[pct-l] After Action Report - Earthquake Attack

[hiker97 at aol.com]

Yes, once again your intrepid hiking hero, Switchback, has cheated death. I was on a Reconnaissance-in-Force of the famous Trail Pass-Cottonwood Pass PCT Loop area. The parking lot is at 10,000 feet.



This is in the Inyo National Forest and Golden Trout Wilderness not far from the PCT trail town of Lone Pine and Mt. Whitney. Other names in close proximity of the trailhead are Last Chance Meadow and Poison Meadow. Not very encouraging to the humble hiker.



I leave home at mid morning and drive through dangerous Death Valley over to the Ranger station near Lone Pine, CA. I get my permit, buy some books, 2010 calendars, and some Sequoia tree seeds to plant in my backyard. I figure they will make a nice grove in about 1,000 years.



Next, I go up a short distance north to Independence to visit the Norman Clyde (The Pack That Walked - 85-pound pack on his Sierra explorations and scores of first accents) exhibit at the museum. There is an old climbing pal of his still living in Pasadena, CA and I might try to hook up with him in the future. He was part of the group with Mr. Clyde who first climbed Mt. Whitney’s east face in 1931.

It is getting late, so I check into the famous Dow Villas Motel. I do not stay in John Wayne’s favorite room (#20 in the newer motel section). I always stay in the older and less expensive section. This time I am in room #200 with private bath and upstairs in the northwest corner. I have a great view of Mt. Whitney, th
e Sierras, and the main street below. This way I can view any unsavory characters that always haunt trail towns. Characters like me.



I was planning to do some camping up at the Horseshoe Meadow area the next few days. I wanted to check things out for a hike later in the month through Trail Pass and Cottonwood Pass on the PCT. The weather looks great. After my usual dinner at the Merry-Go-Round restaurant, I am back at my room lying on my bed watching some TV. All at once, the bed moves and a rumble can be heard throughout the old 1923 building. It is easily recognizable as an earthquake. A sharp one, but only lasts for about 3 or 4 seconds. Later it is recorded as 5.1.

I open the curtains to see if I can observe any landslides in the Sierras. People are coming out of the pizza parlor across the street with cell phones to their ears. I see no dust clouds or rock sparks in the Sierras. Other after shocks follow. I think about the road up to Horseshoe Meadows. It is very exposed to rockslides. Amazingly exposed. 



Later I go down stairs to the sitting area to read one of my books. Everyone is talking about the earthquakes. Some women are sitting outside on the benches. Later the next morning at around 4:30 AM, I am jolted again by a large earthquake shock. The epicenter turns out to be about 10 miles from Lone Pine exactly on the road I traveled on into town. I wonder about the 1872 earthquake that leveled Lone Pine. I also wonder if these are precurso
rs to the big one or just normal aftershocks that will drain off.



I go over later to the Alabama Hills Café and Bakery for breakfast. A nice local place with good food, but at tourist gold-rush day’s prices. I decide that I had better head up the road to Horseshoe Meadows. The road is littered with rocks. Some probably weigh in at 1,000 pounds. I carefully maneuver around the obstacles. As a hard-core backpacker, I do not let a little earthquake get in my way. The October weather is good and the air is fresh in the High Sierra backcountry.



I arrive at the 10,000-foot trailhead parking lot and get out to checkout the local area. The Cottonwood Lakes trailhead parking lot is full of cars, but my Cottonwood Pass parking lot has only a few vehicles. Then the thought strikes me that if another earthquake hits the road could be closed behind me. I would be here until the spring thaw with many hungry hikers. The Donner Party saga comes into mind. We more plentiful folks would be the first to go. They could probably feast off me for at least several days.



I was hoping to hook up later in the month up here with renowned mountain men Crash and Meadow Ed, but do not know if our schedules will allow for that. These are the kind of men that can drop a charging grizzly at 300 yards with a Spencer .56 buffalo gun. Men who cast their own bullets. Out here, you want to be with folks who can reload on the run when arrows fly and gunpowder is in the ai
r. I mean not by inserting bullets into a chamber, but the type who think ahead and carry extra-preloaded cylinders to be quickly flipped in and out of the gun. Any misfires will be backed up with the cold steel of a well-used Bowie knife. Many a bear and trail town bully/braggart has learned the hard way not to mess with Sierra hard-core backpackers. Jim Bowie and Galen Clark would understand. 



One thing I am especially interested in is any signs of Mexican drug cartels and Terminator mountain women. There seems to be more weed grove busts now days. There are bobby-traps and armed guards. However, there are worse dangers out here. I ask around about any strange disappearances and check the trailhead information center for any wanted posters.



This is prime ambush country. All your senses must be on full alert for any change in sounds of insects, birds, and the wind in the grasses. Tiny changes might indicate some Indians, mountain lions, outlaws, or captive selling trail pirates. I scan the scene for any unusual movements, trail dust, etc. Tom Brown’s Tracker School would be proud of me. Nevertheless, I have to admit that Meadow Ed’s scalp would make a poor trophy on some Indian’s pony or tipi. Crash and I have more to offer. However, the thing that strikes fear into the heart of any Sierra trail man is the infamous Terminators.



These women consider any male activity not directly related to their well-being and benefit to be a waste and goof-off. I know so
me of these women. I was surprised that their posters were not at the trailhead information center. They prowl backcountry trails and trail towns for us vernal males as if we are a prized beaver pelt or Indian blanket. Conventional wisdom says that most male backpackers who disappear from the hiking world go back to careers, families, and civilization. Too often, this is not the case. They have been shanghaied. 



Terminators use Jedi mind tricks. They always need water bottle carriers and especially woodchoppers this time of year for the coming winter, “Come with me to the land of milk and honey. Darling, I will take care of you.” Then later when it is too late, “Go over there, get that ax, and chop me some wood for my fireplace.” “Go over there and get that rake and muck out my barn.” “Carry my backpack.“ Etc., etc., etc.

A woman might approach you in a trail town late at night with wide eyes and demure smile. She quietly tries to liquor you up. Be especially careful if she starts to use the words, honey, sweetie pie, sugar, darling, precious, and baby. This usually happens after you have told her about your mountain man exploits; bear baiting, Indian fighting, cross-country navigation, trail records, log cabin building, etc. Many a backpacker has disappeared after accepting her invitation from her arsenal of invitations.





By the way, there is a subspecies of older Terminators called Cougar Terminators. They are more like Ninjas and 
strike silently and quickly without warning. They are very experienced women and are use to ordering men around without any questions. Sometimes they hunt in packs like raptors. 





Now don’t get me wrong. A good mountain woman is worth her weight in gold. A good trail man will worship the ground a good trail woman walks on. Most trail women are the best of friends and partners --- none better. They brave blizzards, low rations, share hardships, quickly reload when fighting off Indians and pirates, and nurture their men folk. They fill in those unique gaps in men’s lives that men just seem so poor at fulfilling alone. When encouragement is needed, when a good trail meal is sorely missed, and extra help is needed in times of want, these hardy trail women come through instinctively. They keep men more civilized and healthy.



After a few hours of observations, my Prius and I carefully retrace my road route down the mountains. On the hillsides, millions of rocks look even more menacing --- ready to leap out and crush my little head. I swerve and dodge the boulders on the road. In some places, the road is reduced to one lane. I go over in my mind my hiking return trip before the big snows hit the Sierras. As the governator says, “I’ll be back.”



Respectfully submitted and faithfully reported.



Your obedient servant,

 

Switchback the Trail Pirate

PCT Mountain Man and Hiker Trash Samurai