I understand how the caribou feel. The madness that causes mid-summer herds to careen across the tundra and plunge into icy rivers. The drive to keep moving, moving to the point of starvation. I understand.
*****
One of my Year of Fear goals has been to hike Crow Pass. The hike itself doesn't scare me, although any time I sleep in a tent in bear country I get a little nervous. No, what really makes me hesitate, makes me question my sanity, is crossing Eagle River. The river crossing is not far from where the river spills out from under its mother glacier. It is about 150-200 feet across, and can run anywhere from knee to waist deep depending on the time of day, the weather, the whim of Mother Nature. It's big, it's cold, and it's fast. One stumble could mean death.
Of course I'm going to do this by myself. It's what I do. Monday, July 29, 2019, is my target date for starting the hike, just barely in time to qualify as my July YOF endeavor.
Contrary to my hubby's continual accusations, I'm not rushing into this prospect headlong and without thought. I've been paying attention to the water levels as reported by the Eagle River Nature Center's Crow Pass Facebook page. I'd have hiked it earlier in the month except that they kept reporting higher-than-normal water levels, waist deep, thanks to the unreasonably hot summer we've been having. This past couple of weeks, however, they've been reporting dropping water. At the last report, they said it was knee to mid-thigh deep. I'll check again before I head out on the trail.
I've also watched videos and read descriptions of good river-crossing techniques. I know to face upriver and plant my poles to give me more points of contact. I know to unbuckle my backpack waist and sternum straps so that if I do fall I can get out of my pack so that it doesn't drag me under water. I'll move slowly and carefully so I don't fall in a hole that can't be seen through water opaque with silt.
I'm also smart enough to turn around if I'm not comfortable with the situation. There's no shame in choosing to survive an adventure.
Being prepared for the river crossing aside, I also have to be prepared for three days of hiking. The trail is only 23 miles, but the first 3 include 2,100 feet of elevation gain, so I have no illusions of really kicking out the miles. The river crossing is at about mile 11. I have to be ready to carry everything I need for two nights on the trail on my back. That doesn't seem like a lot, but consider it this way: whether you're out for a night or a week or a month, you have to have the same basic gear. All you really add to the base is sufficient food and water. I'll need a tent, sleeping bag and pad, cook stove and fuel, a change of clothes, extra shoes for the river crossing, food, water, and whatever odds and ends make trail life more livable.
The last time I went out overnight, two years ago, I somehow managed to end up with a 40-pound pack! I'm not quite sure how that happened, but I can't happen again. My mother-in-law generously gave me her tent, a smaller version of mine that weighs half as much. The rest of my gear has basically remained the same, except my pack. I think I got my old pack about 1994. It's a beautiful cobalt blue North Face with bright yellow straps, top of the line for its day. Unfortunately, thanks to great advancements in technical fabrics over the past three decades, it weighs at least twice what a comparably sized modern pack does. It had to go, no question about that, but I've been hemming and hawing for the past two years about what to get instead. I wasn't sure I could justify $200-300 for an item I wasn't sure I'd use that much.
Today I finally decided I'd give an REI pack I bought for Rowan to take on a Girl Scout Camp canoeing adventure a try. Since she was only about 10 at the time, I was pretty sure the pack would be too small for me. I extended the back adjustment as high as it would go and the hip belt as long as it could be. Since it's a 70-liter pack, I was able to easily get all of my gear in it. I left out food and clothes just because I didn't feel like packing them. The total weighed about 18 pounds. Clothes should only add another pound or two. That's not too bad for a base weight, the total gear weight not counting food and water. I should be able to keep the whole thing easily under 25 pounds.
The next step was to see if I could carry it comfortably. I loaded Scout up in the truck and set out to find an appropriately difficult trail. My first two choices were unavailable due to maintenance on those sections of the pipeline corridor. The pass was way too foggy for enjoyable hiking, so I stopped at my third choice, the Wagon Trail. Unfortunately, just as I was spraying on bug dope, a car with four 20-somethings pulled up. I was feeling too antisocial for that, and a little too ridiculous carrying a giant pack on a day hike, so we pulled out and went on. Finally, I found solitude at the pipeline access just south of Keystone Canyon. I could hike 10 miles if I wanted to, more than enough for testing the pack.
Solitude. If only.
I was able to maintain a good pace for the first mile as it was mostly flat. Right after the pipeline took a sharp right turn, the gravel turned vertical. It was hard walking, but not too hard. The pack was doing well. I could live with it if I had to, but it really was too small for me.
What I couldn't live with was the flies. Little black flies. Big black flies. Buzzing around my head. Tangling in my hair. Biting me through my tights and shirt. Cutter insect repellant made no difference. It just provided spice on my tender flesh.
After just two miles and 620 feet of elevation gain I couldn't take it any more. I couldn't stop to drink, let alone eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I really wanted to eat. The flies were incessant while I was moving; they were murderous when I stopped.
I turned around and headed downhill. I thought maybe if I was moving faster, I could outpace them, but no luck. There was a bit of a breeze when we got back down to the Lowe River, enough to chase off the biggest bastards so I could eat half my sandwich, but not enough to want to linger. I raced Scout to the truck. (She won.)
As I hiked the pipeline, my sweat sending out pheromones to the flies, I thought about caribou as they madden under sieges of botflies. I wanted to dash madly through the woods. I wanted to plunge into the icy river. Anything to get away from those flies. I too was being driven insane by flies.
Good luck this summer, caribou, my friends.
