"This True Story Was First Told Around a
Campfire"
TRUE CAMPFIRE STORY #11
A BREATHLESS TALE
Gene had always been an outdoorsman, hiking and fishing since he was a
pup,
but he
never quite got the concept of the really high country, heavy packs,
with
mountains to cross.
It had been years since he had done any real hiking, but I knew that
his sense
of adventure and his ego would spur him on. We started this backpacking
trip at
9,985 ft;
Tioga Pass Trailhead July 1969
Yosemite's Tioga Pass; from there it went
up, up, up!
Our
goal was
the Granite and Gaylor Lakes Basin at 11,000 feet and higher.
Breathing
was
difficult, and sometimes, during the steepest climbs, we could only get
4 or 5
steps in, before we needed to stop for air. Although I had hiked this
trail a
few years before, and had challenged many trails in recent years, I
also found the
climb breathtaking (as in, I had little breath available). We worked
our way up
the southern face in a slow methodical zigzag. The view above the
highest pass
in the Sierra Nevada was awful (as in full of awe!); snow capped peaks,
glaciers, meadows, and streams filled our senses with the beauty and
majesty of
these most noble mountains.
On one of our breath, water, and snack rest stops, we looked back down
the
trail and saw some hikers coming up at a nice pace, although their
position
looked to be where we had been an hour ago. We figured that those guys
must be
seasoned high altitude hikers. We continued up the trail for a few
minutes,
until necessity dictated that we take another one of our rest stops.
As we got up the courage to continue for another leg of our journey, we
were
surprised by the hikers that seemed to be an hour behind us. They
continued
past us in their lively pace and soon were up the trail, out of sight;
two
teenaged girls! Well, male ego being what it is, we both made a private
vow that
we could do better, and maybe even pass them up? There was no
discussion; no
discussion was needed; our egos were instructing us.
Now, with our new-found masculine pace, we were really making time.
Then, as we
reached a bend in the trail, we saw our competitors. They were resting,
drinking and snacking; we passed them by with our combs held high.
After a
continuous frenzied pace, we felt that we had put enough distance
between us
and them that we could take a quick break and still hold the lead. As
soon as
we had unscrewed the caps on our canteens, our adversaries appeared and
passed
us by; no respect for the elderly! We accepted our defeat graciously,
as we
realized that we had no chance of ever catching up with them again.
When we arrived at our destination, we were stunned to see so many
tents and
hikers around the lower lake. We found a spot away from the crowd and
set up
our camp. Now, the struggle seemed worth it, as we were truly in God's
country.
The mountains were majestic, the lakes and streams were crystal clear,
the
grasses, the granite made you not notice the lack of trees; we were too
high
for them. Our hot cocoa and brandy had never tasted better; the dried
food
seemed to be from a gourmet restaurant; and as the sun set over the
western mountains
we felt we had never been more at peace in our lives.
Then, commotion, noise, alert, rang through the air. There was an
incessant
clanking of sierra cups, screams and yelling, with the campers calling
an
alert, as do the monkeys in the canopy of the rain forest; bear, bear,
bear! A
poor little she bear had dared to come to the lake to look for picnic
snacks;
she was out numbered and ran for her life!
Calm soon prevailed and the haloes of the night's moon took over the
mood of
the basin; all was quiet.
The morning came upon us peacefully; campfire, coffee, and breakfast,
Soon we
were exploring the fishing spots; darn these fish are skittish! We
snuck up on
them, we tried to seduce them with every bait or lure in our arsenal;
nada. We
decided to try the higher lakes.
It was an easy hike now that our lungs had figured out how to replenish
themselves. We found no crowds, in fact, no one else. We tried our hand
at
catching these high mountain skittish trout; still no luck???
As we set up our campsite, we noticed an ominous sky. Could there be
foul
weather when we had decided to save weight by leaving our tent behind?
Yes,
there could be! The cold rains started their descent, and we started
our search
for shelter. Luck or fate, who knows, but, we found a cave; more a huge
jumble
of granite that had formed a deep sanctuary on the mountain. Once
again, we
were content, although I did wonder if this was the she bear's lair????
We had planned a short trip, and that it was; the next morning we made
our way
down the mountain and back to civilization. Through the years, I asked
Gene to
come along on other high country backpacking trips, and he would just
say,
"Naw."
I guess I understand his position, but I'll always remember the trip as
'Breathless'!!!!!
Copyright
2004, Carport's True Stories
Reproduction for noncommercial uses only is acceptable
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