My First Real Backpacking Trip

 

MY FIRST REAL OVERNIGHT BACKPACKING TRIP

 

Some Trips Are As Fun As You Envision

OK, when discussing this trip, I have to pull back into the earlier recesses of my memory. I may not have all the facts straight, but I wanted to share this story from my youth. 

Not far from where I grew up, there is a 30 mile long mountain range with peaks above 8000 feet and many mountain lakes with rainbow trout. On one end of the range is a rough dirt road with a pass at 7500 feet. From there, there is a trail that goes along the ridgetop a distance of 35 miles until it ends up at a developed lake with a ski resort, paved roads, and too many tourists. One of the first stops along this trail is about 6 miles in, a place called Twin Lakes. 

It all started during the summer between 2nd and 3rd grade. My dad wanted to take us boys on a hiking trip. This was a rare occasion for us because ever since we bought the milk-cows when I was in kindergarten, my dad had to milk every morning and evening. However, on this special occasion, by dad talked my mom and sister into milking the cows and feeding the calves while us boys went to play. 

At the time, we didn't have any four wheel drive pickup, but the next best was this 1-1/2 ton 1950's vintage cattle truck with wood racks that my dad had. We scrounged around to find backpacks, fill them with a thin sleeping bag, food, canteen, and other various items. In the morning, we pile into the truck, call the dogs and head up to the pass. 

After a four hour trip, at 3 miles an hour up the sketchy mountain road, we arrive at the pass. It is a low point in the ridge and the mining road continues on to the next valley over. From there, there is a trail that looks like it was cut with a laser in the ridge, extending northward. My dad drives the cattle truck into a sort-of flat location where other vehicles have parked in the past. From there, we grab our backpacks and take off up the trail. 

A few miles in, I realize just how heavy my backpack is. Although I am not carrying my share of the equipment, it is still a lot of weight for an 8 year old to carry. The trail is fairly straight and uneventful, it goes along the ridge from saddle to saddle as winds its way northward. As any imaginative boy is, I made sure to stop and smell all the available mountain flowers or throw any available rocks. Shade was fairly scare, but I made sure to stop at any trees along the trail.

We stop and have lunch at one of the saddles, sitting under what shade we could find with the bristlecone pines and other alpine vegetation. It is too long ago for me to remember exactly what we ate on this trip, but from other trips like that, I would guess a loaf of sandwiches repacked into the bread sack for the first meal. After lunch, we would take a half hour or so and roll rocks down the ridge and watch them explode as they hit boulders far below. We have had dogs chose after the rocks, but the ones we had at this time weren't that stupid. In high school, we had one take a fall and she took about an hour before she limped herself back up to where we were. 

After lunch, my older brothers decided to leave me and my dad and head straight to the lake while we caught up. By afternoon, we come to the fork in the trail and see the lakes in the bottom of this valley. Across the valley we see a bunch of mountain goats climbing around on this steep ridge. They are fun to watch and are amazing at how they will jump around on these cliffs just to find a nibble of shrubbery in the steep country. The dogs pay no attention to them, nor could they do anything about it if they wanted to chase goats. The country is far too steep for anything but squirrels, goats and birds. Finally, we head down a steep zig-zag trail down to the lakes.

Mountain Goats

While walking down this trail, I remember remarking to my dad how the trail meanders along and it is flat. I don't think he agreed too much, but he paid me lip service anyway. We drop the 1500 feet down to the lakes and arrive to see my brothers skipping rocks in the lakes. If I remember right, there weren't any other hikers there. These lakes are fairly isolated and most people would rather just drive to the easy lakes than take the time to hike in.

The lakes we hiked to (curtesy of Google Earth).

It was around August and we usually slept outside, so we didn't feel the need to set up tents. We spent the time goofing off as boys do while my dad sat on a rock and fished. We competed with rock skipping, waded in the ice cold water, and explored with the dog following close behind.

The cliff to the west blocked the sun early and it is cold enough at those elevations that we just kept our jackets on. For dinner, my dad brought some cans of Manwich. Little did any of us know, there was no meat in the cans, it was just spicy tomato sauce! Well, we just made due with what we had and poured tomato sauce on the smashed hamburger buns and ate it as is. After one can, we were done, even if we were still a little hungry. 

Growing up, I never slept well in the mountains until I was old enough to buy my own sleeping bag. Like many other nights, I would spend my time shivering and rolling over again and again until morning. At 7,500 feet, temperatures can change rather quickly and a blazing hot afternoon will be freezing by morning. 

Little rant here -> They think that just because you are a little kid, you only need a little sleeping bag. Not so. If you want to have your kids enjoy camping, get quality sleeping bags. It will pay dividends in the future. Buy a pair of big thick, rectangular sleeping bags. If they are identical, you can zip them together for you and your wife.

By morning, we were covered in frost. No matter, my dad starts a fire and heats up some water for oatmeal. After boiling water and mixing little oatmeal packets in for breakfast, we roll up the sleeping bags and pack them away in our backpacks. After a good morning of skipping rocks and exploring the area, we head back up that zig-zag trail. This time, I realize just how steep it is. Most of the morning is spent just climbing out of that narrow valley in the shade of the ridge. 

By the time we get back to the truck, we are tired. Water is gone, food is nearly gone (except the remaining can of Manwich) and we are ready to sleep for real this time.

There at the trailhead is a sign that marks out where this trail goes. My older brother remarks about a plan he has for next year of hiking the entire length of the trail, a 35 mile trip. (to be continued)