Category Archives: Adventure
Historical Posts representing Adventure Continues: Second Quarter
I again fell back on my maintenance man experience and landed a job at the Snow Mountain Ranch located between Winter Park and Granby Colorado. I’m not really sure why this option played out, might have had something to do with the foreboding reality that I was probably ready to take on a real career so I needed to make this last random fling worthy. Snow Mountain Ranch, SMR, is a beautiful piece of mountain property under the flag of the YMCA of the Rockies. In August of 1978, summer was winding down and SMR was hoping to improve winter usage by catering to skiers. They gave us a trailer to live in which was a bit rough but all in all this was turning into another great adventure. Connie worked some in the office and I set out to work on the many maintenance projects throughout the property.
Snow Mountain Ranch was the step child to the YMCA camp in Estes Park, but it had some great features, just not as much traffic. They had dorm type lodging geared to youth camps and church retreats. They had cabins available to rent or supplement other large group retreats. They had various outdoor recreation options along with a very nice gymnasium which also doubled as a roller skating rink. I totally appreciated the beauty here, but I did struggle with the lack of connectivity. I think there was only one phone and no TV which presented a problem for following my Denver Broncos.
We were truly embracing the moment realizing how unique this opportunity was while putting off that career commitment pressure. However, my resume was being circulated. So for now I fixed more toilets, beds and roofs and Connie took care of office duties. One strong memory that I hold on to reflects back to when I was repairing a roof on a beautiful Autumn day looking out at the west side of the front range mountains thinking that life couldn’t get any better. Steve visited once and we totally scored on catching large trout in a nearby beaver pond. I also created one of the first frisbee golf courses by mapping a course around the ranch sometimes even cutting down a tree and painting the stump red to act as the target pin. Some evenings we would go over to the gym and roller skate or shoot hoops. Our dog, Rusty, was also really enjoying this life, although this is where he learned about, skunks, porcupines and not to jump off a moving truck to chase a deer.
Life was fairly easy but we did have important projects going on. The director of maintenance for the ranch was a man that I quickly came to admire. He was probably in his late 30s with far more expertise than would be needed to be working at a YMCA site like this. What I learned was that he had sacrificed his promising career in engineering to live at Snow Mountain Ranch because he had a special needs child who benefitted from what life at the ranch offered. I was the young buck who was a bit green with respect to some of our jobs, but he let me learn. I totally loved learning how to run a backhoe digging trenches for water lines.
We were also building a few cabins so there was basic construction work going on, however, I wasn’t typically included in those jobs. They got to a point when they needed to pour the foundation for a couple of cabins but they were not able to acquire any cement in the area. However, we could purchase bags of portland cement in Ft Collins, but that would require us to drive over Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park to pick it up. I was expendable and so they asked me to drive our heavy truck over the mountains to pickup the cement. This seemed like a good adventure until it wasn’t. It was the end of the day when I was driving back over Trail Ridge and the weather was starting to deteriorate. I knew that the truck had a spare gas tank but when I needed to switch I realized that I did not know how to do this. I was approaching the summit from the east when I ran out of gas, I guess I was hoping it switched automatically. Oh Shit, it was dark and I’m out of gas on a narrow mountain pass with a very large truck full of cement. Another truck finally came along, but the driver also could not determine how to switch over to the spare gas tank. So he offered me the option of following him (coasting) down to Estes Park. I was supposed to stay right on his tail incase my brakes failed. We crept down the mountain with my heart pumping rapidly. Well we made it down to Estes Park where the Estes YMCA Camp came to rescue me. I was educated about the spare tank and refueled but it was late. The folks at YMCA Estes recommended that I wait till morning but I knew I needed to get back partly because Shadow Mountain needed the cement but also because Connie and I were scheduled to go somewhere the next day.
So I headed back out over Trail Ridge with snow flakes coming down, no driver side window and fearful thoughts about how I would descend the other side down into Grand Lake. I then realized why they have runaway truck ramps and there weren’t going to be any for me. I was totally petrified driving about 5 miles an hour down the mountain and arrived back at Snow Mountain Ranch around about about 4 am.
We had adopted Winter Park as our connection to civilization but it was a bit of a drive. I remember getting a speeding ticket while driving there in hopes of watching a Broncos game at a bar. The officer didn’t buy my excuse for how I did not notice how fast I was driving because of how beautiful it was out and how much I was anticipating watching the Broncos. Autumn was turning cold so we were making plans for coping with winter at the Ranch. Connie really stepped out of her comfort zone and landed a job to work as a ski lift operator at Winter Park. I think she had gone through orientation when we found out that I landed a job as a Chemist for Colorado Ute in Craig, CO. They were in the process of running one 400 MW coal fired power plant while building more. The Adventured Continued.
It is March and a stretch of good weather was upon us so where could we get-away for a short backpacking trip. Oh yes, I remembered checking in with the Forest Service Office in Reedsport a few years back asking about backpacking in that area. They mentioned the Tahkenitch Dunes area but not with my dog between March 15th and September 15th. Well this meant that I needed to do this trail now, so on March 9th Brook and I set out for this new coastal backpacking overnighter. The weather was perfect and we were due for a full moon. It was a great trip. The overall loop is about 6 miles. The inland portion of the loop does take you through a really nice Sitka Spruce and Douglas Fur forest to a high point of about 400 ft. After 2.5 miles you cross a bridge at the north end of Three Mile Lake.
From the bridge it is about a quarter mile to the beach across the actual dunes.
Once on the beach it appeared we were alone, however, it was evident that vehicles could use the beach typically for fishing access. We hiked north looking for a good campsite. After setting up camp we prepared for some serious chillaxing. However, we were soon visited by a fairly unique recreational vehicle.
I have to admit both Brook and I were wondering who these folks were with a beach outfitted rig complete with a couple of Trump Flags. Brook and I did have a nice visit with these 2 fisherman who had caught some ocean perch. I stayed clear of any political discussions. As evening approached the cool breeze from the north was getting nippy, but the sunshine made it all good. Brook and I spent the rest of the evening enjoying our beach.
Brook had a great time playing with sticks.
And we were treated to a beautiful sunset.
Brook really enjoyed running on the sunset beach.
The full moon made for a great dimly lighted evening. I hung out in the tent until the sun rose to help dry everything out.
The second half of the loop took us up the beach until we cut back over to the actual Tahkenitch Dunes Trail.
We crossed the intersection for the Tahkenitch Creek Trail which looks like it would offer an even longer loop option. Overall this was an awesome overnight trip.
The Lost Coast Trail in northern California is one of the few Coastal Wilderness treks in the US. The 25 mile north section from Mattole Beach to Shelter Cove is a challenge because of a couple 4+ mile low tide only passages. So other then working out your logistics correctly it is a fairly straightforward backpacking trek. Of course in December of 2015 I did not get my logistics correct and mother nature hit me with an epic storm. I failed in my first attempt at the Lost Coast which is documented in my most read trip report “I lost to the Lost Coast Trail“. Retuning to conquer it allowed me to remember the pain and rejoice in the new success.
I really appreciated Bryce, an experienced wilderness survivalist, joining me for my return to the Lost Coast. With 2 cars you can pull off your own shuttle between Shelter Cove and Mattole, however, it is brutal. I think I would rather just do an out and back from Mattole and avoid the Shelter Cove roads. After way too much driving we did end up about a mile down the coast from Mattole and had an excellent first night on the Lost Coast.
The second day included a visit to Punta Gorda Light House which also is home to a rather large population of Elephant Seals.
Low tide was at 4 pm so we could take our time working through the 1st hazard zone for our second night at Spanish Flat. Punta Gorda was holding up well but the our treat was being able to pass by a couple hundred Elephant Seals. Calving season had just ended and a team of researchers from Humboldt State University were trying to gather data and tag the 102 new seal pups. I think we saw Elephant Seals for about 2 miles.
This up close view of the elephant seals was awesome but now we needed to put in some miles to get through the first 4 mile hazard zone.
This was also when I started recalling my bad memories from my first attempt at the Lost Coast. But this time I did not have to jump in the ocean so the hike to Spanish Flat was quite enjoyable. Our only challenge for getting past the low tide zone was to wait for the tide to go out and then time the waves at a few of the points.
Once you are beyond the first hazard zone you are greeted with a nice long trail up on a grass shelf to get you to Spanish Flat.
Instead of having to stop and dry out I got to enjoy the beautiful scenery. We were able to camp at the same spot I had ridden out the first day of a storm back in 2015.
This day was all about being perfect. Fairly warm, plenty of dry firewood and the formation of an excellent sunset.
The sunset was awesome. The next morning was beautiful as I said my goodbyes to the Spanish Ridge that I had to climb over to seek shelter from the typhoon in 2015.
The remaining hike was new terrain for me. I took this ocean video before leaving.
Now on too Big Flat and the 2nd high tide hazard zone.
I think the temperature was 60 and we were hiking in shorts and it was February, this was as good as it gets.
About this time we met Jane who we ended up hiking with to our next campsite that night. We come into the Big Flat area and realize that a fair number of California Surfers had either hiked in or flown in via private planes to surf this area. Some had been there for many days. One dad said it was a constant task to feed his three teenage boys who were out surfing when we passed by. Check it out.
Soon after Big Flat through Miller Flat we entered into the 2nd hazard zone, but I did not feel that it was as difficult as the 1st.
Plus we didn’t actually make it all the way through as we decided to camp at Buck Creek which would require that we get an early start the next morning to finish the 2nd hazard area.
We had about 6 miles to hike out to Shelter Cove, but it did include some great scenery.
Black Sands Beach was very nice and empty on a Saturday morning.
We said goodbye to the Lost Coast Trail from the Black Sands Trailhead.
Then the grueling shuttle over to Mattole from Shelter Cove and then up and over the mountain to Ferndale.
Historical Posts representing Adventure Continues: Second Quarter
Steamboat Springs was in some Chaos with the ski mountain closing right after Christmas in 76. The locals were in a world of hurt while us transients made our plans to move on. I went back to Indiana for Christmas, said my goodbye’s to my hoosier friends and packed up my VW Bug with everything Connie & I would need for a new life in Colorado. My father-in-law’s was impressed for how well I packed my car. I remember how excited I was to know what my next step of the Adventure was going to be. It felt so great to have the freedom to move to this beautiful state where I knew we could get jobs and prepare for the next adventure. Connie was doing the same in Indianapolis and was starting to lay some plans for our May wedding there.
I had secured us an apartment in Westminster, CO, near 72nd and Federal. Connie remembers it was furnished at $160 per month. Definitely a starter apartment but nice. We arrived in early January of 77 and all was good. I took the first job I could get which was a night janitor position in a large hotel on I-25 near downtown Denver. During the day I was looking for a better job. Connie landed a job as hostess at another large hotel in Denver taking a bus to work. Soon I landed a job as a chemist at Colorado International, a chemical formulating plant in Commerce City. This job was good in that it seemed like I was following what my education had prepared me for. However, things did not totally add up for this business. I was given far more responsibility than I deserved.
Connie lasted in her job until the National Western Stock Show rolled into town. Her hotel was strategic for the hosting of the stock show where many of the wealthy ranchers came to play. The story of her dismissal had to do with her response to one of these rich ranchers who was being extremely rude. Her response back to him, that she could be just as rude to him did not fly with her boss and she was immediately terminated. She did find another job that worked out much better. A positive from our time in Westminster was our motivation to drive into the mountains for great skiing. It was good prioritization of our recreation budget. And a tidbit about my old friend Steve. Turns out he found a way to return to Kansas City for a visit and on his way back got nabbed in Russell, KS, for possession of a few joints. He used his only phone call to call me to see how much money I could wire to them. Funny how the amount I could send turned out to be his fine.
I started asking more questions at Colorado International and even had my brother, a lawyer at Monsanto, do some research on this company. They needed someone who could run a Gas Chromatograph to validate various herbicide and pesticide products that they were formulating. But it did not take me long to question why we were buying raw chemicals and then packaging them to be sold at a loss. This was not a sophisticated operation and when my brother told me the owner had 22 chemical warehouses around the country, activities started to add up to a mafia type operation. Lot’s of strange things happened at Colorado International before I was able to quit latter that Summer, but I sure knew that I did not want to be apart of what ever was really going on there. The plant was destroyed after explosions and fire in December, 1977.
Our wedding on May 7th was nice. Married in the Butler University Chapel with a dinner reception for close friends and family at the North Willow Farms Clubhouse. I never really thought about how stupid I looked in a powder blue tux but that was my favorite so I went for it. Connie and I fulfilled the wedding expectations for our families but we were ready to return to Colorado where we were set to move into a nicer apartment complex in Boulder. I think this is when I realized Indiana was a good place to be from. Some advice for men, you should not get married the day after your birthday especially near the yearly holiday of Mother’s Day. This celebration gauntlet generates far too much tension.
Once in Boulder I started focusing on completing my IU degree at Colorado University. I validated my Colorado residency by living there for a year. And to my great surprise I applied for a government scholarship to help with my school expenses and I received all that I needed. Making very little money in 1976 set me up well for my scholarship request. We did not know what the future held but we were both into the Adventure.
Next Post: Boulder Colorado
Boulder is a college town in a beautiful setting next to the Flatiron foothills, but in the summer of 77 it had its own post Vietnam era independent vibe. Connie and I truly enjoyed living the good life in Boulder.
Historical Posts representing Adventure Continues: Second Quarter
It is the middle of autumn 1976 and I no longer have a job at Rabbit Ears Lodge nor do I have a place to live. But I was fortunate to get a job as a maintenance man for the Holiday Inn in Steamboat Springs. I guess my resume was strong with a few months experience as the maintenance man at Rabbit Ears Lodge. So Steve (Indian? Friend from Rabbit Ears Lodge) and I headed into Steamboat. I went to work and Steve looked for a place to live. We met at the Tugboat that first evening when Steve was excited to tell me that he found us a place to live just above the Tugboat with a couple of girls from New Jersey. Seems like I remember thinking, oh well, The Adventure Continues. Turns out it was a fairly sweet deal. The girls had the lease on an apartment with a main bedroom for themselves and a loft for Steve and I right in the heart of Steamboat Square or “Party Central”. I can’t remember if Steve got a job, but he did pickup some income dealing pot to the locals.
Our female roommates were not really our type so there were no sexual tensions, however, we sure did have some spats about the use of the apartment. Steve and I quickly became socially connected which in turn helped our roommates. In many respects the Tugboat was our living room. We spent a lot of time playing pool and forecasting how great the ski season would be. The Tugboat and Ski Time Square was an iconic landmark during the development of the Steamboat Springs Ski Resort. Across from us was the Sheraton Hotel that encompassed the entire ski base area. There were a few condos and and some private homes, but hardly the ski area development that now covers everything down to highway 40. I was officially living the life of a Ski Bum waiting for it to snow.
My job at the Holiday Inn typically focused on fixing the plumbing but I would also be called on to drive the hotel bus which was actually a converted school bus. Not sure if I got a commercial upgrade to my drivers license but I probably should have. I did have a stressful/embarrassing event when I was tagged to drive a group of visiting travel agents around Steamboat. They wanted to go up on the mountain as far as the roads would take us, however, a blanket of 4 or 5 inches of wet snow greeted us on a dirt road which may have been today’s Apres Ski Way. Well as I started up the incline I lost traction and the bus started to slide back down the hill. Luckily nothing was up there and we only ended up stuck. This was before cell phones so after apologizing to my passengers I had to hoof my way to a phone and call for help to extract our guests off the mountain.
This time in Steamboat for me was a search for my rite of passage into my adult future. This also translated into how to manage that freedom that comes with adulthood. Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll consumed our free time and I was taking it all in while trying to manage my consumption. This small community of 20 somethings was burning the wick at both ends and I was starting to question the sanity of such an existence. Luckily I had a serious girlfriend back in Indiana who helped to keep me grounded in discussions about a more stable life passage. However, I guess my adventurous spirit justified taking it all in. Keep in mind that America was coming out of the Hippie movement which glamorized trips on hallucinogenic drugs such as psilocybin and acid. Regretfully, I agreed to take an acid trip which was about a 24 hour commitment initially to wild hallucinating fun that faded into the painful reality that your body was not supposed to be treated this way. I do remember a fairly comical event from that trip. There were a few of us who ventured out into the night wanting to play in the snow. We found ourselves over at the Sheraton’s outdoor swimming pool that was empty and frozen. We thought it would be fun to slide down into the pool on the slick icy coating. We ended up in the deep end where there is that gradual drop-off from a depth of about 4 to 9 feet. And of course we could not climb back up the incline due to the ice. I can’t remember how long we were there contemplating our predicament, but it was a bit hilarious. I’m not sure how we did get out, but it gave me a a good reason to avoid hallucinogens forever thereafter.
I had come to understand that this loose life style was not for me, but I had to navigate this current environment as best I could. Thankfully, I did benefit from the experience that this beautiful Colorado ski town was offering. I explored the surrounding area of Routt National Forest and Steve and I actually went backpacking up to Gilpin Lake. My passion for this place was growing so I was looking for a way to continue a life in Steamboat Springs, although on a more responsible path. I had even heard about the curse: In 1881, Colorow, a Ute Indian leader declared: “Those who come to the Yampa Valley to live will never be able to leave.
My girlfriend, Connie, and I would talk about what it might be like if she joined me in this beautiful place. Out of those conversations my heart moved me to officially propose marriage over the phone and her acceptance included the stipulation that I come home to validate to her parents that it was going to be OK for their 20 year old daughter to quit school and move to Steamboat Springs. OK then, I got off work on a Friday afternoon and drove 22 hours straight to Indiana to ask for Connie’s hand in marriage and arrange for a way that she could join me at the beginning of the year in Steamboat. I must have sold myself well but I think this really happened because Connie’s parents knew she was going to do this with or without their blessing. I drove back to Steamboat an engaged man with a lot to think about.
It was early December and there really wasn’t any snow on Mt Warner, Steamboat’s ski mountain. Everyone dependent upon the ski industry was getting really nervous. They were trying to trigger snow by seeding the clouds with silver-iodide, they were even enlisting Indian medicine men to offer their influence. But it didn’t snow, we were officially in a drought. If the ski area lost the Christmas revenue it would be a disaster, so the local merchants loaned their physically capable staff to go up on the mountain and shovel snow out of the woods onto the ski runs in order to officially open for Christmas. I participated in this effort which generated a weird kind of camaraderie but it didn’t really work. The Ski Corp officially closed right after Christmas and the snow making equipment industry was launched. I opted for new plans to bring Connie out to Denver at the beginning of the year, where we would find jobs and reevaluate our next step. The wedding was planned for May.
Next Post: Move to Colorado
Steamboat Ski Resort closed and I made plans for Connie and I to move to Denver. Connie started to adapt to Colorado and I found myself in a strange job as a chemist. The groundwork was being laid to end up in Boulder to finish my degree.
My dog Brook, @AussieBrook, and I just returned from a perfect backpacking overnighter to Tom, Dick & Harry Mountain. The weather was perfect thanks to a temperature inversion that kept the Portland area under a blanket of fog. This was important because I really needed to give Brook a positive backpacking experience since our early summer outings had soured her on the whole backpacking thing. You see, Brook, an Australian Shepard, is complicated. She is a typical Aussie in that she wants to herd, protect and keep me aware of everything.
She is 4 years old and has been backpacking with me for 3 seasons. The problem relates to how Brook will totally sacrifice her own comfort to ensure that I am protected. This translates to her only sleeping outside and typically finding a strategic vantage point from which to keep watch through the night.
Frankly, I would rather she slept in the tent to help keep me warm, but I do appreciate her concern. However, as I mentioned, Brook is complicated. I have never had a dog that I needed to negotiate with. This year those negotiations centered around her deciding that she did not want to backpack with me. This objection relates first to the fact that she hates to ride in a car, I think this relates to her not having control of her environment. However, the real objection arose from our early season treks where she was the victim of some really bad weather. The photo above is from an overnighter to Ramona Falls in early June to investigate the Sandy River crossing in preparation for an upcoming Timberline Trail Trek with friends.
On that Timberline Trek Brook showed her disinterest in the overall trip but cooperated just fine until the weather deteriorated. After we got hit with a snow storm, Brook disappeared by positioning herself back up the trail letting us know that she was done. In this negotiation with her we agreed to end the trek. Back home when I was preparing to go on my Lofoten Norway adventure it was obvious that Brook wanted nothing to do with it. This was OK at the time because Brook was not invited to Norway or the later Colorado Trail treks, so essentially Brook got her wish and had the summer off from backpacking. Since returning home I have been looking for an opportunity to take Brook on a positive outing. I even purchased her a new winter jacket to help get her through those cold nights.
Well our recent overnighter to TDH mountain was all that I had asked for and better. From my perspective the view from TDH of Mt Hood and the many other mountains to the north is a backpackers treat. Clear skies is a must but getting comfortable temperatures in November was more then I could have hoped for. We made it to our campsite around 4 pm and setup camp in preparation for darkness to hit early. As the sun went down it got really cold, probably got to 38 but the breeze was out of the west and it felt good. Brook ended up laying next to the tent close enough to be laying next to my legs. Again, I would have loved to have had her in the tent, but at least she was staying close. The first time I got up I could tell the temperature was rising, it felt great and I could tell that Brook was also happy with it. She hung out next to the tent until about 1 am which was a real positive. Overall she seemed very happy at sunrise and showed her appreciation with many kisses.
The morning was spectacular with an awesome view of Mt Hood. Brook had a wonderful time terrorizing the local squirrel population as I enjoyed a leisurely morning taking in the view.
I think Brook may be mellowing a bit in her objections to backpacking, but I will make sure that our next outing, probably next Spring will be a pleasant one for her.
However, I leave this trek with a concern. I do not think I have ever seen so little snow cover on Mt Hood.
These views of the south side of the mountain are from 110519 and 110818. The problem is not a lack of snowfall but more rapid melt-off due to higher temperatures.
Historical Posts representing Adventure Continues: Second Quarter
It is May 1973 and I am finishing up my first year of college. The Vietnam War is winding down and Watergate is ramping up. The Second Quarter is faintly calling me to seek my passion. However, I’m still going through the motions to pursue the passion that was typically prescribed to a midwestern kid with an aptitude for Science and Math. I should become a doctor, own a big house and become a member of the Country Club. That “Dream” appeared to be alive and well after earning a 3.7 GPA for my freshman year at Indiana University in a premed curriculum.
The month of May for Hoosiers is mostly about the Indy 500, however, attention is also given to the Kentucky Derby, won that year in record setting time by a horse named Secretariat. Secretariat then won the the Preakness later in May which stimulated talk of the first Triple Crown of horse racing in 25 years. But the Indy 500 was the big show and I was fortunate enough to be invited to attend via a friend’s access to a press pass which got us into the track the night before the race. This was an unbelievably fortunate opportunity for a couple of 19 year olds. That night before the race was surreal. We strolled through Gasoline Alley, kissed the bricks at the finish line and gazed out over the raucous crowd partying outside the track. I know that we spent the night inside the track but I don’t actually remember any sleep. We did not have a ticket so we positioned ourselves at an excellent view point in the infield of the first turn.
Rain was the big issue holding up the start of the race for many hours but finally it was about to begin. This was so exciting because it was the first time that I had ever been to the actual race. I had never even seen the race live, you see, if you lived in Indiana you could only listen to the the race on the radio. The pace laps were complete and the roar of the start of the race was deafening until the sound of crashing cars and smoke rising from the end of the straightaway took over my anticipated moment. A terrible mishap had occurred during the start, single cars passed by us and then I so vividly remember seeing a wheel roll all the way around the first turn. It started raining soon thereafter, there would be no race on that Memorial Day May 28th, 1973. In fact rain only allowed for an abbreviated 133 lap race to be completed 2 days later ending after the fatal crash of Swede Savage.
We Hoosiers transitioned out of the somber mood of the deadliest Indy 500 May ever as we started out summer. I got a job working at the Purdue University Agronomy Farm doing something special to alfalfa plants for some professor’s research. My best friend, Rick, and I umpired little league games or were playing basketball in the evenings. I was in-between serious girl friends so dates were not happening a lot. It was a great summer in Lafayette, IN. On June 9th Secretariat did win the Triple Crown by Winning the Belmont Stakes in stunning dominance. Rick was more in tune to horse racing but it was I who pushed that we should go up to Chicago on June 30th to see Secretariat run in the Arlington Invitational.
A road trip to Arlington Park was a fairly big effort for 19 year old boys who would have to borrow a parent’s car, luckily our 3rd amigo, Pager, had a car, a 63 Chevy Biscayne, and he was up for the adventure. As usual I was the one who worked out most of the logistics. We did a pretty good job navigating our way to the park for a full day of horse racing. Rick knew a bit about betting the horses since his father had taken him to the track a few times, but this was all new to me. Pager was commissioned by a neighbor to place the lucky number bets of 4-7 and 7-4 on the Daily Double.
So the number 4 or 7 horse had to win the first 2 races. We had a winner in the first race but our horse in the second race named “Go Father Go” was a bit of a long shot. Well what a thrill we had cheering “Go Father Go” to victory in that second race meaning we had a Daily Double Ticket worth $600. So here are 3 young men looking at $600 and greed won out. We decided to keep the money and tell Pager’s friend that we did not get to the track in time to place the bet. We were actually very fortunate to have gotten there in time so we rationalized that we deserved the money. We all felt a bit guilty about this, but oh what day we would have with some real money to play with.
We did not increase our winnings but we did not lose it all either. The opportunity to see Secretariat run was awesome. Secretariat was challenged by only 3 horses so the betting was on Secretariat or any of the other 3 to win. Secretariat won in an impressive performance and paid $2.10 on a $2.00 bet. I bet $20 on Secretariat and won a buck. It had been a great day at the race track and now we had plans to find a good restaurant on the way home. We were feeling quite bold as we strategized how we should order a drink with our meal. The problem for us was that we had no clue what drink we should order. Pager only knew of a drink named “Manhattan” so that is what we would order. We figured that if we flashed a $100 bill they would think we were old enough to drink. I can only imagine how stupid we must have looked as we tried to be cool ordering our dinner and by the way we would all like a Manhattan as well. Well the restaurant really didn’t care so we all got to experience our first mixed drink and then boast to each other all the way home how well we handled ourselves.
Summer ended and we all went back to our college lives. But something was different, I was starting to truly think about my future. The concept of adventure was creeping into my decision process. When I pictured myself as a doctor I saw a stable career serving a community of patients for the rest of my life. But that did not translate as adventure to me. I would not classify the Indy 500 or the trip to Chicago as great adventures, but I do think that I gained confidence in knowing that adventures were out there and that I wanted to experience them.
Next Post: Leaving Indiana 76
Ending my college time at Indiana University in 1976 highlighted by the Hoosier Basketball NCAA Championship and then I was off to Colorado as a Presbyterian Missionary and having the all to real experience of the Big Thompson Flood.
My backpacking companion had a few weeks off at the beginning of May and I’m still retired until June so we searched for a challenging early season backpacking trip. Looking for a loop with good temps, flowers and minimal bugs led us to find this refurbished Wild Rogue Loop in Southern Oregon. Last year the Siskiyou Mountain Club with help from grants rejuvenated the 25 mile Rogue River Loop which is a conglomeration of the Rogue River Siskiyou National Forest’s Mule Creek Trail 1159, Panther Ridge Trail 1253, Clay Hill Trail 1160A, and the Rogue River Trail 1160. This was necessary because of the damage done by the 2005 Blossom Fire after allowing the forest to heal for 10 years. The combined trail is one of the best in Oregon. The evidence of fire is minimal, the terrain is challenging and the scenic rewards are stunning.
Once this loop was chosen for our Spring outing, gathering trail details was more challenging, but critical feedback on the trailheads, poison oak and ticks was helpful.
I decided to use the Foster Bar Rogue River Trailhead, which happens to be the West end of the 40 mile Rogue River Trail. This entry was down river a bit further than I expected but access and facilities were good and taking in more of the Rogue River was a plus. Overall I think we stretched our trip into about a 40 mile hike. We completed the trip in three and a half days but probably should have stretched that to 4+. We could have used more information on campsite options.
We set out toward the beginning of the loop heading up the Rogue River on Sunday May 1st. A beautiful day that pushed temps up into the 80s. The trail is cut out of the North bank or wall of the canyon presenting you with moderate difficulty and plenty of river vistas.
The waterfall at Flora Dell would be wonderful for a cool dip. Obviously water is no issue, however, you rely on tributaries since direct access to the Rogue was generally not easy. On this beautiful Sunday we passed many backpackers, hikers and runners heading down river. However, we never encountered another human for the remainder of the trip. I will confirm that poison oak is plentiful until you get above 2000 feet. And yes, I had to deal with a number of ticks, humans can handle this, but I would not take a dog.
We decided to take the shortcut at Brushy Bar over Devil’s Backbone, a decision we questioned after comparing the added vertical to the shorter distance. Camping along the Rogue is primarily geared for the boaters but the camping area at Blossom Creek was perfect for our first night. Complete with a Bear Box and access to the Rogue for some fishing, it was excellent.
We definitely pushed ourselves on this first day but all was good. The second day took us through Marial to the Tucker Flat Trailhead in order to head up the West Fork of Mule Creek.
From our GPS PDF Map on Avenza it was obvious that water sources could be scarce as we climbed toward the top of the Mule Creek Trail.
It appeared that the site marked Camp Hope would be the most likely for water but there were 2 other streams just before there still flowing. The first is where we interrupted a black bear but he scurried off into the forest. Unfortunately the trail in this area does not offer great campsites so we pretty much camped on the trail. A thunderstorm accelerated our efforts to set up camp. Again we probably pushed ourselves a bit more then we would have liked on a warm day climbing 2500 ft.
The next day was focused on experiencing Hanging Rock, and it was all that I had hoped it would be.
I would rank it as one of the Top 10 scenic locations in Oregon.
After lunch on the Rock we had the Panther Ridge Trail to cover and then a decision about how far down the Clay Hill trail we could make before our energy gave out. The 4.25 mile 3000 foot descent back down to the Rogue to complete the loop is tough on old knees.
About half way down we found just enough flat ground to setup our tents just before the rains opened up for the evening. This was another tough day since we had to carry extra water knowing that there would be no more available before we needed to stop.
The fourth and final day presented essentially a downhill hike back to our car but it was another 9 miles with plenty of climbs for two old guys with tired bodies. Hiking the same segment on the Rogue River Trail was entirely different in the opposite direction. Overall this was a perfect time to do the loop.
The wildflowers were plentiful, bugs were still sleepy and temperatures were moderate.
I headed into my Lost Coast Trail backpacking trip during the first week of December 2015 confident that I would accomplish my goal to hike from Mattole Trailhead to Shelter Cove and return. I knew it was going to rain a couple of days, but the forecast called for 10 mph winds. I also knew I had some bad timing for when the low tides occurred during the first part of the week. But I did not dig deep enough into this data to be properly prepared for what was ahead.
The drive down to northern California through the Redwoods was great, my car loves roads like the Redwood Highway. I visited the BLM office in Arcata first thing Monday morning to get my waterproof map, so with that map also on my iPhone equipped to use GPS, I was well prepared for navigation.
The low tide on Monday was not going to allow me to get past the first high tide hazard stretch so I had a leisurely hike past a herd of cattle to end up camping next to the Punta Gorda Lighthouse. It was a beautiful evening as I overlooked a beach full of seals.
Low tide on Tuesday was at 9:33 am at 3.2 feet, so I entered the beginning of this 4 mile stretch before 9:00 am. Based on most reports I had read this stretch was not going to be a problem even if you were a few hours on either side of low tide. Unfortunately, I did not consider the actual height of the low tide. The trek through this segment was tough even without navigating the dangerous rock points of which there are about 5 that are really challenging. Some you can climb up and over, but the rocks were really slippery probably due to the higher then normal waves preceding the approaching storm. So I worked my butt off hiking over the beds of football size boulders. As I neared the last few hazard spots it seemed like it was far more dangerous then it should have been.
Then the last point before Spanish Flat nearly did me in. It was a point where you had to go between a large rock as the waves were crashing, however, it was all under water. As I tried to see around the corner to determine what I was up against I caught a full face on wave that nearly pulled me into the ocean. At that point I couldn’t worry about waiting for the best wave timing so I jumped into waist deep water and made it around. I was soaked but relieved to have survived.
I stopped at Spanish Flat, put on dry clothes and checked the tide tables to discover that the low tides that I was experiencing were the highest low tides of the year. That explained things, but now I was concerned about the next day’s stretch of tide hazardous coast with another 3.2 foot low tide, not to mention my concern about coming back from Shelter Cove.
I decided to camp at a nice beach fortress just below Spanish Ridge. The winds were gaining strength which was good for drying out but it was also a bit foreboding knowing that rain was on the way. Yep, the rain started at sundown and the wind just kept getting stronger. It was time to reevaluate whether I should press on to Shelter Cove.
I knew it was going to rain all day so I decided to stay put through Wednesday with plans to head back to Mattole by hiking up the Spanish Ridge Trail over to the Cooksie Spur Trail on Thursday. This was a nice campsite and I was able to get out a few times during rain breaks. This video will give you an idea about how I spent Wednesday.
I was up before sunrise Thursday morning with my backpack ready to go, just needed to take down the tent. I was so happy that it had not been raining for a few hours and the tent was dry. Unfortunately all hell broke loose at sunrise. The rain and the wind hit what I would call typhoon force. My line holding my tent fly broke, my tent stakes were being uprooted, water was rushing in so I had to go. Taking down a tent in gale force winds is challenging but I captured everything, but somehow lost my reading glasses. Of course I was instantly soaked but my Marmot Gore-Tex jacket was taking care of me.
I decided to go straight up the side of Spanish Ridge and intersect with the trail which worked out fine thanks to the map I had with GPS location on my iPhone. The wind was blowing from the south so it was mostly going to be at my back.
My goal was to climb the 2400 foot verticle of the Spanish Ridge Trail and then take the Cooksie Spur Trail over to Cooksie Creek since I would need water. Well half way up the climb (see blue dot on map) I was realizing that this wind was a real problem. As it whipped up the slopes it must have gained even more power, so much so that I was barely able to stand up. Then I really got hit, actually blown off my feet, and I was a 240 lb object. I was totally expose at this point, no trees or large rocks to shelter behind, so I laid face down next to a small rock that gave my head a little relief. I was pinned down about 45 minutes with the wind occasionally lifting me when it hit me between my body and backpack. Oh yes, and the rain was as hard as you could imagine. So here I am face down trying not to be blown off the mountain and I’m getting cold. The night before I had listened to a chapter in Lawton Grinter’s book “I Hike” about his experience with hypothermia, so I knew that the shivering, loss of feeling in my hands and feet and the desire to burrow were typical of hypothermia. What was a bit fascinating from being in this predicament was getting a taste of what it may be like to face the real possibility of death so my conversation with God was with great urgency.
Of course the human spirit doesn’t just give up, I had to do something because my current situation was hopeless. I fought to stand which was really hard because my legs were not working as I would have liked. Something told me that I needed to climb out of this, however, I had no way of knowing what was ahead, but my GPS map at least assured me that I was on track. I walked with my back to the wind using my trekking poles as braces to counter the force and I made it to an area where a small cornice offered some relief from the heavy wind. At this point I knew I had to warm up so I pulled out a wool shirt to add a layer under my rain jacket. Buttoning that shirt with my cold fingers was far more challenging than I could have imagined. However, this accomplishment seemed to give me new motivation to press on at all costs. And pressing on was brutal. There were a few sections where the wind was at my back so I used it to essentially fly up the mountain, however, coming to a stop was never pretty. Then my backpack cover blew loose but was still attached to my backpack creating a spinnaker type sail that dragged me for 20 feet. In between my attempts to move forward I spent more time on my face trying to regroup. Overall it took me about 3 hours to travel about a mile through the really bad section of the ridge.
Of course I did finally make it to the top and when I got off the Spanish Ridge Trail and onto the much calmer Cooksie Spur Trail I was singing praise to God for allowing me to live. From the looks of the map I knew that the Cooksie Trail was also going to present an exposed ridgeline so I opted for the best tree sheltered spot to pitch my tent with the goal to get into my sleeping bag and warm up. That evening was not great but it was so much better than what I had just experienced. I was very content to make it through the night with just 13 ounces of water. I had dry clothes, mostly wool, so I did eventually warm up.
The forecast for Friday was sunshine which held true, so I set out with the need to get to Cooksie Creek for water. I also decided that I had had enough of the Lost Coast and I really wanted to hike back to my car with dreams of a good meal and warm bed. But the hike out Friday turned out to be a lot tougher than I expected. Thank God for my GPS map locator since finding the trail to the creek was rather confusing. For some reason I thought that the trail was going to follow the creek back to the coast, but as I kept examining my map I realized I must cross the creek and then climb 650 feet and another 2 miles just to get back to the coast.
Well of course the creek was swollen from all the rain so crossing it created some anxiety. Unfortunately I lost my backpack rain cover as I was crawling over a log for part of the crossing. I was really bummed about the simple climb because my legs were dead tired, but the weather was great and the motivation to end this trip lifted my effort. This was a typical view as I returned to the coast.The first beach segment on this final coastal leg required navigating a few difficult points but it was at the (high) low tide. Surprisingly I ran into a single woman just entering this difficult stretch and it was an hour after low tide. I warned her that she might want to reconsider trying to make it to Spanish Flat, and I’m not sure what she decided. The rest of the hike out was not dangerous but it was exhausting.
Walking on loose sand with tired legs was tough, but the motivation was strong and the sunset was beautiful.
When I finally got to my car at sundown (long day) I was met with yet another disappointment. I noticed that my gas cover was ripped open and then I noticed that all of my windshield wiper blades had been stolen. This was just so rude. Luckily I intentionally had less than half a tank which probably meant they didn’t get any gas. However, if it had been raining that would have been one dangerous drive back to Ferndale. I did get to Ferndale and I had possibly the greatest NY Strip Steak ever and a much needed warm bed.