7/10 – Monday – I finish my Ultralight equipment for the trip and assemble food, etc. Good to go.
 
7/11 - Tuesday morning, 8:30 AM – 200 feet above sea level (our house), all packed and off to Lone Pine to get a hiking permit (the visitor center closes at 6 PM). I get there by 4:30, get a permit, call Carol and tell her I’m thinking of starting the hike in tonight. I drove by the trailhead then decided to check out the Grays Meadow campground. I discover I’m huffing as I walk to the bathroom, so I decide to spend the night there at 6000 feet – getting acclimated to the altitude you know. The wind is blowing down off the mountains about 30 MPH (cold air filling the hot valley at the end of the day), but it’s cozy in the truck and I fall asleep before dark.
 
7/12 – Wednesday morning, 6:30 AM – I’m all ready and start hiking from the trailhead (6000’). One of the risks I’m conscious of is going too fast – both because of using up energy I’ll need on peak day and because I don’t want to go too high, too fast because I know I’m susceptible to AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness, check your Decoder Ring) also known as altitude sickness. (Insert music appropriate for foreshadowing).
 
My M.O. is to make sure I’m never going so fast I can’t keep up the breathing through my nose – in other words, no panting, ever.
 
I take lots of breaks and continue to focus on going slow. Nonetheless, I’m at Anvil Camp (5000 feet of altitude gain / loss) at 10,000 feet before 1 PM. I start searching for a good campsite, then I notice 2 things – there are mosquitoes (I have no tent; I’m using a tarp as part of the Ultralight equipment) and, it’s the bleeping middle of the day – what am I going to do for the rest of the day? I brought a book, but I don’t want to lay in the dirt reading – I could read at home in comfort. I took a decision to continue hiking higher, both to get out of the bugs and to use up time.
 
This is my first solo backpacking trip and I notice a couple things immediately – one, I can’t get out of my own head and two, there’s no one to commiserate with. It’s important to be able to grouse about being tired, dirty, hungry, etc. even if all your partner does is tell you to shut up.
 
But I digress.
 
I climb up to a spot I’d seen on previous trips at about 11,000 feet, next to water and in a beautiful little spot – and I’m just at the edge of timberline, so I figure no mosquitoes. No shade either, so I rig my tarp and take a little nap.
 
I still feel great; it’s only 3:30 PM, and Shepherd Pass is just 1,000 feet above me. I’m feeling good knowing I could easily have made the pass in one day. I take another decision to stay where I am – no use pushing the risk on getting AMS by going too high, too fast (more foreshadowing).
 
So, it’s getting dark, I go out to hang my food from some scruffy tree (to keep Pikas and Marmots out, a bear would not even be slowed down) and discover I’m in mosquito hell – by the time I get the food hung, I’m crazy (I REALLY HATE mosquitoes). I run for the tarp and discover that by getting under my quilt, I’m fooling the little bastards’ infrared sensors (they can only find my face and hands now, oh joy) and can survive.
 
I’m still feeling spiffy, got everything packed for the AM, I’ll get up at 5:30, have a little breakfast, then climb the 1000 feet to the top of the pass, then hike the two miles cross-country to the Mt Williamson route I’ve chosen, and should be climbing by 9ish, worst case 10ish. Alarm set (turns out my new waterproof camera also has an alarm, sweet!), read a little, off to slumberland.
 
11:30 PM – wake up, stuffed sinuses, headache, can’t sleep anymore – I must have a ‘squito alarm built in ‘cause every time one approaches my face, I hear the hum and wake up. Also, I’ve discovered that the ant hill I was next to (and assumed they were quiescent at night) has decided to explore my quilt. To top it all off, I’m on a 3/8” thick pad on rock, with a pillow made out of my knee brace crammed with socks and my thermal pants – not exactly comfy (not to mention fresh-smelling, if you get my drift).
 
Just so you know, I’ve been sleeping on a waterbed with two comfy pillows since I was 19 – misery, thy name is Ultralight.
 
7/13 – Never slept again all night that I know of, can’t breathe, feel like crap. Under attack by insects. Will morning never come?
 
5 AM – the eastern sky is bright enough to start blinking out the stars. I’m thinking, boy, I hope I feel better by 5:30 (when the alarm goes off and I have to move). Now light enough to see under the tarp, might as well start moving. I get out my morning pill regimen and swallow a couple with some Gatorade. Much to my disappointment, I barf them back up into my hand – I know from experience what this means. I force them back down, with the rest, and drink some more, but I can’t even consider food.
 
OK, maybe what I need to do is get moving – so I finish dressing, packing and get up and out. It’s beautiful – the moon is hanging in the west, and the sun is a bright red ball rising over the mountain range to the east across the Owens Valley. I walk over to top off my water bottles and start moving uphill as slowly as I can manage without standing still. I do some of that, too. Come to the first vertical obstacle, a rock flow to climb up over. It doesn’t feel good, and I’m sweating like I was actually doing something. I persevere, though, and get up and over and now I can see the snowfield.
 
Someone is coming down from the top – and they get to the snowfield and stop. I can tell what they’re doing – they’re putting on their crampons to cross the snowfield, which is a friendly adventure when it’s warmed up and slushy, but something else entirely when it’s frozen solid – like it is right now. I ponder this, keep going, and then notice my heart is hammering out of my chest.
 
Time for another decision – I feel so bad at the beginning of the hike, I’ve got at least 3800 feet of elevation to gain, and I’m by myself – the decision is to abort and try again later. Dammit.
 
I never said I was a “good” mountaineer, “persistent” may be the better adjective.
 
Turn around, pack up camp (takes me ½ hour or better and I nearly fall over faint from stuffing my quilt) and head downhill.
 
Not so bad, still can’t eat anything, but at least I can drink. I descend about 2,000 feet to Mahogany Flat, stop and try to force down some food. I get through half a cereal bar then start heaving. So – no food until I get out – oh, well, I’ve done it before.
 
Mt Williamson is part of a Bighorn Sheep preserve and it closes to climbers 7/15 (thus the quick turnaround from Mt Williamson I) and I meet 15 or more hikers coming up as I descend.
 
My favorites were the group I met about 1,000 feet above the trailhead – they’re carrying these BFP’s that would eclipse the sun – and its 11:00 AM and they have 1,000 feet to go to the first saddle. From there, the trail goes down 500 feet and then it’s a 2500 foot climb to Anvil Camp – all on the north side of the canyon on a south-facing slope – and it will be 1PM by the time they get to the top of the saddle – these geniuses will be doing the very hardest part of the day in the full afternoon sun. Suddenly, I feel better – the “bigger idiots” effect.
 
One of them asks me “So, the trail levels out after the saddle?” and I actually said, out loud, “Are you kidding me?”, which I suppose was kind of judgmental, and they didn’t react well, but it got worse when I told them they had 3500 feet left to climb, in the full sun. Come on, it wouldn’t have been fair to mislead them!
 
BFP’s – to save weight, backpackers buy stuff like Gossamer Gear’s “Mariposa Ultralight”, or GoLite’s “Infinity” or whatever. These guys were carrying something like Freightliner’s “U-Stor-It”.
 
I digress again.
 
Made it to the trailhead, on the upside there’s cold orange juice in my cooler which I put to good use along with a good dose of ibuprofen. Off to Lone Pine, since I haven’t eaten all day, my body is obviously crying for a Tuna Melt with fries and a couple Mojave Reds (on draft!!!). I would gladly have made it a pitcher, but my new favorite waiter wasn’t there…
 
After this bracing lunch, I consider what to do next – it’s a least 100 degrees, and not even midafternoon, so I decide to head home, where it’s much cooler – thinking briefly that a sleepless night, a 12-mile hike, and two (oh, so yummy!) beers could cause some issues while driving, but being me, I proceed (don’t tell Carol). Somewhere along the way, I wake up as the wheels hit the shoulder, and prudently decide to stop and nap. Driving is so dangerous…
 
Home at 9:30 PM, hugs and XXX’s to Carol, shower, and she has a big bowl of fresh figs (from our fig tree) waiting for me – food that will probably actually improve my situation. Life is good.
 
In Retrospect:
 
I’m done with Ultralight – the theory was to save my knee by going light, but I now equate Ultralight with Ultramiserable. I’ll add 5-10 lbs to the pack, and live with the consequences. No more sleepless nights on a paper-thin pad with insects as bed partners for me!
 
I’m jazzed that I covered 24 miles and 12,000 feet of elevation gain and loss in less than 30 hours – guess I’m ready for Cousin Neil’s visit.
 
It’s a good feeling to know I could have hiked Shepherd Pass in one day – a pretty good benchmark for fitness.
 
Oh, and the new A/C in the truck worked flawlessly – ‘tho it couldn’t quite keep up in the desert heat except on “high”.
 
I can’t wait to go back…