July 2 - 8, 2006:
I enjoy a much-needed break in Ireland. I particularly liked exploring
Inishmor of the Aran Islands, such a peaceful and scenic respite.
June
29, 2006:
My father undergoes a successful quadruple by-pass surgery.
June
19, 2006:
I put Caesar to rest today. I miss my constant companion dearly.
He was a soothingly sweet, old soul.
April
22 - 29, 2006:
Exploring Montreal, Quebec while attending a professional conference.
It's got a lot of old world charm, architecture and character for
a North American city.
February 18, 2006:
Preparing to move into a house I am purchasing on Tuesday, February
21. Caesar and I will be living at a house in an area of Austin called
Allandale. It's a house built in 1954 with the original hardwood
floors. Come on by and see us.
January 28, 2006: I find
out that Caesar has been diagnosed with severe kidney failure. I
know that this is the beginning of the end of my most consistent
companionship in my life. I will savor each and every day that I
have with him until the inevitable end.
January 20, 2006:
Enjoying this warm, dry weather we call "winter"
here in Austin this year, 85 degrees on New Year's Day and again a
couple of days later - still 75 today. I'm loving it!
November 24, 2005:
Took Caesar camping at Lake Georgetown. We hiked for 5 miles in the woods
surrounding the lake until we got to the place where we made camp.
It was a warm and humid day Thanksgiving day. The hike was enjoyable.
By the time we made it to camp Caesar was very tired. He plopped
himself down in the grass and slept while I set up camp. Later, he
enjoyed going down to the lakeshore and looking (and smelling) over
the water. That night we heard the manic cries of coyotes in a pack.
We also heard a buck calling out just up the hill from us.
November 13, 2005:
Today I went rock climbing in the Barton Creek Greenbelt. After climbing
a route we, myself and new climbing friend named Doug, moved over
to another route to set up a rope on the top of a cliff
edge. We scrambled up to the anchors where the rope would be placed,
and as we began to fix it to the chains, a hornet buzzed
around us. We didn't make too much of it. Soon thereafter though,
Doug got stung and ran off yelling "Ouch... $%*#... ouch!".
Then I got stung and ran off, too. Both of us got stung a couple
of times each, and boy did those stings ever... STING!
We looked back at the climbing
bag to find dozens of hornets buzzing around it a few feet from the
cliff edge. After maybe 20 to 30 minutes I knew Doug was not going
back to his hornet infested climbing bag, which by the way, happened
to hold his set of keys and wallet. He apparently did not like
the effects of the stings to risk getting more of them, of course,
neither did I. He soon began to come up with some
pretty weird plans - one of which was to get a CO2 fire extinguisher
to spray on the swarm that would apparently put them to sleep temporarily
- something he claimed to have seen on Animal Planet, or someplace
like that. I was thinking, "Let's see ... ah, no!" So I
made an executive decision: Make a dash for the bag myself, throw
it over the cliff to our dogs tied up below, then make a run for
it along the uneven cliff edge all the while trying to ignore the
five or six additional stings that I was bound to get, and from the
looks of the swarm around the bag, maybe even more. To top it off,
after making this mad dash to and from the swarm I'd have to tie
into another rope and rappel down to the bottom, hopefully hornet
free. I knew it was crazy, but then again it seemed much less crazy
than going on a scavenger hunt in the woods for a fire extinguisher.
So bracing myself for the
inevitable stings, I warned Doug to keep clear while I went for it.
Crossing over the edge of the cliff, I circled up above the bag where
I hesitated for a moment to take a deep breath, then descended
onto the bag. I grabbed the bag with the intent to quickly
throwing it over the edge. Only there was just one problem, I slipped
into a sitting position while trying to do so. I grabbed for the
bag again as I sat there, and threw it over the cliff. With that
accomplished my mind returned to the swarming hornets. I got up frantically,
circled back around the far side of the hornets and back up the
slope above the cliff's edge. In an even greater frenzy I launched
myself down the slope, slipping again near the edge of the cliff
where I noticed several people gasping as they watched me from below
as I teetered along the edge
and into relative safety a few yards away. To my utmost surprise
as I tied into the descended the other fixed rope, I had not gotten
stung during the mad dash to the bag and back again!
When I got to the bottom
of the cliff one of the three guys watching the entire event remarked, "Hey,
were you as close to falling off the cliff as it looked from down
here?" I replied, "Well... yes,
I guess I was."
August 8, 2005:
Caesar and I are back to and living in Austin, TX after the conclusion
of our nomadic adventures traveling, living and working across North
America and Europe for almost exactly four and a half years. I've
started a new job and Caesar is resting his tired bones. It'll be
a challenging transition back to "normalcy" - fortunately,
it's back in one of my favorite cities.
July 25, 2005:
Made some stops to see the Capitol Reef NP for a couple of days and
then moved on to Moab, Utah - mountain biking Mecca of the world!
Caesar has had a break from the road by staying in the air-conditioned
camper while I have been touring Canyonlands NP, Arches NP, and biking
the famous Slickrock Trail. It's been 12 years since I biked this
rugged and brutal trail. Last time it took my top-gear chain ring,
and now it has taken my seat post clamp. I must say that this time
round is a little less rough on the body since I now have front shocks
on my mountain bike (I didn't have that on the bike I used the last
time in 1993!). Re-biking this grueling trail taught me that there
is an equation that seems true for the two times that I biked it: Slickrock
trail at 28 years old on a bike with no shocks equals Slickrock trail
at 40 years old on a bike with front shocks!
July 19, 2005:
After touring and much hiking in and around the canyons and rivers
of Bryce Canyon NP, Zion NP, and Cedar Breaks NM, Caesar and I
are starting to head east on our way to Kansas City... slowly.
July 12, 2005:
Caesar and I leave
Tonya and her dogs, Decco and Katie, behind in Mesa, AZ. We
hit the road again to get in some much anticipated travels prior
to when I would accept an offer of employment in the near
future. After hanging out for the last week or so in the forests
and mountains around Flagstaff, Caesar
and I are making our way up to Bryce Canyon NP in southern Utah.
A special "thanks" to
Tonya for all her hospitality, kindness, and support.
July 6, 2005:
Hiked to the top of Arizona's tallest mountain, Humphrey's Peak
(elevation: 12,633 feet). Although the trail was shorter than the
Mount Wrightsen trail, the start of the trail to Humphrey's Peak
was about the same elevation as the top of Mount Wrightsen. I could
feel the difference in the thinner air! The top of the mountain afforded
great views all the way around. To the north a fire was raging in
the Kaibab National Forest, I could see the North Rim of the Grand
Canyon, and the painted desert was full of
pink, tan and orange colors. To the east rose the cinder cones of
extinct volcanoes (as is all of the surrounding San Francisco Peaks
area) like Sunset Crater, and I was able to just barely make out
the Winslow Meteor Crater through the binoculars. To the south lay
the canyons of the Mogollon Rim and Sedona. The forest spread to
the west and so did Williams Mountain at 9100 feet.
July 2, 2005:
Hiked to the top of Mount Wrightsen (elevation: 9500 feet) with Tonya.
It was a long hot hike to the top and back of about 12 miles round-trip.
I'm proud of Tonya since this was the longest and highest she had
ever hiked. The top of the mountain gave us good views of Tucson
to the north and Nogales to the south, and desert all around us.
They call these high mountains in the desert "sky islands" because
of the thick vegetation covering them in comparison to the desert
below.
June 15 - 19, 2005:
Hiked from the
South Rim to the North Rim and back again over
a five-day and four-night period. Now for some much needed rest!
Story below [submitted for publication January 15, 2006].
One Foot in Front of the Other: Hiking Solo Across
the Grand Canyon
by
Karl Vochatzer
With eager anticipation I awakened at 4:00am from my slumber and
greeted the surprisingly cold mid-June morning air on the South Rim
of the Grand Canyon. I drove to the Back Country Office where I had
secured my hiking permit the prior day. In a slightly robotic manner
I made last minute preparations as an effort to stave off the increasing
anxiety I was feeling about hiking round-trip across the Grand Canyon
by myself. At 5:00am, I caught the bus to the South Kaibab Trailhead.
Stopping to read all the warnings at the trailhead of the dangers
of falling off the trail, the risk for heat exhaustion, sun stroke,
the effects of dehydration and the depletion of electrolytes from
sweating, I placed my best foot forward in a mixture of excitement
and apprehension.
The South Kaibab trail descends rapidly for seven miles to the Bright
Angel Campground on the other side of the Colorado River. The rough
trail is not only used by intrepid hikers, it is also heavily used
by mule trains carrying tourists unable or unwilling to hike up from
Phantom Ranch, the guest lodge near the campground that predominately
houses mule-riding overnighters. There is no water whatsoever along
the trail until the campground. The views, however, are vast and
spectacular. I paused frequently to savor the surroundings.
Mid-way down the trail I noticed a couple hiking toward me. Well,
I should say that she was hiking while he was more accurately staggering.
I stood there mesmerized at the scene that was playing out in front
of me. I watched with great concern as he moved forward like a fraternity
boy returning from a night out at the bars on his twenty-first birthday.
He edged one foot sloppily in front of him, wobbled from side to
side, and slowly repeated this process with the other foot after
the other. To make the scene even more surreal, he maneuvered like
this while holding an open umbrella, flattened and torn on one side,
that was intended to shade him, yet served him better in his delicate
balancing act. I was amazed that he could move himself forward, or
keep himself upright for that matter, suffering as it seemed from
the effects of heat exhaustion, dehydration and likely from a lack
of electrolytes in his system. I noted to myself his large backpack;
it was much the same size as the one I carried. As they approached,
I stated what seemed to me the obvious, that he didn't look so well.
I thought I noticed a subtle nod from her in affirmation to my statement
while he replied in a cotton-mouthed slur, “I'm fine mister.” I
continued with a few words of advice, although there wasn't much
else I could say to convince him of the seriousness of his condition.
I reluctantly continued on and hoped that they absorbed something
of what I said. Turning to regard them a few times, I was pleased
to see that they heeded my advice to stop in the shade of a small
tree just up the trail; one of the few shady spots for the next several
miles up the canyon. I hiked on with the encounter leaving a deep
impression.
The remainder of the way I rarely saw another person even though
I could see for miles within the wide canyon. The canyon was peacefully
quiet; the air, warm and still. Stopping in the shade under a small
rock overhang, I ate an early lunch. Another mile or so down the
trail I got my first view of the majestic Colorado River a thousand
or more feet below me. Remarkably, I could hear the distant roar
of whitewater rapids from my vantage point on the edge of the precipice.
The heat increased dramatically as the day went on and as I made
my way lower in elevation. Although still morning, the temperature
was already 95 degrees as I crossed the metal footbridge suspended
over the mocha-colored Colorado River. The hike to the Bright Angel
Campground took me almost six hours. My knees, already in neoprene
supports from the start, were aching and stiff from the constant
downhill pounding on the scalloped trail. In many places, the trail
resembled a long, steep staircase. The 43-pound backpack magnified
the effects of the pounding. If I had not been using an old hiking
pole (one that I had previously found in the Angeles National Forest
outside LA) my knees may not have made it this far.
After selecting a campsite shaded by a cottonwood tree, I spent
much of the remainder of the day sitting in the cold Bright Angel
Creek as an escape from the heat and to rejuvenate my sore knees.
The thermometer read 105 degrees in the shade, and 120 in the sun.
Preparing for dinner that evening my camp stove broke - the threads
on the stove were stripped. Fortunately, the friendly campers next
to me let me borrow their stove. After dinner, I made my "bed" on
the picnic table, and lying there, watched the bats circle around
me catching mosquitoes - good bats! Soon, thereafter, I delighted
at the sight of a shooting star streaking across the deep, blue,
night sky as I fell asleep.
The next morning, while drinking as much water as possible, I made
a final visit to the toilet before departing. I left my prepared
pack standing on the picnic table. Upon my return I noticed something
on top of the pack and immediately realized my mistake; I had left
it unattended with food inside - fair game to a squirrel. As I chased
the reluctant little thief away I noticed that he had carefully opened
the zipper to the top of my pack, as opposed to chewing through it,
and then tore through the zip-lock bags full of nuts and dried fruit.
A short distance away he was still stuffing his cheeks with the nut
he scored from my food cache. Not knowing his hygienic practices,
I relegated everything with a bite mark to my trash bag. Fortunately,
my loss was minimal and I still had sufficient food for myself.
Finally getting underway, I hiked along the gently-rising trail
over the seven miles to my destination, Cottonwood Campground. A
couple of miles into the hike I stopped in my tracks and silently
watched two mule deer meandering along the creek as they browsed
for their morning meal.
Later, I made a short detour to Ribbon Falls about two miles from
the campground. The waterfall was picture perfect as it poured over
the red cliff onto a giant stalagmite cone rising around 30 feet
from the base of the falls. The stalagmite was formed over the ages
from the calcium carbonate in the water, and was covered in brilliant
green moss. Since it was hot out, I gladly stood under the ribbon
of water as it splashed over my sweaty body.
Feeling refreshed, and clean, I ventured on to Cottonwood Campground
in the blazing sun and selected a site with as much shade as possible.
Cleaning myself up after a bout with a sooty stove I borrowed, I
paid a visit to a couple of other trekkers met earlier in the day
while resting in the shade of a giant boulder. Playing cards and
talking with the young woman from Georgia and her uncle from Florida,
we invited the resident ranger to join us after he made his rounds
in the campground. He returned a little later, and taking part in
the discussion, shared his experiences with calling in helicopter
rescues. One involved a fairly large woman who went too far on a
day-hike from the rim. The trail was too much for her and caused
both of her Achilles tendons to lock up. She could not walk any further.
He had to request a helicopter airlift to get her out of the canyon.
He said it was something that he didn’t like doing because
it put his staff (his personal friends) into dangerous situations
with each rescue. I thought long and hard about my knees, still aching
under the picnic table, and hoped that I would not be one of his
rescues.
On top of the picnic table that night, I saw another shooting star
cross the sky. I smiled and fell asleep as I contemplated the long
hike up to the North Rim in the morning.
The hike the next day involved "summiting" over 4000
feet in seven miles from where I was at Cottonwood. I was pretty
certain that I could make it to the top, but it was the banging of
my knees on the hike back down the same 4000 feet that concerned
me most. To ensure I had enough time to return during daylight, I
made my turn-around point 1:00pm, no matter what. Leaving camp at
6:00am I set out with a small day pack as I made my way gingerly
up the trail. I stopped often enough to take in the beauty of the
multi-layered walls towering above me.
Within reach of the top and feeling fairly confident of my return,
it seemed a shame to make it all the way to the remote side of the
canyon only to turn around without experiencing the awesome view
from the lodge overlooking the North Rim. After briefly basking in
the joy of crossing the canyon one-way, I hitched a ride for the
three-mile drive to the North Rim Lodge where I explored the stellar
vistas for an hour and a half in the cool 65-degree air at an elevation
of 8200 feet. Realizing that the hike was only half over that day,
and also for the entire journey, I caught another ride back to the
trailhead and began the knee-jarring descent back to Cottonwood.
I crossed paths with the young woman and her uncle still on their
way up the trail, I only saw three other people as I made my way
back down after that. I enjoyed this, even though I felt isolated
and alone; it was peaceful, too. Experiencing relief as I entered
my campsite in the twilight of evening, I ate dinner and fell fast
asleep.
On the fourth day, I continued the return path to Bright Angel Campground
with all the gear on my back again. Arriving exhausted, I laid myself
on the picnic table and dozed for a couple of minutes in the heat.
I must have hiked too quickly that day. When I stood up, I could
not bend my knees. Walking like Frankenstein to the creek, I sat
down in the cold water. An hour or so later, they were numb enough
to once again move a little.
While eating uncooked Raman noodles for dinner, I pondered the hike
out of the canyon from here. I concluded that hiking up 4800 feet
over the next ten miles with my knees in their current state was
really going to do me in. Actually, I reconsidered; it was hiking
all that distance and elevation, on stiff knees, during the intense
heat of the day that had me most concerned. The memory of that guy
staggering up the trail still haunted me. I replayed in my mind the
feature story on the trailhead board about two women, not just two
ordinary women, but two competitive marathon runners that placed
well in a previous Boston Marathon. The women underestimated the
desert conditions inside the canyon, lost their way, and unfortunately
split up from each other. Although one of them made it out, the other
one was found dead a few days later due to heat exposure and lack
of water. With all of this in mind, wisely or not, I made the decision
to leave that evening at sunset with the intention of hiking out
that night in the relative coolness of the night to avoid the sun
and heat of the day. Although I knew it was easy to lose the trail,
even in the daylight, it still seemed like a feasible and desirable
alternative to me.
The moon was already shining overhead after sunset. The temperature
was still a warm 90 degrees. I had close to an hour of twilight before
the moon alone would be lighting my way. I knew from previous nights
that she would disappear sometime around 1:00am or so, leaving me
in total darkness along the canyon wall.
Hiking in darkness was new to me, and in this case, a bit ethereal.
I had to put away the negative and fearful thoughts of what could
happen to me. I knew it was quite conceivable to step on a rattlesnake,
become prey to a hungry mountain lion, walk off a cliff, get lost
off trail, or what seemed more realistic, placing a foot on a loose
stone and badly twisting an ankle or knee. In the moonlight I could
see the trail and the surrounding terrain fairly well. It was in
the shadows of the canyon where the moon did not shine that I moved
forward like a blind man with his cane feeling out the unfamiliar
ground. I stuck my hiking pole out as I searched with it for rocks,
holes, gullies, and slopes on the terrain that I could no longer
see. After feeling about with the hiking pole, I then pushed up on
it as I moved forward to give my sore knees some relief. At other
times I used it to brace myself while going down after it served
as the aid to my limited sight. In the faint light I could just make
out the contours and shapes of the trail, but it was far too dark
to see any details or to know where my foot was about to step. Although
I did have a little flash light in my pack, I knew that its two batteries
would not last the entire night, and once the moon or the reflection
of the moonlight off the canyon walls disappeared, I'd be doomed
with absolutely no source of light at all when the batteries gave
out. This is how I inched my way up the trail in the darkness.
Once along the way I did nearly step on a snake barely visible as
it crossed the path at my feet. It was only a harmless little worm
snake, however. At one point I let my imagination briefly get to
me when I realized that I would be unable to see a rattler curled
up beside any one of the million rocks and ledges along the trail.
I reassured myself that nothing was going to "get" me whatsoever
by thinking of other wilderness situations I experienced where nothing
did "get" me. I convinced myself that even though there
were rattlers in this environment, I wasn't going to step on one.
Conquering this fear, I continued on in the deepening darkness. Besides,
at this point I was unwilling to even consider turning back.
That night the moon lit up the seemingly endless canyons in a monochromatic
splendor. I marveled at the novel perspective the moonlight gave
to the outlines of all that rock, and to all the gullies and ravines
that I passed along the trail. The darkness made crossing over creeks
an interesting task. I never knew with certainty if the shimmering
water was merely an inch or two deep, or if it was half a foot; a
difference that could lead to some wet and uncomfortable feet.
I discovered a funny thing about my eyes when they adjusted to the
scant light in the shadows of the canyon. The pupils of my eyes must
have been the entire size of my irises, because whenever I rounded
a corner into the full light of the moon, that usually innocent source
of light blinded me as if I were looking directly into the headlights
of an oncoming car. It was an odd discovery that I never would have
imagined about the light of the moon.
So up the canyon I continued in what seemed like an eternity with
the process by which I was now hiking. Normally I could accurately
figure the distance I had gone by the time I had been hiking. However,
I was not hiking under normal conditions, and as such, I had no idea
of the pace I was setting with each labored step. If I passed a sign
on the trail here or there, I didn’t see it. By 11:00pm I was
exhausted. I might have another hour or so before the moon passed
behind the rim of the canyon. A little further, I could tell that
I was parallel to a creek. I remembered from a map that the Indian
Garden Campground had a creek flowing through it. I pushed on expecting
at any moment to see the campground. It turned out to be a much longer
creek than I had expected.
Finally, as I approached some cottonwood trees I saw a building,
and realized that I was on the edge of the campground and midway
up the trail. At this point, I sensed that my exhaustion could lead
to something potentially dangerous. I reconsidered my position and
my options. I knew that it was unlikely that I could make it to the
top that night; I had no sleep and had already covered 12 miles that
day. I had to sleep. The issue now was that the rules for camping
in the back country were very strictly enforced. Rangers issue heavy
fines for not following the conditions of the permit, agreed to by
signature; conditions such as not littering, packing out everything
packed in, not feeding wildlife, and most relevant for me now, not
straying from the itinerary on the permit. This meant that you are
prohibited to camp outside of designated campgrounds, not even to
lie down along the trail just to catch a little sleep (that was considered
camping), and you are prohibited from staying in a campground that
you do not have a permit for doing so. As one who respects the rules
governing the preservation of our natural spaces, such was my dilemma.
As I quietly stepped into the Indian Garden Campground I made the
decision to risk getting caught in a campsite without the necessary
permit, given that there should even be an unoccupied site, an unlikely
scenario considering this was the closest campground on the trail
to and from Grand Canyon Village and the Colorado River. The few
sites that exist at this small campground are mostly concealed under
large cottonwood trees growing along the creek. Careful not to awaken
any campers, I stealthily searched for an empty site. I was having
no luck at all; they all seemed to be occupied. On the backside of
the campground on the way to the pit toilets, I finally found a single
empty site. I silently placed my food in the old metal ammo box that
served as the wildlife-proof food container, hung my backpack on
the pole to keep the cheeky squirrels out, placed my pad on the picnic
table, and thanked my lucky shooting stars for the place to rest
my weary body until dawn, about four hours away.
As I lay there, the moon vanished and left only stars in the night
sky. I slept lightly, but pleasantly. I awakened in a groggy haze
at dawn’s light, readied myself with the breakfast of an energy
bar, and started out on the remaining five miles up 3000 vertical
feet. Getting that little bit of rest overnight turned out to be
the right decision for me, even if I had received a fine as a consequence
of my action. I felt that I had the strength needed, and now the
light, to make it safely up the trail before getting too hot during
the day.
In stark contrast to the hike in the darkness of the night before,
I made my way up the switchbacks with the company of another hiker
I had met shortly after leaving the campground. Along the way, we
shared our personal experiences inside the canyon; her, as part of
a group going to the river and back, and me, trekking on my own.
As we talked, we settled into a pace that benefited both; she was
a little short of breath from the steep grade and I was still pushing
my inflamed knees to the limit. In time, we got to a relatively busy
part of the Bright Angel Trail, just a few miles down from Grand
Canyon Village. On several occasions we had to move aside as a mule
train precariously passed us on the narrow trail. We stood there
in the choking cloud of dust kicked up by the mules as they carried
the sedentary tourists down to the Phantom Ranch, the easy way.
Three rest and water stops later, and with the passing of five hours
of day light, we found ourselves approaching the South Rim where
we congratulated each other and said farewell. Although the finish
of this grand hiking adventure felt slightly anticlimactic after
the experience of the night before, I found myself thoroughly delighted
at the sight of the trailhead sign. With a wide grin on my tired
face, I paused there for a few minutes as I became astutely aware
of what I had accomplished. I had just successfully hiked from one
side of the Grand Canyon to the other side, turned around, and made
my way back again for a total of 50 very memorable miles
May
16, 2005:
Finished contract work with Prudential. Planning to stay in the Phoenix
area until I take another job.
April 29, 2005: Today Caesar
turned 10 years old! I can't believe it; he still acts so youthful
and looks so good. So today he gets some extra attention, love and
TREATS! Here's to Caesar on his 10th birthday! May he have 10 more!!!
April 25, 2005:
Staying with Tonya and her two dogs, Decco
and Katie, in Mesa, AZ.
March 20, 2005: Today a milestone birthday came and
went without much fanfare. Being a nomad has its drawbacks when something
like this comes along. For
my birthday - Caesar and I hiked up a small mountain, I bouldered
on Camelback Mountain, and I treated myself to a steak dinner.
February 25, 2005:
I have completed my first week back in the working world. The hardest
adjustment is not the business casual dress requirement, not the
hours of work, but rather getting used to being indoors all day long
and having so little free time again. Ah... freedom...
February 20, 2005: Caesar and I are back in Phoenix,
Arizona after a tour to the Salton Sea and Joshua Tree National Park.
I am getting
myself ready to work again. I have taken a contract job as an interaction
designer for Prudential here in Phoenix. I start on Tuesday, February
22. It's back to the grind again!
February 11, 2005: Caesar
and I are camping on the beach near Puerto Penasco, Sonora, Mexico
at the northern end of the Gulf of California, or the Sea of Cortez.
January 31, 2005: Caesar and I are checked into a hotel in Flagstaff, AZ in order
for me to conduct several phone interviews. Yes, that's right, the
tour
is
winding
down and coming to an end in the near future. I'll be taking a full-time
job again. Otherwise, we are visiting my friend Stacie (from the
Austin/Netpliance days) here in Flagstaff and Sedona.
December 6, 2004: "This isn't a tale
of heroic feats. It's about two lives running parallel for a while,
with common aspirations and similar dreams." - Ernesto
Guevara de la Serna, 1952
After running parallel for
an incredible 25,000 miles (40,000 km) and 15 months on the road
in North America (in addition to the Australasian and European adventures),
Liesbet and I concluded our travel companionship. At the end of a
month-long stay in the San Francisco Bay area, we went our separate
ways - not without some difficulty, yet very amicably, and with much
continued appreciation for each other. I'll be traveling down the
road with Caesar seeking new adventures along the way.
September 5, 2004 - Seward, Alaska: Liesbet dropped
me off at a trail and waited for me down the highway on our way
to Seward, Alaska. I was looking for a mountain biking challenge. I
found it, and mountain biked the 23 mile Johnson Pass trail. It was
a pretty good trail, but
quite demanding over the course of 23 miles. Even though there were
a few people on the trail for the first few miles, I had the last 16
miles all to myself. Unfortunately for me, and for Liesbet
while
she
waited,
I blew out the rear tire on my bike on a long down-hill run. Good thing
that I bike prepared. So alone in the wilderness, I
repaired
the
2 holes
in the tube and took off again. By the end of the 23 miles, I was tired
and ready to see Liesbet and Caesar waiting for me at the end.
August 23, 2004 - The Stampede Trail: After
spending the week in Denali, we drove back to the start of the Stampede
Trail
just a short distance
to the north. We had spent a night at the end of the drivable section
of the gravel road 8 miles from the Glenn Highway on our way from Fairbanks
to Denali. Now we were back again so that I could do a 3-day solo hike
while Liesbet and Caesar hung out at the beginning of the trail in
the camper. I was enticed to come here after reading the story of
an idealistic young man, named Chris
McCandless, that died here on a personal experiment
to live in
the wilds of the Alaskan bush. The story of McCandless is told in
the bestseller
called Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer.
The Stampede Trail was a
partially built road to a gold mine claim in
the 1960's. The builders of the road scrapped a path across the boreal
forest, but didn't make any bridges over the rivers. While on the
job they lived in a few old buses converted to basic
living quarters with a couple cots and a wood stove. The road was
never completed and was left for nature to reclaim,
which
is precisely
what
she did.
Before abandoning the area the road crew left one
of the buses near a river for the occasional hunter to use. Years
later, McCandless' body was found in the bus. I wanted to check
out the area and to challenge myself by hiking the 20 miles (32 km)
one way to the now infamous bus across the remnants of the Stampede
Trail.
In preparing for the hike
I borrowed a bear proof container from Denali NP and spoke to a
few people about
the hike. Some made it, some didn't. The greatest obstacle is fording
the swift flowing Teklanika River which is fed by melting glaciers
within Denali NP. Setting out in the morning I lugged my heavy backpack
full of gear 8 miles to the Teklanika River and set up camp. I was
a bit anxious all night long with the sound of the boulders rolling
along the bottom of the rushing river and the thought of some grizzly
bear tasting my toes through the tent wall. In the morning the sun
was blotted out by a dense fog. It added to the apprehension I already
had for crossing the river... <more to come>
August 13, 2004 - Denali National Park: From Fairbanks we traveled
through the little town of Nenana on our way to Denali National Park.
Denali
is
home to
a lot
of wildlife
and North America's highest mountain, Mount McKinley, which rises from
around 2,000 feet (620 m) elevation
at its base to 20,320 feet (6,195 m) at its summit, is the largest
elevation gain from base to summit of any mountain in the world. Incredibly,
we have already seen it on a clear evening from Fairbanks approximately
200 miles away!
August 11, 2004 - Fairbanks, Alaska: Back
in Fairbanks again to replenish our resources of food (human consumption),
dog food, diesel,
water, and tires(!). Yes, we blew a tire on the return trip
from Prudhoe Bay (the town of Deadhorse), Alaska on the Arctic Ocean.
The
road is a mostly pot-holed gravel/dirt mess strewn with jagged rocks
and called The Dalton Highway. The Dalton was the "haul
road" built
for transporting materials during the construction of the Alaska oil
pipeline from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, Alaska. The Dalton starts 85
miles (137 km) north of Fairbanks and runs for 414 miles (670 km) to
the oil fields around Prudhoe Bay where it stops 8 miles short of the
Arctic
Ocean.
The general
public cannot go further unless you have security clearance, or you
take the only guided tour available out of the Arctic Caribou Inn,
which if you've come this far is practically automatic. The Dalton
is a notoriously
hungry road in the extreme remote Arctic wilderness. It chews up
tires
like
a Labrador
Retriever
puppy chews up shoes, and everything else. Knowing this
but not wanting the extra expense and
hassle
of getting
a second
spare tire (something that every publication and person in Alaska warns
the intrepid traveler on the Dalton to do), we drove nearly half the
posted speed limit most all of the time, which was around 30 mph
(48 kph) rather than 50 mph (80 kph)!... unbelievably some people
do drive this rough road that fast. After
the
rear tire blew on a relatively smooth stretch of the road, we drove
even slower... much like an old couple out on a Sunday drive. Now
this is a bit like driving the roughest gravel road you've ever been
on
from
say Dallas,
Texas
all the way to Kansas City, Missouri, AND BACK AGAIN! (only you have
to add a large mountain range in there, too, that you have to cross).
We took our time and spent
11
days during which we had weather ranging from
sunny
and
85
F (28
C) degrees to 32 F (0 C) degrees and snow, yes, snow at the end of
July, not too uncommon at 70 degrees north latitude, a couple of hundred
miles above the Arctic Circle.
Even so, we joined
the "polar bear club" by taking a dip in the Arctic Ocean...
au naturale, of course. The driver informed us (more like warned us)
that the the water temperature was
35 F (2 C), the air
temperature was 36 F (2 C), the winds were 40 mph (65 kph), and thus
making a wind chill factor of +1 F (-17 C). I suppose that this
only
made it MORE attractive to us, than
less. Although the water was a bit numbing, and it was not as difficult
as I imagined to dunk myself completely under water, by the time I
got back onshore it felt like a thousand small icy needles were
prickling my legs in the wind. So there you have it, adventure
or insanity?
A noteworthy point - we
have now driven the furthest reaches of continuous road in the continental
United States from sub-tropical "Mile 0" in
Key West, Florida to the oil company town of Deadhorse, Alaska along
the shores of the Arctic Ocean. You cannot drive any further in either
direction. The funny thing to me is that we never really planned on
going to either extreme
-
it
just
developed
as we
went. It's a real pleasure and relief to travel in such a manner.
July 25, 2004 - Fairbanks, Alaska: We finished the
Alaska Highway and made it up to Fairbanks. On the way, we really liked
the laid-back town
of
Whitehorse,
Yukon, and its surroundings
along
the
Yukon
River. We have enjoyed
the nature up here and have spent a lot of time exploring
trails, waterfalls,
and natural wildlife habitat. The really wonderful thing is that we
usually retire each night in a secluded area in the woods without anyone
else around. However,
just the
other night
we had a large unexpected visitor at midnight - a black bear pushing
on the truck. He was looking for food and must have learned that campers
are
full of
it. To our surprise he raised up and peered right into our dinette window
- over 6 feet (nearly 2 meters) from the ground! Fortunately, he gave
up this quest after I hit the window three times with a cushion. He departed,
leaving
us
with
his
paw
prints
on
all sides
of the truck and camper. Caesar, our trusty guard dog, was fast asleep
for most of the event!
Next up... we will cross the Arctic Circle along the graveled Dalton
Highway, then head down to Denali NP with the towering Mt. McKinley.