To go, or not to go, that is the question.
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to endure the pains and errors of a broken down body,
Or to rouse the will against all obstacles, and by moving forward end them.
To try, to doubt no more.
And by doubt I mean that gnawing fear of conquering the flesh.
To succeed, and end the heartache, and the thousand natural disasters of having a body
is a consummation dearly to be wish’d.
To let go, and perchance recall the dream.
Ah, there’s the rub!
(With apologies to Will Shakespeare)
After my peak experience in 2016, I was really looking forward to visiting the Bear Lakes again the next summer. All winter long, I dreamt of the Altar and that radiating light. By spring, it was time to reconnect with the natural world again, even if only in our backyard garden. Joy loves to grow tomatoes, and we had a very wet El Niño winter, so we expected a bumper crop. All around our home at the edge of the river wetlands, the plants and wildlife were virtually exploding after seven years of drought. This included the local rodent population, of which the swamp rats were the most vexing.
The year before, we had problems with those pesky little varmints eating Joy’s spectacularly delicious tomatoes just before we could pick them. We plotted our defense all winter long, and when we realized there would be a spike in rat population due to the rains, we decided to build chicken wire cages around the planters. We also planned to grow dozens of tomato plants outside the cages, but the best varieties would be protected inside… or so we thought. I did my best to build something cheap and effective, and sacrificed my body for the effort, but they had little effect. As it turned out, the crafty little fiends tunneled straight up from underneath the planters! Not under the sides, mind you, but straight up through the dirt, like the sandworms in Dune. Once inside, the cages conveniently protected them from any owls or night predators, and they could feast on the tomatoes without danger.
We added more wire on the surface of the planting soil, filled their tunnels with gravel, and placed flat bricks where they were emerging, but they just dug around the obstacles. There was a large colony of them living directly underneath our planters, in the corner of the yard just before it drops off six feet to the neighbor’s downhill lot. They could dig all day long in their underground parking garage, and emerge at night, like rodent commuters arriving for work. There were so many rats that protecting our succulent tomatoes was like trying to hide sugar cubes inside an ant farm. Something drastic had to be done, or we would lose our delicious treats… in a most frustrating way, indeed!
Enter the “rat terrier” – Dante – who formerly was living an indolent life of luxury, sleeping inside his crate all day. He was about 10 years old by then, and needed more rest… he had never quite recovered from his hike up to the Bear Lakes in 2014. But we needed him now! It was time for the noble dog to earn his keep by fulfilling the ancient responsibilities bestowed upon his species when they were domesticated thousands of years before. Fortunately, his instincts were strong, and all I had to do was to say, “Get the rat!” to launch him into a frenzy of patrolling the backyard. I officially placed him on full night guard, and moved his crate to the deck on the warm summer nights. When it got foggy, I added a thick comforter. At first, he tried to convince me he was too old and feeble, and needed his nightly convalescence. He stood mournfully at our sliding glass door, like a poor street child begging to be admitted to a warm shelter. But as soon as he heard the scrabbling of little rat feet, his instincts took over and off he went on the chase! He patrolled the backyard so diligently he actually wore paths in the dirt and pine needles! In the morning he would beg to come in as soon as he saw me, and acted as if I’d saved him from a horrible ordeal. Then he waited impatiently, while I returned his crate to its usual quiet spot in the corner, then he’d hop inside and sleep like a dead dog all day.
Our new canine hero, combined with some expertly placed traps, reduced the flood of rats to a mere trickle, and our tomatoes were saved! I don’t know if it’s the Italian name ‘Dante’ or what, but the little fellow really likes tomatoes, too, so we give him all the peels and scraps as a daily reward. He pretended to dislike his new duties, but truly enjoyed the extra perks that came with the job. Imagine, we had our solution right in front of us all the time, in the form of our energetic little Rat Terrier (that’s actually the name of his breed – I looked it up). I never really needed to build those framed cages of chicken wire, which really pissed me off! Especially when I suffered one of my worst knee injuries by making them…
I was using my table saw carefully with gloves and safety goggles, ripping the cheap fence boards into strips for building frames of chicken wire. I lost hold of a board, and it kicked the dust cover right into the spinning saw blade! The metal armature holding the cover was yanked out of its bolts in a split second, and the jagged shrapnel smashed into my right knee with the force of an automobile. I was squatting in front of the saw to feed the boards through, and a rivet even cracked off my forehead, leaving a bright red dot between my eyebrows! That thing smashed right through my cheap eye protectors! After bouncing hard off my knee, the mangled housing landed six feet in front of me with a crash. Immediately I knew it was bad, but I was in shock, and envisioned a completely mangled and bloody stump of a leg, at which I dared not look. Joy came out to check on me when I yelled in pain, but I didn’t want an expensive trip to the emergency room, so I waved her off. Men prefer to recover from wounds alone.
I experienced a roller coaster of emotions, from “Oh my god, not my knee!” up to “Hey, maybe it’s not so bad,” and plummeting down to, “Why is it numb?” Then the rush of adrenaline, “Is my kneecap still there?” and finally slowing down to, “I can bend it and put weight on it, so nothing’s broken…” When I mustered the courage to look, I expected ripped pants and blood, but there was no outward sign of damage. I took my pants off and there was a dull red mark next to my patella, which was certain to become a bruise. Miraculously, it felt as though I had possibly escaped serious injury. I pampered my tender knee and took care of it the way I had learned so many times in my life, with R.I.C.E. (rest, ice, compression, and elevation) to reduce any swelling, but it never even swelled up much. I had reason to hope for the best. Meanwhile, the red dot on my forehead healed up, so at least the clerks at Whole Foods stopped saying “Namaste.” That rivet hit me like a bullet from the movies, but without sufficient force to penetrate my thick skull.
As the weeks went on, however, my right knee wasn’t getting any better. When the minor swelling abated I could feel a tender spot – especially when I knelt on the corner of my tibia. I palpated an object the size of a bean moving under the surface of my skin when I rubbed it. Shit. There was a bone chip or something still in there, and I knew it would take surgery to remove it. Incidentally, this was the same condition that caused me to meet Joy over 30 years before… but that’s another story. Knee surgery was definitely going to limit my trips to the Bear Lakes! To make matters worse, I sprained the other knee (the one that had surgery twice already), by trying to favor the one with the bone chip, so now both knees probably needed surgery!
The decision must be made. To go, or not to go? Could I make it up to the lakes in my battered condition before surgery? Or should I get the surgery now, which would surely keep me away for another year, if not two? One is never guaranteed “next summer,” so my choice was pretty easy. I was going to make my pilgrimage to the Bear Lakes if I had to crawl all the way to the Altar.
This time, I was going to hike ultralight if it killed me. I was heavier than I’d ever been in my life, so I had to save weight wherever possible. I needed to reduce the stress on my knees, so it was time to say goodbye to some sentimental favorite camping gear. I traded in my Rusty Bucket redwood walking stick for a pair of carbon filament trekking poles – the better to cushion each step. Those would also provide better stability and balance, and weighing under a pound each, were likely to cause less fatigue than the heavier wooden staff. I still used the down sleeping bag that my dad purchased for our first backpacking trip over 40 years ago. It had held up remarkably well over the years, and its weight compared favorably to the best gear at REI, but it was rather bulky. This was harder to give up because it was the one object I had taken on every trip to the Bear Lakes. Instead of getting a new bag (which wasn’t much lighter anyway), I opted to roll it super-tight, and cinch it down on a belt to wear around my waist to support my pack. I also ordered a smaller, collapsible backpack that was 4 lbs. lighter than my aluminum-framed backpack. Added all together, these changes were expected to reduce my burden considerably. I was shooting for less than 20 lbs. “base weight” before adding consumables like food or water. I wanted to have as few barriers to the wilderness as possible, to practice what Colin Fletcher called “the Law of Inverse Appreciation,” or: The less there is between you and the environment, the more you appreciate the environment.
Food was going to be a minimum affair, as well. On my last few trips I took way too much food, and didn’t feel much like eating, anyway. I expected to be burning calories I already had, so I could bring a lot less food and still be comfortable. About a half pound of beef jerky and a pound of gorp were the mainstays of my diet. Four oatmeal packs would give me a calorie boost in the morning, and I’m sure a few snacks would sneak their way into my backpack somehow. My goal was to carry under 25 lbs., including trail water, but not including the clothes and boots I wore. I aimed to practice what I had preached over the years, and make this trip into a walking meditation, so I could experience it more like a wandering monk than a beast of burden.
The good news was, my knees felt better than I thought they would, when I tested them on a short hike near my home. The bad news was, I would be carrying over 30 extra lbs. However, my load was becoming lighter each year, which was certainly a positive development!