balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 16, 2020 10:12:57 GMT -8
For the last couple of years I have contemplated collecting all of my best stories about camping and putting them into a book. And I even had a concept, based on Bocaccio's Tales of the Decameron--where ten young people leave the city to escape the dangers of the Black Plague, and spend their days entertaining each other by telling stories.
My concept would happen in a campground that was suddenly cut off by a landslide that isolated the campers from the main road, and the campers entertain themselves by telling stories around the campfire. I liked the idea, and had even put together a list of the stories I would include...it was just a question of getting the time to write them all down. (I know others on these boards also write books, so I know they share that feeling...). In homage to Bocaccio, I would call it the Tales of the Tentcamperon. (clever, huh?)
And then COVID-19 happened. And most of us are urged to self-isolate to avoid contagion. Just like Bocaccio.
And then I realized that many people might be bored. And I also knew (again) that others on these boards also write books or stories. Just like Bocaccio. Well, maybe not exactly, but write, anyway.
And so I would like to invite all to join the process. I will begin by posting a story that I hope you enjoy. And I hope others will do the same. And I hope that we can entertain ourselves with these stories.
Will there be a book? Maybe--but if I do decide to print a book, it will be with my stories. I won't steal from anyone else. But on the other hand, if this takes off and we do put together a wonderful series of stories out of COVID19, I would be delighted to be part of that--proceeds to help pay for the site?
Rebecca?
OK. Enough. Next post is the first story.
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balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 16, 2020 10:25:15 GMT -8
Our first story is the best kind of story: a bear story. It is also the oldest story I know, told to us by an old friend of my parents, now long gone, who was a ranger in Glacier National Park.
Many, many years ago, he was a young ranger stationed in a far off corner of the park. He and his wife were given a rustic one-room plywood cabin for lodging. That's where he, his wife and their tiny baby were to live for the duration of the summer. It was a beautiful and isolated area, and the only drawback was that there were reports of a rather aggressive Grizzly bear in the neighborhood.
With that in mind, the park service had issued him a revolver. (This was in the good old days, when rangers didn't carry firearms as a matter of course. And he was quite uncomfortable with the idea of the revolver. But he took it.)
One night, as they lay sleeping in their beds, the unmistakable sounds of a bear came to them through the thin walls of the cabin. And as they listened, the bear obviously smelled the food in the cabin, and started trying to push down the door. And let's remember that this cabin was rustic. The door was a few boards nailed together, and the latch on the door was just a piece of wood that slid into a notch--not exactly a bear-proof container.
The young ranger's wife woke him up, and told him to do something. So our ranger yelled at the bear, trying to scare it away. That made no difference. The bear kept pushing against the door.
Then his wife starting screaming, both at the bear and at him. In the pitch black night, the young ranger reluctantly pulled out his service revolver and faced the door. He did not want to shoot the bear, but he would stand between the bear and his wife and child.
The bear kept grunting and pushing on the door, and it was only a matter of time before the flimsy door gave way.
With a heavy heart, the ranger fired a shot at the bear. The roar and flash of the gun filled the cabin.
They listened. The shot had no effect. The bear was still hammering away at the door...only now it might be a little angrier.
He shot again, and another explosion filled the cabin.
And they were horrified to hear that the bear was still there, attacking the door.
The ranger fired again. And this time, his third shot was followed by silence.
They waited. They listened. They could hear nothing--only silence.
Now what to do? The bear might well be dead. They didn't know. But it also might well be wounded, and just outside the door. The ranger listened carefully. Still no sounds from outside. He sat on the bed and waited. Still no noise. Slowly, quietly, he slipped back into bed and decided to wait until morning.
It was fitful night for them all.
The next morning, he and his wife tried to peer out the windows to see if they could see the bear--but they couldn't see any trace of it. But the worst part of this was that they could not see the porch of the cabin directly in front of the door. No window looked out onto that porch.
Where was the bear?
With his wife cradling the baby far from the door, our ranger took his service revolver and cracked the door open, just enough to see. He peered out. There was no bear on the porch. He opened the door more. He waited and listened. Still no sign of the bear.
Where could the bear be? Was it still alive? If it was wounded, could it be just inside the forest, waiting to attack?
He tentatively walked out onto the porch. No sign of the bear. He searched the porch for blood stains, and reported to his wife that he couldn't find any.
His wife, still inside the cabin, said that she understood why. And then she started laughing.
In the darkness, the ranger had carefully fired three shots. One into the ceiling, one into the floor, and the third into the wall about five feet from the door. None of them had come anywhere near the bear.
They concluded that bear had left because of the noise, not because it had been shot.
But to their relief, it didn't return all summer.
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Post by autumnmist on Mar 16, 2020 11:28:43 GMT -8
I personally would not be bored by tales of isolation, adaptation, resistance and survival. Just my opinion, but I think those factors are present (or not) in the responses of people to Covid 19. Just from my limited experience, and from listening to a telephonic town hall for seniors in my area, I think a lot of people are scared, don't completely understand the seriousness or are in denial. What I don't see is a lot of problem solving, one of the reasons I've found this forum attractive for basic and challenging life issues.
The adaptations shared here are inspirational, and "think outside the box" solutions, something I also experienced in the Alzheimer's course I took. Sometimes it takes a lot of mental manipulation to do that, to go beyond typical responses, fear, challenge, and venture into new areas of thought, planning and life. But it also enables better coping skills. To me, those are good lessons for everyone, and under any condition.
As to the ranger and the bear, I actually found myself tensing up as the bear attempted to barge into the cabin. So, your story had an effect on me.
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balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 16, 2020 20:32:26 GMT -8
OK. Here's another one. Please feel free to chime in and add your own stories as we go along!
In the early 1970's I was working at a kids camp near Yosemite, leading kids on backpacking trips and exploring this amazing park with them. At the end of the summer, A fellow counsellor and I decided that we were going on a grand adventure to celebrate going back to school. We were going to hike from Yosemite to Sequoia without the convenience of the John Muir Trail. We were young, we were strong, and we really had no idea what we were getting into. We set up a food drop for Reds Meadow, and off we went.
Our route started at Glacier Point, and from there we were going to ascend Illilouette Canyon, cross over Red Peak Pass, and then keep moving south over Post Peak or Isberg pass and south some more, sometimes on lesser known trails, sometimes cross country.
We hitched a ride from the camp into Yosemite Valley, and then managed to hitch-hike up to Glacier Point by the end of the day. This was before permits, so we didn't really check in with anyone. And not wanting to start out on the trail so late in the day, we decided to camp (perhaps illegally?) around Glacier Point so that we could get an early start the next day. Simple.
And the weather was perfect. We simply put down a sheet of plastic and laid our sleeping bags on top, sleeping under the stars, cowboy style. With a long night ahead, we were asleep soon after dark.
And we were soon awake again, hearing loud noises in the area. As we looked around, we realized that we were in the middle of a massive bear attack. The bears, six or more of them, were racing each other to the garbage cans around Glacier Point, knocking over the cans, and then wrestling, growling, and fighting each other over what they found inside.
By the light of the moon it looked for all the world like a huge bear rugby or football game...only the players were not from Chicago. They were huge, they were feisty, and they were racing from one spot to the next. A scene from a horror movie, to be sure.
Holy $hit!
We didn't think twice. We leapt up, grabbed our bags and packs, and leaving a few small items behind, flew towards the only safe haven in the whole area--the restroom. It was a hard sprint, in our pajamas and bare feet, with the sleeping bags dragging along behind us, but I was faster and made it first. I am a nice person, and so I didn't slam the door in my friend's face. Once inside, we were both relieved to see that it was possible to lock the door from the inside. Which we did, quickly.
What luck that the rangers had not locked the door the night before.
So we spent the night in the restrooms at Glacier Point. And got a very early start the next day.
(In the end, we never made it outside of Yosemite National Park. My friend really, really didn't feel good on our second night, at about 10,000 feet at Lower Ottaway Lake. And the next morning, he announced that he really thought he needed to turn back. He was coughing, and sounded terrible. We hiked out that day, then spent a night in Yosemite Valley before hitch-hiking home to the Bay Area, where my friend found out that he was suffering from serious bronchitis. No mean thing at 10,000 feet, with sixteen miles to hike out.)
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Post by autumnmist on Mar 17, 2020 11:03:42 GMT -8
...bear rugby... picturing that creates a humorous situation contrasting to the rapid escape. A clever ad person could make a cute commercial out of that.
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balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 18, 2020 11:30:27 GMT -8
And another one.
One of our most memorable encounter with wild animals in the Sierra was along the Silver Fork of the American River about twenty-five years ago. It was Labor Day, and our family of four just took a wild chance and headed up to see if we could get a campsite at the last minute, even though we knew things were going to be packed. The girls were about six and nine years old, and we wanted to get them out of the house for a day or two.
We drove up and asked the campground host if there were any sites available, and he actually laughed out loud at our question. "On Saturday morning on Labor Day Weekend? Ha ha ha ha." Just then a family in a station wagon drove by on their way out of the campground--saying that they were going home. So we got the only campsite available, and set up our tent. "Ha ha yourself!"
This campground was not the most scenic--it's right along the river, and most of the campers were there to do one thing: fish the river. There were no nearby trails to hike, lakes to swim, or historical sites to visit. There was no visitor center or museum. But we were happy. The tent was set up, and the two girls raced off to play along the river while my wife and I finished setting up camp.
Half an hour later, we wandered down to keep an eye on the girls and let them know that it was time to get back to camp so that we could take a short walk up the river. The road ran along above the river, and soon we came in sight of the girls--happily playing among some rocks well below the road.
We watched for a few minutes, enjoying the spectacle of our two children playing happily without toys or electricity, and tried to overhear their conversation. They were oblivious to our presence, and their talk was full of fantasy about kings and palaces, stone villages and rock walls. There were castles and towns. It was utterly charming.
We watched them for a few minutes, but it was also time to get going.
I walked just a little closer, to a rock that was directly above their play site, and made a strange, somewhat animal noise that I expected would make them laugh. Something between a roar and a growl.
I was right, but it took a little longer than I thought.
The younger of our two daughters screamed in fright and then looked up and saw her dad. She started laughing, as did her mother and I.
But her older sister did not. In fact, her older sister took a very different approach to the issue.
Head down and shoulders hunched, she turned and sprinted for the river, some fifty feet away. And when she got to that river, she kept right on running. As she sprinted, the rest of us had time to look at each other in surprise, and laugh even more heartily.
Then she dove into the river (quite shallow along this stretch) and scrambled/swam/crawled, furiously determined, to the other side. At this point, the three of us were now is serious danger of losing control of our bladders. Her little sister was squealing in delight.
The older girl then stood up on the far side of the river, dripping wet, and looked back to see what had happened. What she saw was that her family had apparently been attacked by a strange disease that caused them to lie helplessly on the ground, barely able to breathe.
Then she saw we were laughing. And crying. On the ground, holding our sides.
She eventually came back to our side of the river, and we got her dried off in time to go for a hike. Turns out that she had been worrying about mountain lions all morning, and was sure the noise I made came from just such an animal. And she was determined to escape. (No thought for her little sister, apparently). We all laughed, over and over, as we replayed the scene for each other.
But I don't think she ever thought the whole thing was as funny as we did.
Her little sister, of course, completely disagreed!
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balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 20, 2020 16:55:35 GMT -8
OK. One more, just to keep the ball rolling:
We've had our share of wild animal adventures in Lassen Volcanic National Park, but this is the closest we've ever come to hand-to-hand combat with a wild animal.
It was evening in the Manzanita Lake Campground, and my wife had just set up her kitchen to get ready to cook dinner for the family. The food was out on the table, and it occurred to her that it would be a good idea to go get some water from the local standpipe. So off she went, water jug in hand. The rest of us, by the way, were on a short walk to the camp store to see if they had good souvenirs--and to keep the girls entertained while mom was cooking.
When my wife returned to camp she found a mid-sized doe carefully studying the food on our camp table, for all the world as if it were shopping. And as my wife approached, the deer very carefully selected an unopened bag of marshmallows and tried to make a run for it.
But my wife was not to be cowed. She grabbed the bag of marshmallows and tugged on it, while yelling at the deer. "Hey!" she cried. "Give me that!"
And she was very surprised when the deer refused to let go.
So there they were, the two females, both with one end of a bag of marshmallows, looking at each other and tugging. And not letting go.
It was about this time that my wife suddenly realized that she was WAY TOO CLOSE to this deer, any deer, and in the instant it took her to decide to let go of the bag, the deer made the same decision.
The bag fell to the ground as both ladies backed up.
In the end, my wife saved our marshmallows, and we were able to make s'mores that night. But she also learned a valuable lesson. The next time, the deer gets to make s'mores for her fawns.
And as an "editor's" note: Deer kill more people than bears and mountain lions combined in the USA every year. Don't get this close to a deer, no matter how big the bag of marshmallows.
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Post by absarokanaut on Mar 21, 2020 17:23:33 GMT -8
About 15 years ago I was spending the 6 warmer months of the year on a wonderful Guest Ranch in Wyoming and the bulk of the colder ones in Southern Colorado. I had grown up long summers in Wyoming and had lived in Colorado my entire adult life until I started my biannual migrations a few years before.One incredibly warm mid November weekend one of my best friends, Mike, and I decided to go dayhiking on the West Slope of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains so we made the 3 hour drive and camped at the spectacular N. Crestone Creek Campground of the Rio Grande National Forest not far outside Crestone, CO in the world's largest alpine agricultural valley, the San Luis.
We got in on a Friday right around dark and since we were in Mike's truck I set up a cowboy camp not far away. We then proceeded to party...hard. It was an amazing night, tremedous stars and the tiniest sliver of the moon. After a few hours we were starting to fade as a truly weird sound started reasonating from our perimeter and within a few minutes we had a tiny feline aprroach our fire and picnic table. We were never sure whether it was simply a larger feral cat, or perhaps a young mountain lion. It was a yellowsih/tannish color and some human had obviously fed it before. In the event it was the bigger kind of kitty curios where mom might be we put a lot of effort into trying to chase it off; but it just kept coming back repeatedly. Well, after the futility turned into heightened paranoia we decided to cut the evening short and packed everything up. I wrapped my sleeping bag and pad in my space blanket and Mike handed me my tent as he crawled in the back of his pickup. I took one last look at the cat and walked several sites away in the empty campground and set up the tent and went to bed. The high pitch shreiking quickly subsided and my buzz put me to sleep not a whole lot later.
The next morning we headed to Groundhog Basin, a wonderful jaunt to 12,000' with magical views up and down this magnificent range I will always proclaim as the glory of Colorado. The weather was Colorado magical, unseasonal but unlike northwest Wyoming not totally out of the ordinary. We also saw elk, deer, mt. goats, bear tracks, and a couple of dead bighorn sheep that had been recently fed upon by a mt. lion. We were about 7 miles from our camp so I didn't think it was necessarily connected to our experience the previous evening. When we got back to camp we found small cat tracks we couldn't zero in on an identification of so...we started partying hard again and decided to walk beneath stars as bright as you'll find as the mid 50s hiking temps were quickly heading for the lower teens. I held back and took a pee on a snow patch and then started walking another route to catch up with Mike. We had patchy snow and the Aspens, Cottonwoods, various conifers, and rocky N. Crestone Creek were lit up like a science fiction movie. After 10 or fifteen seconds I realized I was walking just a few feet from a set of tracks. I flipped on my head lamp to find...much larger tracks of a lion, bobcat or lynxx all of two hundred yards from our fire.
After several encoutners with lions, bobcats, and a solitary lynxx just across the range about ten years earlier I didn't really fear them being a broader shouldered guy that seemed to end a couple instances of lions sizing me and smaller friends up. We continued to imbibe past midnight and didn't hear the kitty that evening after I blasted my airhorn as I lost the ability to see colors shortly after sunset. We still aren't sure exactly what we saw, but we sure did a few butt clenches that first evening. Sure wish people would not feed wild, or feral, animals.
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balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 22, 2020 8:32:18 GMT -8
Wonderful! Thanks, Absarokanaut! That reminds me of something that happened to us a few years ago...see how this works? We had spent a week exploring the northern part of Yosemite National Park, entering through the Virginia Lakes Trailhead, then hiking down to McCabe Lakes, and finally ending up at the upper end of Virginia Canyon. This is about the end of the trail. There is a trail that goes up over the ridge from this part of the canyon into Green Lake...but after that, it just plain peters out. And except for a brief stretch of trail hiking up to McCabe Lakes, we saw almost no people all week. As we hiked up the canyon we were surprised to see a couple of llamas grazing in the meadow, and then met a family of five, kids ranging from maybe four to nine, who were camped there. They seemed happy enough, the kids running around barefoot in the wilderness, playing in the creek. But as we hiked away, the father hurried after us to ask us if we knew where the trail was to Green Lake. He seemed worried. We told him that we thought it was marked by an enormous 5 foot cairn on the side of the canyon. He told us that they had tried that route, and it was "pretty rough." It probably was, for kids in bare feet. He thanked us, and we wished him well. At any rate, we continued our hike up Virginia Canyon. Our goal was Return Lake, perched high on a plateau underneath Virginia Peak, a couple of miles up the canyon. This was High Sierra off-trail hiking at its finest. The sky was that piercing High Sierra blue, the mountains called out to us, and the landscape allowed us to choose any number of routes towards our final goal. We followed a creek part-way up the canyon, the climbed up on ridge, and eased down the other side to the shores of Return Lake. Spectacular. We set up camp in a small grove of trees above the lake, and settled in for our traditional afternoon nap in the mountains. It was beautiful. Later in the day we hiked across the plateau to take a look at Soldier Lake, perched on the edge of Virginia Canyon, with magnificent views of Shepherd's Crest and Mt. Conness. And we finally got back to camp to cook up dinner and settle in for a quiet night at ten thousand feet; far, far from anyone else. While this part of the Sierra can be windy, this night was quite calm. We were fast asleep sometime near midnight when we were awoken by an earsplitting scream that seemed to come from within twenty-five feet of the tent. Needless to say, it was pitch black outside. I was immediately sitting bolt upright, and I was pretty sure my wife was, too. "What was that?" my wife whispered to me... "I don't know. Maybe a mountain lion.." I responded. We waited. I considered opening the tent and flashing a light, but I certainly had no confidence that it would improve the situation. In the tent the closest thing we had to weaponry was the tent pole, but that would have brought the whole thing down on top of us. We waited some more. It was dead quiet outside. We probably waited for about ten minutes, and never heard another sound. We eased back into our sleeping bags, and drifted off to a less sound sleep for the rest of the night. The next morning I was up early, and immediately went to check for prints. But the ground here is quite rocky, and I couldn't even see our boot prints in most places, let alone any animal prints. Hmmm. My wife got up a few minutes later and did the same. With the same results. "That was wild last night!" I said. My wife thought his over. "I've heard that a wild fox makes a noise like a scream..." she said. "I think it was a bigger animal than that," I replied. "I think it was a mountain lion." We had two days of hiking to get back to our car, and over the next two days we discussed it from time to time. It was a great hike, but we never reached agreement on what animal had made that noise. Once we got back to civilization, my wife pulled up a few website to try and identify the sound we heard. As we listened to the noises on our computer, we finally came to agree. We had no idea which one of the animals it was. I still lean towards mountain lion, but also think it could well have been an owl---sounded close to a barn owl, but I am not sure that barn owls live at those elevations (over 10,000 feet.) We've even asked a couple of experts, who told us it could have been any number of animals... So we'll never know. in fact, the experts claim that they are often misled by these sounds, so we're happy to admit the same. But just so you can hear for yourself, here is a link to a series of animal sounds by the Missouri Department of Conservation. If you can be woken up from a deep sleep miles from the nearest human, hear one of these sounds, and be sure of your identification, you are a better man (or woman) than we are! nature.mdc.mo.gov/discover-nature/report-wildlife-sightings/mountain-lion-reports/mountain-lion-signs P. S. we've also seen clear mountain lion tracks (confirmed by the local ranger) in Kings Canyon, Berlin Ichthyosaur State Park, and other sites around the West...and we once spent a few minutes on morning listening to mountains either fight or attack something....but that's another story.
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balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 26, 2020 7:25:53 GMT -8
One more story--this one dealing with distancing...albeit from bears, not people: When our daughters were in their early teens, we took them on a long road trip to Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. It was a epic adventure with lots of memories for the whole family. In the car we listened to "Undaunted Courage," the story of the Lewis and Clark expedition while we covered some of the same ground. And we entertained ourselves with amusing photos from time to time--particularly if you speak French: And of course we went hiking. Each day in Yellowstone we would pick another wonderful trail--and discover that once we had hiked about a hundred yards, we simply didn't see any other people. Yellowstone isn't crowded: the roads in Yellowstone are crowded. The rest of the park is empty. What a treat. And as a family from California, we were a little concerned about bears. We knew black bears, but from Lewis and Clark and more, we knew that grizzlies were a whole 'nother animal. Literally. So one day were off on another hiking adventure, our youngest daughter and I leading the way with my wife and the older daughter taking a more leisurely pace. And at one point, the pair in the lead noticed a big sign placed on the trail. Yep. There had been grizzlies seen in that area, and hikers were advised to use caution. OK. That got our attention. We did use caution. The first thing they teach you about grizzlies is not to startle them. So the two of us in the lead began to chat away at the top of our voices, enjoying the conversation and also quite happy to be making the trail safe against any grumpy grizzlies. Blabber blabber blabber. After a couple miles of this we called a halt and waited for the rest of the party to join us. We had not seen hide nor hair of Ursus Horribilius. When they arrived, my wife expressed some considerable annoyance at the noise we had been making. "We'll never see any animals with all the racket you two are making with that jabbering," she said. We smugly pointed out that we were scaring away any grizzlies in the area, and asked her if she hadn't see the sign. "Yes," she agreed tartly. "And did you read the date on that sign? It was from more than a month ago." Ah. We continued, in a quieter vein, for the rest of the hike. Never did see any grizzlies on that trail...but we did see quite a few other animals.
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texasbb
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Post by texasbb on Mar 26, 2020 9:40:34 GMT -8
And as an "editor's" note: Deer kill more people than bears and mountain lions combined in the USA every year. Don't get this close to a deer, no matter how big the bag of marshmallows. Careful with the fake news. Deer kill us by letting us hit them on the highway, not in food fights.
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balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 26, 2020 10:53:03 GMT -8
The only animal attack causing a human fatality in Yosemite National Park over the last fifty years was someone killed by a deer...and not hit by a car: www.nps.gov/articles/feeding-wildlife.htm A young mule deer buck gored and killed a small child in a Yosemite campground when the boy refused to relinquish his sandwich to the deer. Even though he was doing the right thing, that child died a senseless death because too many people mistakenly thought, "feeding wild animals doesn't really do any harm”. No fatal attacks by bears or pumas in Yosemite--although those ground squirrels and mice can carry plague and hanta virus....
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balzaccom
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Post by balzaccom on Mar 27, 2020 20:27:53 GMT -8
OK--one more to keep this thread moving.
The Easy Opening Volvo
There was a time when we spent a week at Lassen Volcanic National Park every summer. We love the place, and compared to some of the other parks in California, Lassen really is undiscovered.
This was in the days when we car-camped with the kids, and we usually stayed at Manzanita Lake Campground. And we should note that this was before bear boxes were used in Lassen.
So one, year, the first day we arrived, we set up our camp and had a lovely visit to the lake. At dinner, we grilled some sausages on the BBQ, opened a bottle of wine, and had a delicious dinner on the picnic table. We were back in Lassen, and we were happy as...campers.
Manzanita Lake is over 5,000 feet in elevation, and we always feel quite sleepy on that first night above sea level. So we tidied up our campsite, put all the food carefully into our Volvo station wagon, and tumbled into bed by about 9:00, and were fast asleep in minutes.
As we slept, we kept hearing some odd noises outside. Our older daughter actually expressed some concern about them, but to me they just sounded like someone trying to break up firewood by leveraging it between two trees. Creaking and breaking noises. And I couldn't help thinking that people are such knuckleheads about firewood. Go back to sleep, honey.
After a while, the noises stopped, and we all fell into a deeper slumber.
That's when our campground neighbors from Sweden came over and woke us up.
"Excuse me," they said. "I think you have a problem with your car."
Hmmm. That didn't sound good.
So we got out to look. It turns out that a large mother bear had climbed onto the top of our car, and had pulled open the sunroof. With one paw on the roof, she had used the other paw to peel back the sunroof like opening a tin of sardines. The sunroof was now standing straight up.
She was too big to climb into the car through the opening, and so had finally given up. But the car was now wide open to raccoons or any other animal who wanted to visit. We couldn't leave it like that all night, and so we knew we had to come up with a plan.
With our youngest daughter still asleep in the tent, we threw everything else into the car. At the last moment, we woke her up and tossed her in the back seat, still sleeping in her sleeping bag. Then we threw the tent on top of everything in the back. And we drove down to Redding to find a motel for the night. This was before cell phones, so that was a bit of an adventure on its own. But we did it.
The next morning, we got to work. First we went to the local Volvo dealer, who told us he couldn't fix the car in a few days. We could leave it with him, but he wouldn't get to it for at least a week. And he doubted anyone else in Redding could, either. On to plan B.
Then we visited a rental car company, where we rented a nice Ford Explorer, packed it full off our gear from the Volvo, and headed back up into the park. After all, we only had one week of vacation, and we were not about to kiss it all goodbye.
As we entered the park, the ranger at the entrance station made a special effort to warn us about bear activity. "You know," she said, "last night a bear peeled open a Volvo station wagon to get at the food inside!"
"We know," we replied. "That was our Volvo!"
"Wow," she said. "You deserve some kind of medal."
"We'll be happy with a campsite," we assured here.
Epilogue:
At the end of the week, we returned our rental car and picked up our Volvo to drive it home. Before we hit the road, I got on top of the sunroof and jumped up and down with all my might and weight. I couldn't budge it a millimeter. We drove home for four hours with the roof peeled back--by a bear using only one paw.
The next year, Lassen installed bear boxes in all of its campgrounds. We'd like to think we were part of that.
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Westy
Trail Wise!
Diagnosed w/Post-Trail Transition Syndrome
Posts: 1,955
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Post by Westy on Mar 27, 2020 22:17:05 GMT -8
Driving Denali - 1992
"We came back friends," said Craig Bishop during a interview with KSL's Doug Miller. As always, Craig has the proper perspective. We have just returned from Alaska where we reached the summit of Mt. McKinley (20,320') on May 23rd, after 3 weeks on the mountain. For Craig and me, our two-man expedition was a marathon 6 weeks of literally being tied together. Bishop, a Utahns On Everest team member, will attempt to climb Mt. Everest with the Utah County based group later this year. A Hinckley native, Craig is also a Green Beret with the 19th Special Forces, Utah National Guard in Provo.
The accomplishment of climbing North America's highest mountain came with other extraordinary experiences. We endured a series of fierce storms which forced us to spend 10 weather days in our camp at 14,300 feet. We witnessed 11 rescues and 4 of the 7 fatalities which occurred in a seven day span. The poignant image of a young woman kneeling over a red body bag and bidding farewell to her husband was unforgettable. Attaining the summit seemed anti-climactic.
Denali, the native name for Mt. McKinley meaning "the high one" is considered the coldest mountain on earth and lies just outside the Artie Circle at latitude 63 degrees north. The mountain rises nearly 20,000 feet from its surrounding environs and is one of the world's largest free standing peaks. It is located in Denali National Park and access is managed by the National Park Service.
We drove from Springville to Talkeetna, Alaska a distance of over 3,800 miles. The ten day trip included an alpine climb near the Columbia Icefield in the Canadian Rockies and a ski excursion into Kluane National Park, Yukon Territory. We would return via the Inside Passage on the Alaska Marine Highway.
The Alaska Highway is over 1,000 miles long from Dawson Creek, British Columbia to Fairbanks, Alaska. There are two things which best describe this road. First, it is unsurpassed in beauty, solitude and wildlife. Second, the price of Canadian gas and groceries is also unsurpassed. Gas is over $2 a gallon US. A box of Cheerios and a gallon of milk cost the same, about $4.50 US.
From Talkeetna we hired an air taxi to fly us to Base Camp on the Kahiltna Glacier at 7,300 feet. The ride, in a Cessna 170 equipped with skis, was unbelievable as our pilot, Cliff Hudson, flew through several narrow passes. Stepping out of the plane, we immediately felt the cold. It's May 2nd and Spring has not arrived here. The next sensation we have is abandonment as "Sir Cliff" takes-off, leaving us and our equipment deposited on the glacial airstrip commonly referred to as ''Kahiltna International".
By our eighth day we had moved up to the 14,300 foot camp below the West Buttress. This will be our route to the upper mountain. We had made 4 camps along the way and transported over 300 pounds of food, fuel and equipment.
Things were going well, with one exception. Craig and I had our first and only spat.The disagreement resulted in us untying the rope and separating at the appropriately named Windy Corner. Craig was upset with my slow pace. I was enjoying the scenery and Strauss on my "Walkman." I refused to accelerate and he would not drop the subject, a verbal conflict arose.
Craig continued with the International Military Expedition from the Northern Warfare Training Center, Fort Greeley, Alaska. As a Green Beret, Craig had graduated from Military Mountaineering Instructor School and knew everyone.
As for me, I joined a young Korean struggling with his load. Dong Choon Seo was climbing alone and unroped. We roped up and I assisted him with his difficult load. We became friends. I could not foretell that the Korean habit of climbing unroped would eventually claim Seo as a victim. That evening Craig and I shook hands and made-up. To achieve our goals we would have to "hang tough" together. We were determined to summit and any disintegration of our friendship would make the expedition unbearable, particularly the long ride home.
The following day, we were relaxing and acclimatizing to the altitude, when we first heard, then saw, a Llama helicopter landing near the medical tent. The Llama had been stripped down for flying at high altitude. The helicopter, piloted by Bill Ramsey, is operated by Rocky Mountain Helicopter of Provo.
Rocky Mountain Helicopter has a three year contract with the National Park Service to perform services as required, primarily search and rescue.
They were searching for a party that had run out of food and fuel on the opposite side of the mountain and were attempting to traverse the mountain to the medical hut at the 14,300 camp. One of the climbers had frostbite and could not continue. Ramsey brought them down and was preparing to leave when a climbing accident occurred within sight of the camp.
Two American climbers were on the fixed line between 15,000 and 16,000 feet on the Headwall leading to the West Buttress. Somehow they fell off the fixed line, a series of ropes anchored and placed for protection on steeper sections of the mountain. Roped together, and without ice axes to self-arrest, they fell several hundred feet and stopped short of a crevasse. One of the climbers suffered a broken shoulder. We watched as Ramsey landed on a low-angle section of the Headwall to get the injured climber.
The NPS weather forecast for the following day was grim, "Predicted worst storm in 10 years, winds up to 110 MPH, duration 48 to 72 hours.'' It hit that evening and lasted for 3 days and was followed by another intense storm which lasted 4 more days.
After 8 days the winds had lessoned. Higher on the mountain it was still blowing hard. By this time we had been on the mountain for 17 days and confined to our tent for a week. We felt like zombies from the twilight zone. Our conversations became a series of grunts. Our reading material was rapidly being depleted. Yet the drama was just unfolding.
That morning in camp, a 42-year old Swiss climber had tea with his wife and 10 minutes later dropped dead. The rumors of two Italian climbers, one dead and one lost on the difficult Cassin Ridge were confirmed. In addition, there were three Korean climbers trapped on the Cassin Ridge above 18,000 feet. The three Koreans had no food and were low on fuel. High winds had blown away their tents. They survived by digging a snow cave.
Early that evening, my Korean friend, Dong Choon Seo and two other Koreans passed our tent carrying loads. They would attempt to move up the mountain and were climbing together, unroped.
A few hours later there was commotion in the camp. The Park Service Rangers were moving out to rescue two Koreans who had fallen in a crevasse. The third Korean had been able to climb out on his own and go for help.
Soe and his companions were travelling near the 15,000 foot level on the West Buttress Headwall when they collapsed a snow bridge 150 feet long, 40 feet wide and fell 60 feet into the crevasse. Soe suffered serious injuries, he broke his pelvis and lost lots of blood.
Early the next morning, skies were clear and we saw an Air Force C-130 circling the mountain searching for the missing Koreans on the Cassin Ridge. The weather deteriorated and the rescue operation was suspended. By the afternoon the weather had improved and the rescue resumed. Rocky Mountain Helicopter pilot, Bill Ramsey attempted to drop supplies to the stranded Koreans but the package slid off the mountain. His only alternative was to land on a flat rock and pluck them off. We watched as he made several trips, each time landing near our camp with Korean climbers. On his last take-off from the 14.3 camp, Soe was carried on a litter, loaded-on and airlifted to Humana Hospital in Anchorage.
The three rescued Koreans were safe, but soon a shouting match ensued between them and the Park Rangers. An Army, CH-47 Chinook, helicopter came to evacuate them from the mountain and they appeared reluctant to go. I watched as they were physically assisted to the helicopter and whisked off to the hospital. It is my unverified belief that they wanted to join another Korean group and climb the West Buttress. By now it was our 18th day on Denali and our 10th at the 14.3 camp. The weather appeared excellent and we decided to move up to the next camp at 17,200 feet. We had no problems on the Headwall and easily reached 16,000 feet on the West Buttress.
The West Buttress is a ridge connecting the lower mountain with a small plateau at 17,200 feet that provides access to Denali Pass (18,000'). From Denali Pass its another 1,500 vertical feet to the final summit ridge.
Gale force winds greeted us as we gained the ridge. Other climbers chose to dig in on the narrow ridge and spend the night. We went on another 500 feet before the reality of the situation forced us to turn back.
We were moving ten steps at a time, in-between gusts of wind. Our large backpacks acted like mini-sails and further deterred our forward progress. At times we were forced to assume a self-arrest position, lying prone on the snow using the pick on our ice axes to hold-on.
We left a cache with our high-altitude fuel, food, tent and clothing at 16,000 feet and retreated back to 14.3 camp. There was no doubt by either Craig or myself that the mountain had most assuredly kicked our butts.
Lucky for us, we had descended. The weather turned bad, again. We watched as nearly every group that advanced, returned. Most abandoned the mountain altogether. Craig and I vowed to hang on for at least one more week. But Denali was not done dealing out high drama and tragedy on the peak.
That evening the bodies of three Koreans were found on the Orient Express. The Orient Express is a direct snow and ice route to the summit plateau at 19,500 feet from the 14.3 foot camp. The entire route is visible from our tent. Apparently, these Koreans had also been trapped high on the mountain and were low on food and fuel. They were descending to the 14.3 camp when the accident took place. The following day, their bodies could be seen near the 15,000 foot level. It was estimated that they fell about 3,000 vertical feet. The mountain was going crazy on us, or we were. It was now our 20th day on Denali and 12th day at this camp. There was only one thing to do. Take a mental health day. For me that meant drinking gourmet coffee with two new friends, Carol Snetsinger of Missoula, Montana and Wendy Gannett from my home state of New Hampshire. I also had the opportunity to meet and talk with Christine Janin, the first French woman to climb Mt. Everest.
Craig occupied his time performing preventive maintenance on our stoves.
Climbers continued to leave the mountain, but more newcomers arrived to replace them. The population on the mountain was in excess of 400 climbers. Our camp had about 70 to 90 climbers.
Finally, the weather broke and we knew that our chance had arrived. The next day, we were moving up. The day dawned clear, signs of wind activity were none existent. We rapidly gained the West Buttress and by afternoon were snug in our high camp at 17.2. It was hard to sleep as we knew tomorrow was our summit day.
We moved through the steep and heavily crevassed slopes leading to Denali Pass. Soon we were on the upper mountain heading for the summit plateau and final ridge. The day was as perfect as a day could be, no wind and the temperature hovered just below zero.
We moved deliberately, step by step, one foot in front of another. At last, we reached the summit ridge. We lethargically savored the remaining steps to the summit.
There was a sense of wonder, but little feeling of elation. Did we really make it? After 22 days, we were due. Events on the mountain had superseded our moment of triumph. We paused to reflect on the awe inspiring view before us. Our strategy, to allow the mountain to let us climb it, had paid off. It was time to go home.
At these latitudes, and at this elevation, the path of the sun makes a 340 degree arc around the horizon. We moved slowly back to our high camp. It was 7:00 PM when we left the summit and it seemed like the sun was staying out, just for us, as we followed the descending orb down .
Soon we met another small group of climbers in this high altitude paradise. I noticed that one of them carried a wand or willow stick with an improvised pennant attached to the top. It read, "So long Mugs Stump". I had met and interviewed Mugs, a world-class climber from Sandy in February. He had impressed me so much that I contacted him by letter about doing a biographical story. The publicity shy Mugs had left a message on my answering machine, agreeing to get together.
I inquired as to the meaning of the pennant. We were informed that Mugs had been killed in a crevasse accident on the South Buttress two days before.
My thoughts of Mugs reminded me of Hudson Stuck, who led the first successful ascent of Denali in 1913. He wrote, "There was no pride of conquest, no trace of that exultation of victory some enjoy upon the ascent of a lofty peak, no gloating over good fortune that had hoisted us a few hundred feet higher than others who had struggled and been discomfited ...rather a privileged communion with the high places of earth had been granted."
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Post by absarokanaut on Mar 28, 2020 11:12:24 GMT -8
I was fortunate to grow up as a snowbird with long summers here in Greater Yellowstone. My family had a home built on a magnificent hillside across the Gros Ventre River from Kelly, Wyoming. From the age of 10-14 I spent more than 5 glorious weeks each June and July at the nearby Teton Valley Ranch Camp where among several invaluable life lessons I learned how to backpack, ride and rope, and take wilderness horse packtrips. I went on to work at the Ranch Camp and briefly at the Guest Ranch my family had started going to more than ten years before that home was built. It was an idylic and inspiring childhood and shaped my future immensely as a teenager. My Uncle and Aunt that raised me after my parents died when I was 7 gave me this wonderful times and were the greatest possible "solution;" given the circumstances I could not have been luckier.
About 40 years ago in the fall of my Freshman year of college in Colorado my cousin that along with my brother had taught me my way around horses bought a very small Guest Ranch in the Absaroka foothills across the Continental Divide from Jackson Hole "near" the town of Dubois, WY. That summer I worked hard, tearing down buildings, landscaping, fencing, dragging, burning sage, in short bringing this gem back to speed after a couple of years of less than thorough stewardship from the previous owner that had bought the place from a legendary outfitter just a few years earlier. The following summer we opened for business and I was in heaven. After that I worked the place for just a few weeks each Spring and began a less isolated life in Colorado that was full time for 20 years.
After 9/11 I was up for a change and began spending half the year back on that Ranch which had now become considerably larger. I did this for almost 10 years, spending the bulk of the colder months in Colorado before I moved to the Jackson, WY area full time almost 10 years ago. One of my favorite tasks on the Ranch then was to help out the summer horse packtrips by riding or hiking into Wilderness Camps and guarding them for a day or two before the next trip came in. This is the story of one of those stints in the Dunoir Special Management Area of the world's first National Forest, your 2.5 million acre Shoshone. It was a 2 night duty, and one I will remember much of vividly as long as my mind is able to. In late July one year I hiked into a camp, one of my favorites, for the last night of a trip so that I could help the staff get packed out and on the trail the next morning and guard it afterwards. On the way in I hiked over the tracks of 4 different grizzly bears, a sow with 2 cubs and another solitary adult. I had a wonderful dinner and campfire with great folks from the suburbs of an East Coast Metropolis. I'm not a gun person, have been holstering bearspray and a tiny frion marine air horn for almost 20 years now, but I was glad there would be a big caliber firearm left in camp even though I hadn't shot one for more than 20 years.
The following day we got the group on their way by 08:00 and it was a truly beautiful day on this southern flank of the Absaroka, the largest sub range of the Rocky Mountains and home to the remotest wilds of the 48 states. That evening I had a great dinner of left over roasted chicken and sumptous sides. I did a little reading before dark while having about a half dozen ice cold beers, and then turned in as the magnifcent canopy of stars filled the sky over the small valley all but ringed by towering vertical remnants crafted from eruptions of the Yellowstone Caldera.
I slept well in those days, but just after 02:00 something woke me up. I got up to silence, grabbed my headlamp and bearspray, put them in my pockets and unzipped the tent door to find a magnifcent display ofmuch of the Milky Way. I took a 20 yard stroll to the edge of the Bench that defined the camp so I could do you know what. I was about 20 seconds into my relief when all of a sudden the howling shreiks of a wolf pup of the year blew my ears up from what I would guess to be less than 30 yeards in front of me towards the flower filled meadow. I grabbed the headlamp and bearspray, flipped the light on and pointed it in the direction of the little one along the willow choked stream past the immediate flowers. As I expedited the remainder of my task I didn't see a hair of the youngster so I calmy spoke and wished it well. Instantaneously a terrifying growl came from what I found out the following morning to be just over 10' behind my tent. In a single motion I zipped up, turned, and adressed what was most certainly mother wolf with a slow even tone of unbridled expletives.
I popped the safety on my bearspray and shined the lamp on both sides of the tent to see a shadow quickly move on a 90 degree angle to my left and heard the panting wolf as it gave me a wide berth enroute to the stream where her pup must of been waiting for her after a sort retreat from where it exploded with suh firghtening sound. I made my way to my dieing fire and loaded it up to burn for several hours. It took about 45 minutes for me to find my wits and get back to sleep. I got up well before dawn and had a cold coke since I was never a coffee person. As light allowed I walked around and confirmed my suspicions with both sets of tracks. I had to wait around until almost 13:00 before the next trip got in. I helped them unpack and then made the 8 mile hike to my truck for the nearly 40 minute ride to the Ranch "compound."
Because of massive localized decimation of the elk herd the Ranch hunted in the fall and the coinciding dissapearance of moose anywhere near us I did not have the greatest opinion of Canis lupus irremotus at the time, but things have more or less balanced out far quicker than I had imagined possible. Despite occasional localized decimations elk numbers region wide remain above objective. Like the elk moose have adapted and aren't nearly as solitary as they used to be. I saw a lot of wolves in those days, days I have come to miss and will never regret. I love the fact that this greatest mammalian habitat of the Temperate Zone, the size of NJ, MA, NH, and VT combined, is an "intact" ecosystem again. I will try and post a few photos of this camp soon.
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