The day’s light vacillates on the horizon. Night reaches down from above slowly removing day’s grasp on the sky. The cold of the night pushes against day’s warmth and the battle is displayed in darkening blues and vibrant oranges. We watch the light’s battle with darkness as we trudged up and through countless switchbacks. The impending night’s cold begins to lurk into our bones fighting against the warmth created by continually moving. We march on into the darkness and finally give in, putting on our headlamps and continuing.
By any logic we could demise, this was probably a bad idea.
Shelby had sent out the call for one last (not sure why it’s the last, but I guess it is) trip to the top of Pine Valley this past weekend. That sounded awesome, there were only two problems. I worked Saturday till 5 and then had to be back to the shop by noon to lead a group ride. I was going to say no, but when I mentioned it to KB she was all in, no questions asked. She wanted the mountains.
It was after about an hour and a half of hiking that the above scene was played out in the sky. Just as we were climbing back up out of Hop Valley, we were able to look West and see the sun setting on our part of the world. Watching it sink with its accompanying colors was worth every minute of effort. It’s always nice to have those kind of moments at the beginning of a trip because then everything that happens afterward is a bonus. And we had some big ones to come.
With headlamps securely strapped to our heads our world shrank from the vastness of the mountain passes to the thirty feet or so that encircled us. Our pace slowed as the climbing got steeper, rockier and much harder to navigate. The trail was washed out from the recent torrential downpours that we have experienced. The normally rocky climb was closer to a talus field than an actual trail. We continue to trudge watching the GPS for that moment when you are within striking distance and you can put the day on overdrive and coast down into the valley. We hit our high point around 8:30 and could hear laughter and boisterous conversation floating up to us from the valley below, Ben and Shelby.
KB and I reach the valley and then follow the trail around to the campsite that we always camp at and have never had anyone else be there to keep us from camping there. I guess that is the reason I love this place. We can smell the fire, but the laughter and conversation has gone quiet.
We breach the light coming from the blaze. Ben is abnormally calm sitting on the ground, leaning up against the log with his feet toward the fire looking entranced by the dancing flame. Shelby turns and greets us with an excitement I was glad to hear come from him. His words are less important than the fact that what he said made all of us burst into laughter. Ben gets up and begins his usual “doing things.” Shelby stays put.
Seeing that it is a little before 9, I have worked 9 hours and hiked for 2.5, the first thing I do is pull the bottle of Jack out and take a swig. Ben asks for a snort and I pass him the bottle. KB is cold, she starts putting on more close. I grab my base layer to find that it’s more holes than insulation. One of the many perils of being a hobo. The stove is dragged out and water is quickly boiling. I set up the tent and roll out my bed. KB mentions that she has forgotten her pad.
The rest of the evening went something like this:
Shelby – “Kathleen, come sit down and talk to me.”
KB – “OK.” She sits down at the fire. “What is it, Shelby?”
Silence
Shelby – “I really need you guys to talk to me.”
Us Guys – “OK, Shelby, what is it?”
Silence
Shelby – “I really need to tell you guys something.”
Us guys – “Ok, what is it, Shelby?”
Silence, accompanied by the most stoic cold face I have ever witnessed.
We never did figure out what it was that Shelby wanted to tell us but this went on for most of the night.
And then that magical hour when the whiskey is gone, the fire is dying and the old, aching bones start to want sleep hit and we all retired to our respective down cocoons.
KB wakes me up. She is freezing. She had in fact forgotten her pad and seeing that it is a insulating factor for her sleeping bag, she is cold and miserable. She brings Chaco into the tent to keep her warm. I offer her both my bag and pad and in typical KB fashion she refuses through a shiver.
Just when I think we are about half way through the night, I roll over and find my watch remembering that I never set an alarm. It’s 6:12. Hmm, I guess it’s time to get up. I roll back onto my back and close my eyes for a few more minutes. Before I fall back to sleep, I force my eyes open and begin to ready by exit from the tent. KB is mad telling me to be quiet because she can’t sleep. I tell her that’s OK, it’s time to get up. She groans.
I crawl out of the tent, start the fire using Ben’s prepared nest and get water going for coffee. This is the first time Ben hasn’t been the one up first, by a couple of hours. The fire is raging. KB and Shelby come out of their tents. The night’s happenings begin to be recounted. There’s a lot of laughter. The morning isn’t near as cold as we had expected it to be, but there’s definitely a chill to it. The breeze is coming through the trees pulling the leaves off the Quakies and scattering them throughout the morning’s sky.
KB and I need to be heading down by 8 for me to be back in time to take care of my responsibilities. To my surprise, we are ready in time and we say our goodbyes walking away from the warmth of the fire to begin the steep climb back out of the valley. The cold we were fighting with the fire, is now offset by our body’s warmth as our muscles return to the trudge that is backpacking.
Once we top out, again, KB takes the lead and quickly drops me. Oh yea, she can move. After the night’s hike in, I had forgotten that she gets faster the longer we are in the mountains. Soon I find myself chasing her back down the mountain. The trail is now awakened by the morning’s light and I can witness the fall colors that were hidden on our way in. The Quakies are popping yellow and as we continue to get lower and lower, the oaks begin to appear in their orange hues.
As strange as it sounds, I swear the air is getting colder as we descend. By the time we hit the line determining wilderness from whatever the hell else is out there, my hands are cold and I’m glad I never took my long johns off. The dogs, all three, go barreling into the Santa Clara. And we then make the last couple of switchbacks back to the truck. We made perfect time, arriving just a tad after 10:30.
And 14 hours after we had left it sitting there, we climb back in and fire up the Mooseknuckler-mobile. We crank the heater and defrost and begin our drive back into civilization. Now that we are done, I can’t think of any logical reason that it was a bad idea.
P. L. and R.
