White Cap Mountain

Photo Memory: “View from the Summit of Chairback Mountain” photographed by Nichole Hastings

“The view. At 2100-feet. Simply breath-taking.”

"View from the Summit of Chairback Mountain" photographed by Nichole Hastings

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Journal Entry: June 7, 2010 – 100 Mile Wilderness

Monday, June 7, 2010

Day 9

A bitterly cold 6:30 a.m.

I knew I needed to get up and get moving. A hot breakfast was in order to make sure I had plenty of calories to start off the day. I wanted to finish White Cap, cross the Hay and beyond Gulf Hagas to reach the West Branch Pleasant River and tent there. Trout had described the decline past Gulf Hagas as being ‘gentle’ so I figured the eleven miles would be well worth it and a reasonable goal.

The sun broke through about 8 a.m.

Took my time to keep my heart rate low. To keep the number of calories being burned to a minimum. I continuously reminded myself, ‘an economy of movement.’ and any time I started to break a sweat I would stop or slow my pace.

As for the gentle decline…I guess.

With the brain fog of the past two days gone, I did a lot of thinking throughout the day. The suddenly pleasant weather. The Zen of movement. Why I was doing this hike. My family. My plans and hopes for the future.

My conclusions…well…I concluded I’m doing this hike to be away from others and Society’s expectations. Here, I only have my own expectations to live up to day-to-day.

I am only subject to my schedule. I rise in the morning when I want to. I eat when I am hungry. It’s a relief to not be concerned with what others may think of my appearance, my actions and how I am going about it. I set my goals for the day and make adjustments when I want and need to. I love that my instincts have been spot on…for me. No commentary. No criticism. No pressure to do or say or be…other than for me.

Taking the break yesterday gave my body much needed rest. I had enjoyed a 360 degree panoramic view at 3500-ft. Can a day get better than that?

I thought about how individuals need to learn to be less dependent upon their jobs and living such set routine schedules. Crazy. All kinds of people work at all different paces utilizing all different methods. Continuously trying to ‘standardize’, to ‘regulate’ everything…what a mistake. Resenting others for working ‘their way’ and in ‘their time frames’…a gross error. It’s just petty jealousy. People ought to stop worrying so much about what other people are doing and focus on themselves.

I ponder those living their lives in fear. Afraid of themselves, others, living. Constantly defining and limiting themselves. Fearing if they don’t ‘label’ themselves they and others won’t know who they are. In fear of being ‘fired’ from their jobs if they don’t comply or meet others’ expectations. It’s sick. The way some try and control others in this manner. And for what? The bottom line? More productivity? More money? What is money? So much value on something so worthless. Simply the means, to a way, to control. You can’t control what others do, only what you do.

I thought about my family and wondered if they wonder where I am at this very moment. It’s funny. Hilarious really. Being estranged and adopted. My life is so very full of conundrums. All because of my life circumstances and ‘poor’ choices. The silent treatment. Criticism of my actions and choices. Suddenly being treated and spoken to as though I was five years old all over again and incapable of making intelligent decisions. A subtle, yet not so subtle form of passive aggressive control. An emotional manipulation.

I want love. I want support. I want understanding. I want them to think about the results of their actions and words. To think about how it is hurting, not helping.

I thought about my hopes. My plans for the future. A pleasant day-dream.

A little farm where I can self-sustain sounds nice. Free-range chickens for eggs, a vegetable and herb garden, canning food for the winter. Hunting wild game.

Visions of my youth flitted before my eyes. Played across my memory. Haying. Sweating under the blaze of the Autumn sun. Everyone standing, chatting, around my uncle’s pick-up. Drinking ice-cold beers after off-loading the bales to the conveyor to the hayloft. The same loft I had asked my grandfather to put a swing in as a child.

‘Why?’, he’d asked.

My reply, ‘Every hayloft needs a rope swing.’

Most of my friends are married with children, divorced with children or in the process of one of the two. Very few are single with none. Like me. When I had been married I had longed for motherhood. Sometimes I still feel that twinge. Whenever I mentioned that thought to my friends with kids, they looked at me like I had grown two crazy heads. Maybe I feel that twinge because I miss my childhood. Maybe that’s why I think about having children from time-to-time. Maybe I tried to submit to expectations. Everyone else was doing it. Thank god, that travesty never came to be. A blessing in disguise.

Tangent upon tangent upon tangent thought.

Just past the Sydney Tent Site I was passed by a girl. I caught up with her at the Carl A. Newhall Lean-to. She, Eli and Crawford were there. They had just finished eating and were prepping to head out soon. My stop was brief. I left before the girl did. Although she caught up with me at the West Branch Pleasant River. A fifty foot wide stretch of knee-deep round rocky river.

I sat down and stripped off my foot gear, my usual routine, for water crossings. She stood at the river’s edge silent and still. It seemed like she was thinking. Or listening to the rushing water. Then suddenly she went for it. She strode forward and crossed removing nothing.

After she reached the far bank, three men appeared, packless. I stood up, grabbed a stick to help support myself and slung everything over my shoulders, my pants rolled up to mid-thigh and barefoot. I stepped carefully, slowly made my way over slimy slippery rocks and through the rushing current. The four of them stood and watched as I laboured and Maxie swam for it.

It seemed an eternity. Several times my feet slipped and I thought I might topple. Their presence, their watching, a test of my mindfulness and focus on the task at hand. I cut them out of my thoughts.

I walked on to shore, past them, to a grassy spot to put my socks, boots and gators back on. I asked one of the boys, they were all young men, high school or college aged, if there was a place to tent nearby. They all shrugged and then turned and walked away down another trail. I guessed that they must have a car nearby. They didn’t look or move like thru-hikers.

The girl and I walked together following the white blazes. We came upon a flat gravel area next to the water. Not an ideal location but it would do. It was convenient to have water close at hand but the mosquitos and black flies were thirsty and thick. I decided to tent there for the night. The girl decided to keep going.

I strung up line to hang wet clothing taking advantage of the breeze. The girl re-appeared and asked if she could share the spot with me. I asked her if she had anything she wanted to hang to dry. She declined. Other than that there was little conversation between the two of us as we set up camp. A welcome relief. She, like I, quickly prepared dinner and then headed to bed soon afterwards.

Distance: about 11.5-miles

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Journal Entry: June 6, 2010 – The 100 Mile Wilderness

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Day 8

Woke up late, around 8 a.m.

I thought if the weather remained clear I would traverse White Cap, Hay and Gulf Hagas. This would have been a fine plan if it had simply remained overcast. But, not long after setting out it began to sprinkle.

I caught up with the two young high school kids Just Bob and Trout had mentioned seeing. They were busy rearranging their gear. We nodded hello to each other as I walked by. Soon it began to pour, coming down at a steady pace.

The hike was brutal. Large blowdowns littered the trail. Maxwell was not happy. Navigating around the dense branches of the downed trees was hard work and required a lot of coaxing to get him to follow. I suppose if I was a foot off the ground it would have made more sense to just trot underneath them, taking the path of least resistance.

I pushed myself, hard, to get up the lower half of White Cap. I refused to let my mind think of anything but the now of my situation. I still felt disconnected and haggard. In an unfocused haze. In spite of that, a dreadful thought, a reality, continuously circled in my mind. An unwelcome realization while packing and eating this morning. I was running out of food. And quickly. Also, my caloric intake was not nearly close to what it should be. I had read that ideally you want to be consuming 3000 to 4000 calories a day. I would be exaggerating if I said I was taking in 1200 a day.

I was soaked, inside and out of my rain gear. The wind, sweat and rain had me chilled to the bone. I was exhausted. I knew Plan A, to stop at the Logan Brook Lean-to would be the smart move. Immediately upon arrival I hung up everything to ‘dry’ and set up camp. I pulled all my food out. Looking at it I realized I had much less left than I thought. I laid out five plastic ziplock bags and I portioned out everything I had for five days. Four days worth of hot breakfasts and dinners. Five days worth of cold lunches and snacks. The amounts were painfully meager. Portioning out the trail mix was a joke, about a cup per bag. I counted the pieces of dried fruit and chocolate pieces I put in each bag to make sure they were evenly distributed. Two small squares of chocolate per bag and a piece or two more than that of dried fruits. And fragments of beef jerky in each.

Around 4:30 p.m., Eli and Crawford appeared, drenched. We all bunked down early with the sound of rain playing us a lullaby on the roof of the lean-to. One of them, maybe Crawford mentioned a planetary conjunction this evening. I scribbled away in my journal.

Distance: about 3.9-miles

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Journal Entry: June 5, 2010 – 100 Mile Wilderness

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Day 7

The sound of raindrops splattered the tent. It’s 4:30 a.m. A warning of the day ahead and what’s to come? A passing thought of going back to sleep had crossed my mind but scrambling to rescue my drying clothing had me wide awake.

I packed in the narrow confines of my tent. There wasn’t much room in there to maneuver. It’s inevitable I’ll wake to a full on rain storm in it, so it was good to get the drill down and be practiced.

Everything was in place and I was on the trail by 5:30 a.m. I had a long day ahead of me if I planned to make it to the East Branch Pleasant River Lean-to. Another big push. I wanted to bust a move and get a good pace going. Was I feeling motivated due to Just Bob and Trout’s presence?

My hunch was correct, it poured all morning. The trash bag rain skirt kept the water out but the sweat had me drenched anyways. I arrived at the Cooper Brook Lean-to around 11:30 a.m. and dried my socks over a small fire. About 200 feet before the lean-to I had lost my balance and footing on a rock mid-stream. To save myself from disaster I stepped into the water, up to my knees. My feet had been dry all morning, in spite of the rain, and were soaked and boots sloshing.

I trudged to the lean-to, following two hikers that passed me after my stream ‘incident’, Eli and Crawford. Not long after Just Bob and Trout came around the corner and joined us. And then, a short while later, while lunching, another fellow appeared whose name I’ve forgotten.

The lean-to was crowded. It was too crowded. I spoke little and tended my drying socks and boots. Dry feet are happy feet. And I had not yet gotten a single blister. The group finished eating. Someone, maybe Just Bob, made a comment about ‘taking care to not let my wool socks get burnt’ before they left. I shrugged and smiled.

I thought about staying at the Cooper Brook but there was a pause in the falling rain. My boots and socks were dry and it was only 2:00 p.m. I decided to mush on. The next lean-to, the East Branch River Lean-to was about 8 miles away. I knew I’d get in late and the shelter would be crowded.

I decided to go for it.

The hike was grueling. The trail up Little Boardman Mountain was littered with blowdowns, many of them too high to climb over. The brush and trees were thick making going off-trail and around difficult. I had to rest at one point and sit down for half an hour. I was light-headed and all the energy suddenly drained out of me.

I was shaky. I felt ravenous and ate a mix of chocolate, nuts and beef jerky. As I continued on, I found myself reaching down and pulling up handfuls of wild clover to eat as well. I couldn’t stop myself from doing so.

Suddenly, Eli and Crawford were there walking at me on the trail. I was momentarily disconcerted. Was I going the right direction? They said they had missed a food drop they’d arranged and were back-tracking. After they passed I momentarily thought about my food supplies. I found myself eating more clover. More blowdowns. About 4 more miles to the East Branch Lean-to before White Cap Mountain, a 3500 footer.

My thoughts churned. I had figured I’d need to average 11 miles a day to keep myself on schedule. With yesterday and today I was up on miles. I wanted a ‘day off’. My feet hurt. The wind was blowing hard. I caught a whiff of smoke. The others? Campfire smoke? I lose myself in placing one foot in front of the other.

It’s dark. Close to 8:00 p.m. I think. I walked into camp. Everyone was settled and preparing dinner. A radio is blaring country music. Just Bob had caught a couple under-sized rainbow trout and was just taking them off the fire.

I dropped my gear, hooked Maxwell’s leash on to a tree, and set up my spot in the shelter. “I know it seems cruel but it will be a huge help if you could just please ignore him.” I say. Maxwell whined.

He’d been difficult after Cooper Brook trying to pull ahead on the leash. Everyone had been giving him love and attention. At lunch, Just Bob asked if he could give him a treat. I said, “Yes, just one.” and had then caught him feeding him more when he thought I wasn’t looking. I was adamant that Maxwell walk beside or behind me on this hike. He’d had other ideas. My hike and energy expenditure had doubled as a result. I was tired.

Just Bob and Trout lasted an hour before they went over, ignoring my request, petting him. I was too tired to say anything. I silently went about preparing my meal and eating it. I fed Maxwell. I went behind the lean-to, camp clothes in my hand to change. Just Bob walked around just as I was de-panting. I continued changing staring him down as he quickly scuttled back around to the front of the lean-to giving me privacy.

I rejoined the ‘crowd’. Maxwell and I settled in to the sleeping bag. A final thought before unconsciousness…packed too much dog food.

Distance: about 15.2-miles

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