[pct-l] need some info - Or keeping found!

[calliger@infolane.com (R.J.Calliger)]

JoAnn-

All in all I have passed 25,000 miles of hiking and running since 1964
- I was amazed when I added it up!!!- anyway...

The most serious injory I had was slipping on my driveway in the snow
and ice which has set me back almost 3 months of almost total
inactivity.

I have come across numerous single female hikers and not one on all
these years had a problem...

If you have a good basic first aid kit, talk to people on the trail,
call when you can, maybe even take a pepper spray cannister...
you will be fine.

A friend sent this report to me so it is ok to post it here...but I
have removed her name; it was her first solo trip. I found the
report and her focus to be...well....I will let you judge for yourself!

Have fun and Happy Trails.

--Rich


Just me and Mr Marmot on Vogelsang and Fletcher


                     "And then a hero comes along,
                     with the strength to carry on;
                     and you cast your fears aside,
                     and you know you can survive.
                  So when you feel like hope is gone,
                     look inside you and be strong,
                   and you'll finally see the truth,
                       that a hero lies in you."

                             - Mariah Carey

Was it by chance that this, one of my favorite pop tunes, was playing on
two radio stations at the same time as I left Palo Alto on the afternoon of
Friday, August 3 for my
first solo adventure in the Sierras? Perhaps, but I have a penchant for the
dramatic, and I preferred to see it as a sign of great things ahead.

What propelled this middle-aged woman to go off into the wilderness by
herself? Most importantly, to begin to find out just what my skill level
is. I'm very confident in
certain areas of mountaineering (I know I'm a strong hiker for instance,
and there have been times when I've lead the way), but there are other
areas where I almost always
defer to others - navigation or hanging the food, for example. So it was
about a year ago that I got this idea into my head to go out alone - with
no one to rely on but myself.
This was the only way I would feel free enough to try what I wanted to try,
to make mistakes and not have to worry about looking stupid or incompetent
in front of anyone
else.

I am not so afraid of the bears, or the dark, or the weather, or bad men
out to hurt me; my greatest fear is of getting lost. I have learned how
taking one wrong turn, or going
off route by a few degrees can cause you to become lost, resulting in at
the very least minutes or hours of extra time trying to find your way back;
at worst, becoming so lost
that you can never find your way out and no one finds you, until it's too
late.

I can think of a couple of things that might have been obstacles to taking
such a trip in the past that I have overcome in the last couple of years.
First, I used to be deathly
afraid of bears. But over the years I became convinced that they were not
interested in hurting humans; they just want your food.

Second, was my inability to drive long distances without starting to fall
asleep at the wheel. It always amazed me how men especially could drive
endless distances seemingly
without needing rest. Surely this must be some kind of testosterone
advantage. But last year I drove to the East side and back successfully
without help (my passenger did not
drive a stick shift). So I knew I could do it if I had to. That was so
liberating!

And so I began, full of excitement for the adventure ahead. Friday night I
crashed in the back of my car at the Sunrise Lakes trailhead in Yosemite.
There's a deluxe
portapotty there - a big draw for me, the toilet paper queen. I got the
idea to cover myself with my space blanket, not only to keep warm, but to
camouflage myself from the
rangers, who could ticket me if they found me.

As I lay there gazing out the back window at the stars, I flashed back on
my early days in California, over 20 years ago. I had a big old hatchback
Oldsmobile then, with
plenty of room for sleeping when you put the back seat down. I used to go
camping by myself, and have all kinds of adventures around the state. I was
young, full of
dreams, and lonely too. So much has happened since then - I've been to hell
and back - and I've tended to dismiss that girl in her twenties as someone
I don't know anymore.
But I got in touch with her again. Her innocence. Her keen sense of
adventure. She's still a part of me and I'm striving to love and accept all
the parts of me.

At the permit booth by 7am, I endured a series of bear stories told by a
rather chatty ranger who was in love with the big furry critters. Our
mission was to save the bears, she
assured us. To that end, we should rent the bulky nearly 3-lb. bear-proof
canisters to keep our food and other smelly goods in. Not being confident
in my food-hanging
abilities, you remember, I consented, and after a hearty breakfast at the
Tuolemne grill, I picked up my very own canister at the store. With all due
respect, Ms. Ranger, my
main concern is me and my food, not the welfare of the bears...

It was very refreshing to be able to pack up at the trailhead with no time
pressures from anyone but myself. I could attend to all those little
last-minute details to my heart's
content. Still, a 9:10am departure is not too bad I think.

I had scaled down my original plan somewhat, due to the snow conditions,
and not wanting to bite off more than I could chew on Sunday and not make
it back to the store by
7pm to return the canister. My goal now was to hike up to Vogelsang Lake
and see what the lay of the land was and how I felt. This entailed about a
7.5 mile hike with 2,000
feet elevation gain, a very moderate day.

I began hiking up the trail, full of expectation, attending to every sign
and trail junction, knowing that I alone was responsible for my journey
this day. I travelled up the John
Muir "Highway" for awhile, then took the Rafferty Creek turnoff, where,
after a long uphill section you finally spill out into a beautiful meadow
below Tuolemne Pass, and
you catch your first glimpse of Fletcher and Vogelsang peaks. I checked my
maps often, not because of any navigational challenge (the trail was clear,
at least to the
Vogelsang High Sierra Camp), but to compare the map to the features around
me, to see if I could tell where I was and if I could pick out various
landmarks. To my delight, I
felt that it all came together for me. Yes, that must be Rafferty Peak over
there! I can tell by the long gradual slope to the summit. And that's
obviously Fletcher. Look at the
steep broad base and the vast flat top. I was able to match the features I
was seeing in nature with what was drawn on the map. I've been frustrated
so many times by my
seeming inability to know where I was or what was what in the mountains. So
I just follow along, enjoying the scenery but not participating much in the
route finding.
Thinking everyone knows more than me. But I underestimate myself! Out here
all alone, I have permission to stop, examine, and guess. This makes me
very happy.

One interesting thing that happens when you travel alone is that you tend
to be much more outgoing and friendly to strangers. Does this stem from
man's inborn need to
connect to other human beings? So that when you don't have a travelling
companion, you naturally reach out more to others? Whatever it is, I
enjoyed that aspect of the trip
very much. Stopping to talk to other hikers and backpackers, even the
cowboys and girls leading packtrains and their clients, God forbid. On the
way out as a matter of fact, I
met a very nice family from my home state. We exchanged names and I hope to
call them
 to ask them how the rest of their trip went.

Another time, I stopped to talk to a couple that was out dayhiking. The guy
looked at my map and we discussed possible peaks they could do that
afternoon. I looked over at
his girlfriend, sitting passively, waiting. Gosh, that has been me so many
times, I thought. It felt strange and wonderful to be playing the male role
this time. Indeed a great
part of this trip was about releasing my male energy - the part of us that
makes decisions, takes risks, and takes action.

On the way up to Vogelsang Lake (10,324 feet), you pass right by the High
Sierra Camp. It's a real ghost town this year, as are all the High Sierra
Camps. I thought about
how disappointed all those people must be who had reservations only to find
that the camps would never open in 1995.

It was here that the trail started fading badly under the snow. But it's
just a short way up to the lake from there and the way is pretty obvious.
It was early afternoon when I
reached the lake, a welcome sight. It was partially frozen with snow
covering much of the landscape, but there were plenty of sandy rocky places
for campsites. I decided to
camp there and found a spot away from the lake facing west, hidden from
view. The snow makes for a rather desolate ambience, but it was blessing
because it helped to keep
the people away - I was the lone camper there that night.

The old battle raged within - should I go for the gusto and try for a peak
this afternoon or take a completely different tack and rest, write, and
reflect. I couldn't do both. Not
wanting to be too compulsive, I made a decision to go for the latter. After
lunch I really wanted to nap, so that's just what I did. When I awoke,
however, a wave of nausea
hit me so bad I thought I must be coming down with the flu or food
poisoning. What would I do? Ask for help from a passerby? Hike out as soon
as I was strong enough?
Stay put until I recovered (I didn't have that much food). But it must have
just been a touch of altitude sickness, because it passed quickly. Then I
was glad that I had stayed
in camp after all.

I spent a beautiful quiet afternoon. I studied the map and read over the
route descriptions I had copied from Roper and Secor. I had already decided
that to atone for my
slothful wimpy behavior of Saturday, I would climb both Vogelsang (11,493
feet) and Fletcher (11,410 feet) Sunday morning before hiking out. I wrote
in my journal. I
took time to observe the colors of the fish, the birds, the clarity of the
lake. This is something I don't do enough. People are always telling me to
stop and smell the flowers. I
became quite friendly with one particular marmot. He (she?) would have
taken the food right from under me if I had let him. He became my buddy.

I decided I had better cook my dinner, even though I wasn't very hungry. I
ate one serving of my gourmet freeze-dried honey lemon chicken, but buried
the rest. I always
have trouble with my appetite at altitude. At 7:30pm, I got ready for bed
and crawled into my bivy bag for the night. I had planted my canister about
20 feet away from my
camp on level ground as instructed. My camera was ready to catch the bear
if he came to bat the canister around. I thought for sure he'd come kiss me
goodnight since I was
so lathered up with various lotions and sprays. But he stood me up.

The constant sound of a waterfall was my lullaby. Watching the sunset I
finally dozed off. I lost count of the number of times I had to get up to
go in the middle of the night.
Each time I would bang a pot, or call out "I'm getting up Mr. Bear" just
case he was lurking nearby. I didn't want to surprise him. But I think if
there were any bears around,
they saw the canister and left, knowing they couldn't get in. When I
couldn't sleep, I'd watch the universe, one advantage of sleeping in a bivy
bag and not a tent. I was not
afraid or lonely or cold. I was in the "gentle wilderness" after all, and
if you respect its power, it will treat you to all its delights.

I arose about 6:30 to a very warm morning. Whereas Saturday had been a day
to rest, observe, write, and acclimatize, Sunday was a day to KICK ASS. I
cooked my cup of
gruel that masquerades as oatmeal and put together my summit pack. I packed
a space blanket JUST IN CASE. When you're out alone you have to be a bit
more prepared
than normally.

Going for the peak is what I love. That backpacking stuff is just a
necessary evil to get in to your basecamp as far as I'm concerned. I
decided to climb Vogelsang first, my
main objective. I hiked around the lake toward Vogelsang Pass to get a head
on view of the peak. I saw that there were 3 or 4 parallel ramps on the
east face that run gradually
along to the ridge to the left of the peak. This looked like a good way to
go to me so I started up the rock to reach one of the ramps. At one point I
used my ice ax to cross a
short steep snow patch. As I made my way up the ramp, I became impatient
and got a little too aggressive. I thought I'd take a short cut by heading
straight up the face to the
summit, rather than go all the way around to the ridge. But when I ran into
some 3rd class climbing, I got scared and thought "this is not a smart
thing to be doing alone." So
I backed off (VERY carefully) and continued up the ramp till I hit that
ridge. Once there, I could see it was a very easy walk up to the summit!
And when I got to the top,
there was a marmot stretched out on one of the summit boulders!

I was so happy to see the register box. I got a lump in my throat.
Vogelsang is not a particularly difficult peak or anything like that, but I
had found it, I had picked the route,
I had made it all alone. Still no other people around. After a snack, a
hero shot by remote control, more map reading and guessing about the other
peaks around, I started my
descent. Turns out there were some moves that I had done on the way up that
I was not comfortable with on the way down, so I came down a different way,
ending up on
some steep snow. I was glad I had lugged up my ice ax and crampons because
I really needed them now.

I had already scouted out the route up Fletcher from the top of Vogelsang.
It was a "classic Sierra ramble" as someone wrote in the peak register.
Secor notes you encounter
"brush, scree, and talus<:...>before reaching the summit." Starting from a
point just below Vogelsang Pass, I followed my route, making sure to stop
and look back several
times along the way (a wise practice - you'd be surprised how different
things look from the opposite direction).

The summit of Fletcher consists of a very large sandy plateau with several
rock outcroppings sprouting up. I headed for the most prominent
outcropping, thinking that must
surely be the summit. But there was no register there and it looked like
the next outcropping over was a just a little bit higher. So I climbed
down, trudged over more sandy
scree to the next rock outcropping. I repeated this SEVERAL times, almost
giving up. I let out a cry of relief when I spied a glass jar shoved into a
crack. No one had signed
that register in A YEAR! Judging by all the footprints however, I suspect
that was due more to the isolated location of the jar and the numerous
false summits, than to the
difficulty or unpopularity of the peak.

Happy at last, I took another remote control hero shot, and looked over to
the east to identify the nearby lakes and other features. A successful
descent had me back in camp
by 2pm. Two gals passed by as I was packing up - the first human beings I
had seen in about 24 hours.

Ready to leave camp by 3pm I knew I had to make it out to my car in time to
get to the Tuolemne store by 7pm closing time to return the rented
canister. Boy, was I glad I
was coming out rather than going in because I encountered several groups of
backpackers and one packtrain on their way in. Stopping to be so friendly
and all delayed me
awhile, and I had to hustle to make sure I made it out in good time.
Exhausted along the last mile of the trail, almost delirious, I kept
horsely crying out "parking lot, parking
lot," in hopes of seeing my car soon (I talk and mumble to myself a lot,
actually).

It felt SO good to get my pack and boots off. Back at the store, I
fulfilled a fantasy I'd been having all the way down the trail - I consumed
a pint of Ben & Jerry's Mocha
Almond Fudge frozen yogurt. God, did that taste good!

One of the most gratifying parts of the trip was calling some friends back
in the Bay Area to let them know I had made it out alive. Knowing that
there are people back home
who love me and care about me makes it okay to choose to be alone.

The B&J's held me all the way to Oakdale where I stopped for late dinner at
"Crap in the Box" (actually the Teriyaki Chicken Bowl is quite decent). And
guess what song
played over the loudspeaker in the restaurant, folks ...

I had been worried that I wouldn't be able to make it all the way home
without stopping to nap, but I had no problem. I don't know if it was the
caffeine in the yogurt or the
adrenaline pumping through my body. All scrubbed and snug, I lay in bed a
long time that night before I could get to sleep.

I hope to do this again next year - maybe I'll make it an annual event. The
weather was perfect all weekend, I conquered some fears, and spent some
quality time with myself,
with nature, and with God.