2024 (2) – Agoraphobes Anonymous

The Eppsmobile rolled into camp around 2 in the morning, and our heroes quickly went to bed to try and get some shuteye.  Jordan and Sam gratefully occupied the funky tent I set up, and it survived intact for the few hours until dawn.  Dimari and Miles occupied the back of the Highlander, and I tried to sleep in Logan’s Rav-4.  Alas, I had forgotten the foam pad I prepared for the trip, which made for a very uncomfortable night, indeed.  As soon as I could see, I was outta there!  Predictably, the Epps Men slept in for a bit, while I explored the effects of the dawn on the dusty woods and river.  There was no sign of activity from our neighbors with the young children.  Brown birds flitted nervously through the lower branches of the tall Douglas fir and Jeffrey pine that stood at attention around the large clearing.  Down at the river, I searched for a few interesting rocks to bring home for our garden.  The river looked more like a creek, this far upstream from the lake.  I could see bodies stirring back at camp, and returned to wrangle breakfast and discuss our plans for the day.

It was already warm in the woods, and it promised to be a scorching day.  I urged the troops to eat quickly and get their gear together, so we could leave before it got too hot.  Everything came together after breakfast, and we hit the trail by 8 am… when it was already over 70 degrees!  The first part of the trail always sorted out the kinks, and it soon became apparent that Sam was a very deliberate hiker, indeed.  It was her first time backpacking, or even camping.  She claimed she had never been a Girl Scout, or even sat around a campfire before!  She had a soft but strong city body, and the plucky confidence of an ambulance driver.  I watched her closely all the way to the bridge, and although she was very measured in her pace, I could see she was tough enough.  The rest of us often slowed down, or stopped and waited for her (and Jordan, who solicitously shadowed her every step).

Dimari and Miles were the most athletic hikers in our group, and they kept distancing themselves from the lesser mortals, finding it more comfortable to hike with a strident rhythm.  At first, they often stopped and waited for us to catch up, but I could tell they wanted to just keep going.  For my part, I was calm and careful, owing to my long history of leg injuries.  As the cranky gears warmed up, and the oil started to flow, I was pleased to find my wheels were well aligned for this trip.  My left knee, which had been so mysteriously weak and painful earlier in the year, was fully recovered, and stronger than I remembered for many years.  The rough and rocky first parts of the trail were always a challenge after soft city living, but I maintained my pace and regular breathing.  So far, so good.  The temperature was almost 80 by the time we crossed the bridge and headed up the dusty switchbacks to access the ridge.  Getting into the ragged, crusty edges of the forest, I noticed that the trail had been rerouted in places, avoiding the biggest deadfalls and obstacles.  I caught up with Dimari and Miles, and together we waited for Sam and Jordan, who were far behind by now.

Suddenly, we heard voices coming down the trail, and a most astonishing group of hikers came into view, including a woman on crutches!  She was about 50, a bit heavy, and unable to put any weight on her left ankle.  She was accompanied by two other hikers that appeared to be her husband and son, and a pair of medical personnel in matching t-shirts (these must have been the ones who brought the crutches up the trail).  Several things were immediately apparent: the woman was in a lot of pain, and had been using the crutches for quite a while already.  She was tired and sweaty, but still game, and gritted her teeth at us in the shape of a smile.  “Don’t fall!” she offered with obvious irony.  The three of us stood at attention, giving her so much encouragement and respect, suppressing the urge to applaud her grit and determination.  The medical guys were carefully descending the trail – one in front of her (going backwards), and one in back – and they all moved at an understandably slow and delicate pace.  It was going to take her a very long time to make it down to the cars like that!  Her face was red and sweaty, but she still managed to be cheerful in spite of the hardship.  “It’s so beautiful up here!” she exclaimed with sincerity, and turned her attention back to using the crutches.  Jordan and Sam arrived just as they passed us, and they, too, were suitably impressed – both by the woman’s fortitude, and the seriousness of an injury far away from medical assistance.

When the motley crew of backpacking refugees had disappeared down the trail, we all wished the brave woman the best of luck, and cautiously continued on our way — like zebras that had just lost one of their herd to the lions.  Owing to Sam’s slow-and-steady approach, we didn’t get to the Twin Towers until 12:30, but the air was still comfortably cool.  I checked the creek bed for azaleas like I always do, but found no sign of blossoms.  The climate wasn’t regular anymore, so it was beyond my ken to tell whether it was too early, or too late in the season.  Sam chattered brightly like a sparrow, and was duly impressed by the woman on crutches; for all the right reasons.  Everyone agreed we would take the hint, and be extra careful ourselves.  I knew that disaster could happen at any time, having experienced a few scary falls up there, myself.  We ate a quick trail lunch, refilled our bottles from the creek, and headed off for the more challenging parts of the trail.  Sam didn’t complain (that I could hear), but she became even more deliberate when we hit the steep, bushy parts of the trail.  I wound up going ahead at my own pace, but stopping frequently in places where I could keep her and Jordan in sight.  He was big and strong now – approaching 200 pounds – and he stayed close to her at all times.  I lagged back with them, as I was feeling the effects of altitude already, and I started using my oxygen, since we were over 4,000 feet up.  There was lots of water on the trail from continued snow melt.  Sam’s slow pace was causing our party to be exposed on the open parts of the trail during the hottest part of the day.  The tall ferns and moist “aldersnarl” parts of the trail were particularly steamy; pushing 100 degrees in places.  All this time, it kept getting hotter, and the others were somewhere far ahead of us.

By about 2:00 Sam was looking pretty tired, but she was still game, and Jordan ministered to her every need.  When they reached my shady spot, I offered her one of my oxygen bottles to perk up her metabolism.  She had scratches all over her legs, and seemed pretty spent already.  I wanted to reach the lake before nighttime, of course, but was enjoying the long rests while waiting for the young couple.  It gave me a chance to enjoy the many wildflowers in bloom, and relax with the rhythm of the trees and abundant plant life along the trail.  We were almost to the pools below Big Bear, but still had to tackle the most challenging part after that: the crossover to Little Bear Lake!  I began to consider alternative spots where we might spend the night, as the sun was advancing towards the western rim already.  Spirits were lifted noticeably when we reached the pools and found Dimari and Miles enjoying a long rest, and considering our options.  Everyone, including Sam, wanted to press on the Little Bear, and I figured we had about 2-3 hours of daylight left.  At least the sun would be at a favorable angle as we crossed up and over, oblique to the hot, exposed rocks of Dis Butte.  We all preferred the open, rugged rocks to the humid, tangled “alderfuck” we had just passed through.  How did that lady on crutches ever make it through there?

It was hovering close to 100 when we set off towards the preferred route over the Lego cliffs.  Sam was moving very slowly now, using her hands, and often Jordan’s as well.  Dimari, Miles, and I went ahead to scout the best routes, taking the familiar shortcut across the gully.  There was a 10-15 foot drop there, where one had to proceed along an uneven ledge using handholds.  All the sudden, just when we were getting close to the final crossing up to Wee Bear, we heard Sam sobbing and shrieking far behind us!  Fearing an injury, we quickly dropped our packs with concern.  Miles scurried off back to where they were, apparently still in that gully (where we couldn’t see them).  “I’m afraid of heights!” we heard Sam scream, and that was both a relief and a shock.  Apparently she was uninjured, but quite  immobilized with fear, and she wouldn’t stop sobbing.  Dimari and I grimaced at each other.  This didn’t look good!  The sun was close to disappearing behind the rim where we waited, and we grimly considered our options for about a half hour more.  Could we carry her and her pack?  Should we let them camp there, on the rocky slope?  It was too late to go back to the pools.

“We’re almost to the lake, let’s go set up camp there, then come back to help,” Dimari suggested.

“Good idea,” I agreed, glancing at the sun for the hundredth time.  I could finally see Sam emerging from the gully, and crawling on hands and knees.  Jordan was right there with here, patiently talking her through the crisis, just like he does often in his job helping autistic children.  Sam was a strong, capable woman, but at that moment she needed professional crisis management!  

Dimari went back to get Sam’s pack, while I watched through my binoculars.  I was plumb worn out from the heat after 10 hours on the trail, and my legs only had enough energy to make it up to the lakes.  My left knee was starting to feel weak again, with a concerning creaking noise. Dimari returned carrying a double load of packs, and we left Miles as a “scout” to come and get us if serious help were needed.  Finally, we continued up the final few hundred yards to the lake.  By the time we dropped our infernal loads, the daylight was already shifting towards twilight, and we hastily set up the tents so they’d be ready.  Miles arrived with his pack after only a few minutes, reporting that Sam had started moving again, and the two of them were coming along.  Apparently, when we pressed on ahead, it spurred her into action.  She probably didn’t want to camp anywhere near the cliffs!  They arrived about an hour later when it was nearly dark.  It had taken a very long time for Jordan to convince her that up was best, where there would be shade, shelter, and water!  It was now about 8 pm, and still 90 degrees at 6,200 feet!

There really wasn’t any time or energy to explore.  Mosquitoes were already dropping out of the trees, above a big puddle of melted snow where they had been hatching in droves for many days.  As it turned out, we were the only campers, which also made us the only meals available at the entire lake!  We had set up the tents away from the forest, but repellent was a must.  We cooked a hasty dinner while we could still see, then everyone jumped in the lake to wash off the trail dust and sweat before retiring into our nylon cocoons. I slept well, waking frequently, with vivid dreams about a long, drawn-out military invasion of Little Bear Lake.  Outside, the mosquitoes buzzed in close order drill across my tent, whining in utter frustration at the scent of so much blood that couldn’t be reached!  There was no moon, so the stars were bright and numerous across the sky, sweetly shimmering in the warm atmosphere, but we were all oblivious to their charms as we slept like the dead.