.” We took slow steps to the steep chute we would have to climb above us, within minutes I looked back at Iceberg Lake to see it already getting smaller below. “Dang this goes up fast.”

Here our climb trully began. Everything we had done before in the day now seemed elementary. I thought back to the days of hanging out in the saddles of the Tetons and running up and down the Middle and South peaks. Even that now seemed easy. Hiking together was now a constant two way street of information between G and I. For to be safe and successful we had to communicate to each other how we felt, what rocks were indeed good to use as life trusting holds. Our proximity to each other was either close or far apart for almost each step we took pushed shale and occasional boulders steep down below. We were doing this in an ill advised way, with 50lb packs pulling back on our bodies, making everything more difficult. If one of us lost our focus for a second, we would lose center of gravity and fall to our deaths below. “Hot Wing watch out!!” G yelled from above but I had seen it already. The shale I was standing on and slowly making my way over to a right hold sank me down the mountain. Above me a boulder that must weigh near 1,000 lbs came bounding down the chute. I had only a second to react. The proposed right hold would not suffice now as I was pulled down, my eyes saw a new life saving rock 6 feet to my left so I moved fast and jumped, grabbed, tightened my core and stuck. The boulder roared past me where I had just stood, and sheets of loose shale fell down 1,000 feet to Iceberg Lake. Phew.

We continued on rarely being able to walk upright for it was far to steep. The sun continued to lower on the other side of our steep mountain chute. We were alone. If we fell no one would hear, no one would know. Each leap and swinging grab upward I had to stop for a second to catch my breath. Up ahead G’s SOCAL blood was getting cold, this was becoming much harder. We reached a tiny saddle at 14,000 feet still 500 ft below the summit but we must make an unplanned camp. The sun was too low, our energy too low, our tactical thinking faltering. We must rest. Quickly G threw shale and whole rocks to me as I made a rock wall to help break the whipping winds. We tore out our sleeping bags and layered in all clothes as the sun set behind the Sierras and the 14,000 ft air temps dropped quickly. The thin air was trully affecting us now and I laid there listening to G shiver as I slowly breathed in and out. I must control myself, stay calm and I will be just fine.

It took hours for us both to sleep due to the air that was now alien to us. And when we did sleep it was faint and light. I woke many times in the night to the stars so close to my eyes. Again for sunrise I awoke then drifted back away into a world of patchy dreams. Finally morning came and we forced ourselves to eat calories. We sat a few feet apart on our tiny 14,000 ft ridge and jawed through dry poptarts. We must eat and finish this, then get off this mountain.

So we did. G and I stood tall, breathed deep and believed our strength. This is why we do 300 pushups every other day. This is why we jump at the chance to do pullups every perfect tree branch we find. The last 500 feet would be the hardest, most dangerous and the steepest. The rock holds were further apart and with our packs pulling us back each move was more technical. Black ice covered the rocks. Again one wrong step would be death. With adrenaline we climbed, with communication and route propositions we succeeded. “I got your back G you know that, we got this. Get up that rock!” “I got yo back Hot Wing, now make that hold!.” After thousands of feet of grabs, holds and trust in the mountain we pulled ourselves over the top and onto the small flat summit of Mt. Whitney successful. I laughed so loud and koooooeeeeiiidddd to the world. We had done it. We had done it. Mountaineering route with 50lbs on our back. Check. G and Hot Wing got that.Sam Theule, G, is a fantastic photographer. We have been hiking together for hundreds of miles on and off and he has accumulated tons of gnarly pics. I am jealouds of his camera and creative eye and cannot not share his work. Check it out! G’s Pics

A Big Day

Today I start the biggest climb of my life. I have been trekking through the Sierras in a world of incredible beauty slowly closing the gap between myself and the tallest mountain in the contiguous 48 states, Mt. Whitney. Most thru hikers ascend to the summit from the gentler west side, but that isn’t enough for me. I want the biggest baddest hike this mountain can give me. So I came down to Lone Pine, my mountain base camp and today will be climbing straight up on the harrowing Mountaineer’s Route. No trail, just hand over hand up the sheer ledges of the east side. With my 50 lb pack on my back carrying many days of food I will at one point ascend 6,000 ft in 3 miles. 14,505 feet here I come! This is gonna be rad. My heart is heating hard with adrenaline and I know this will be very difficult. But with one sure step and pullup at a time, with slow deep controlled breaths in thin air, I will succeed. There will be many good pics to come, just you wait. Its go time.