[pct-l] "Ode to Al McGee"

[Campy]

The following "Ode to Al McGee" was written by Alan M. Young, a 1979  
PCT through hiker. Alan was Vice President, then President of the PCTA  
in 1995-98. He wrote the Ode in 1996. I received it from the PCTA's  
immediate past Executive Director Robert Ballou, and when I read it I  
knew it ought to be brought to the attention of pct-l. Alan gave his  
permission to show it again - we believe it was in the Communicator at  
one time.

"Ode to Al McGee"
by Alan M. Young   (with aploogies to Robert Service)

There are strange things done under the western sun
where the mountains heave and fold
The Pacific Crest Trail has its secret tales
that would make your blood run cold.

The Range of Lights have seen queer sights,
but the queerest they ever did see,
Was when I hiked the route, without a doubt,
I carried Al McGee.

Now Al McGee was from New York City
without mountain or wilderness,
Why he left his home in the East to roam
Muir's trail is anyone's guess.

And here's the kicker about this city slicker,
He was as green as his plastic tube tent,
He had too much gear and was bear-meat fer sure
With heavy pack down the trail he went.

A tenderfoot scout knows more what its 'bout
than old Al at the Mexican border;
At the pass of Cajon, he pulled out a cell phone
To make still another REI order.

On the north side of Jacinto it was Al I ran into
and he talked of his home in the town,
He had Schaffer's book, still every wrong turn he took
 From this mountain he had to get down.

I led the way and we descended all day,
we made camp with a dinosaur,
the spot was flat and I layed out my mat,
who could ask for anything more?

All day we were bookin' now it was time for the cookin',
pots and pans from our packs we would pull
His menu it seems was just dog food and beans
This green horn could fart like a bull!

He was thin as a rail along the Whitewater trail
and I didn't mind his occassional bark
I'll never know how he climbed Gorgonio
we made camp just before dark.

He turned to me and "friend" says he,
as he chewed on Purina Dog Chow,
"its the blistering heat and my aching feet
for this hiker the end isnt' far now.

This heavy pack is what breaks my back
and the water- I failed to boil it,
But worse than the load its that I'm 'bout to explode
I can't find a clean public toilet!"

The wilderness ranger told of the danger
of walking without permit on file
I showed him mine, but Al got a fine
He lost his at Devil's Postpile.

And if I die, don't let me lie,
out where the rattlesnakes coil,
I want you to swear that foul or fair
you'll carry me to Canadian soil.

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no
and in the morning we packed up our kits
I hoped he would rally across the Antelope Valley
but he raved about calling it quits.

He was out of luck on the aquaduct
where the sun beat down on his head
Buzzards were circling and coyotes were lurking
as McGee fell over dead.

Hikers live by a code, I'll have to carry this load
I cursed the day I met Al McGee.
The guidebook never said I'd have to deal with the dead
on my Pacific Crest odyssey.

I grabbed a sack from inside my pack
and stuffed in what was left of this guy
he weighed a ton, it wasn't much fun
but I promised to give it a try.

500 miles down I was in Weldon town
The post office opened its door.
I signed in the book, then I took a look
at the swap box that sat on the floor.

Macaroni and rice would be awfully nice
and I thought of trading my friend
but I already had lots of spaghetti
He'll stay in my pack 'til the end.

Up the Kern River plateau we'd see hikers go
high where the air is thin
The streams were quite frigid and McGee he went rigid
How will I tell next of kin?

On Mt. Whitney's traverse it only got worse
this slope is no place for the rookies
The others up there were sick from thin air
they met Al and upchucked their cookies.

I was tired of sloggin' so Al became my tobbagan
I had to hang on real tight
Because he was dead he made a great sled
Camped at Crab Tree Meadows that night

When the trail's filled with snow maps show where to go
But I was tired and ran out of gas
They must have been nappin' when the route they were mappin'
There's no forest on Forester Pass!

In the Sierras is where hungry bears is
and my food went up in a tree
But one hungry bear had quite a scare
when he bagged the sack holding McGee.

The weather warmed and the mosquitos swarmed
all over Yosemite Park
My eyes I would close but they flew up my nose
Al and I blamed Rogers and Clarke.

My mother would fail to put in the mail
the one thing I specifically requested
She didn't care that I need underwear
My patience was thoroughly tested.

I was starting to itch so with McGee I switched
Even these started to crawl
I sent Mom a letter and told her it was better
walking without any at all.

In Sierra City a bartender took pity
and poured us the wine of the hop
Al looked real pale while drinking the ale
and the bartender told him to stop.

Belden's a kick, met a motorcycle chick
In this town I wanted to stay,
But I couldn't have her, she preferred the cadaver
So we packed up and went on our way.

A smart fella would bring an umbrella
its wet wherever one goes,
I was cold, but Al started to mold
Mushrooms grew from his nose.

On Labor Day we made our way
to the lodge at Timberline,
I ordered a suite and rested my feet
On the very best food we would dine.

The boss didn't think it was funny that I had no money
I was broke and I had to confess,
Al gave no resistance so with my assistance
he paid with American Express.

The bridge gods charge a toll to take the long stroll
two bits is the going rate
So I tied a sheet to Al McGee's feet
and windsurfed to Washington state.

A few hundred more miles and we were all smiles
to end this six month campaign,
Drinks were in order as we crossed the border
So I uncorked our finest champagne!

With each passing stride I took greater pride
As we finished the Pacific Crest Trail,
A pal's last need is a thing to heed
On this mission I did not fail.

I kept the pace and camped with no trace
For home I was ready to fly,
But I racked my brains about his remains
What would I do with this guy?

The trail I had wondered now I sat and pondered
I'll swear that I did my best
The options were few on just what to do
To give this through hiker his rest.

On the plane you can't carry-on a bag full of carrion
So I lit a funeral pyre
But I couldn't cremate my Pacific Crest mate
And had to extinguish the fire.

As I got to thinkin' my heart started sinkin'
About how much I would miss this chap,
I'll keep my friend right up to the end
When I canoe to the polar ice cap

There are strange things done under the western sun
where the mountains heave and fold
The Pacific Crest Trail has its secret tales
that would make your blood run cold.

The Range of Lights have seen queer sights,
but the queerest they ever did see,
Was when I hiked the route, without a doubt,
I carried Al McGee.


-- Alan Young,  9/21/96

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