Rain
during the night on a backpacking trip is usually noticed first by the drumming
noise on the tent fly. "Whaaa?" groggily you come awake and then when
you realize what it is, you have the "Oh Bummer!" moment.
What did I
leave out to get soaked or messed up? (sigh) But not tonight! No, my first
thought was that no reasonable bear would be out roaming around looking for
helpless backpackers to maul in the rain. And I knew that great minds thought
alike when my tentmate, Loreleigh, said the same thing to me the next morning.
It seemed
to me like it drizzled and showered all night long, but my pack was in a
garbage bag and under the fly in the vestibule. My wonderful REI tent was dry
inside, and my food was safely in odor-lock sacks in a dry-bag hanging from a
low branch a hundred feet or so away.
I rolled
my padded bulk out of the sleeping bag and slid into my camp crocs. I didn't
care if my socks got wet because I had a pair of dry ones, and this was our
last day on the trail. I picked up the pair of little Hot Hands-type hand
warmers I had thrown in the corner of the tent during the night. They were
still a little warm. These were a perfect example of why you should NEVER go to
sleep with them in your socks against your bare feet. I had them in my curled
up hands as I dozed off, but they became HOT! Very hot. I could hardly handle
them. I was afraid they would melt the nylon floor of my tent. I have had them
barely get above ambient temperature in the past, but these were astounding.
I shed a
couple of layers, pulled on my raincoat and stepped out to survey our camp.
Everything looked undisturbed. I could say that it was a bit of a
disappointment after all the preparations the night before, but I WON'T! I was
glad and relieved. (OK, just a wee bit disappointed that there were no paw
prints or scrapes to write about.)
Coffee
was first on my agenda. I lowered my bag and pulled out my Via packet. After a
quick little set-up, my butane-fired water was boiling and I was pouring and
drinking my wake-up beverage. The others straggled out of the tents, looking
around and also noticing no bear sign. We congratulated ourselves, especially
on the fact that we hadn't done all those bear safety things on the trip for
nothing!
I was
stirring boiling water into my cup of herbed mashed potato flakes when Melinda
gamely hauled out her armload of tinfoil and her Fancy Feast can and bottle of
alcohol. We found a dryish, flatish rock sort of protected by any breezes.
I
gave my piece of windscreen tinfoil to Loreleigh for her stove so she would
stop using my Crazy Creek chair for a windscreen.
Not easy to hold a big
stainless steel pot on top of a 2" cat food can punched full of holes and
full of flaming invisible alcohol with one hand, and wave a fold-up chair a few
inches away in the other hand.
I laid my
stove and lighter nearby, casually remarked that there was still a little fuel
left (I didn't want to insult anyone by suggesting that they should give up
their systems) and again enjoyed the show with my meal.
Now one
thing to realize is that Melinda counted out every fraction of an ounce for
this trip. She measured exactly the weight of fuel that she calculated would be
needed, about 2/3 of a plastic water bottle. As her water approached an almost
near simmer, the flame went out. Too much extra fuel was used to fight the low
temps and light breeze. One quick blast of my Brunton, and she had boiling
water for coffee and breakfast.
In spite
of the drawbacks, the Fancy Feast stoves are actually pretty clever and easy to
use. In an emergency, they could warm up or cook your food for you. They are
pretty lightweight and disposable. But I think a option that has been
overlooked is experimenting with high octane grain alcohols instead of
denatured alcohol. Just for emergencies, you know.
It did
take us about 25 minutes longer to pack up in the rain than we had planned on.
It was nice though, to just cram the wet stuff in, since we'd be unloading it
soon. We stepped out a 9:25 am. It was Monday, Memorial Day.
I was pretty
surprised that no one had camped in the meadow last night, and no one seemed to
be out on the trail at the same time we were. We saw no one the whole way down.
The clouds looked just like smoke from a fire! Coming into the burnt forest, we were
unsure of just where that burned tree was blocking the trail. I wasn't looking
forward to going around it, but hoping that the moist earth would be easier to
climb on than the loose fluff of the other day. Finally, when we got to the
granite side of the mountain, we had to realize that while we were gone, they
must have drug it off the trail. It was definitely a "stock-stopper." But there were plenty of other downed trees and branches to get over.
It drizzled off and on all the rest of the way. The hood on my raincoat went up,
and then down. Up and then down.
Time for a quick self-portrait. I look a little startled and worse for wear!
It is a wonderful raincoat. REI brand and made
of that lightweight breatheable material. It also has zippered vents under the
arms to help with sweatiness.
More
water was flowing across the granite face of the mountain and running in
streams down the trail and the cut steps. It was beautiful and clear and set
off the black flecked white granite in a beautiful way.
I loved the look and
sound of the run off.
Caribou Meadow in the rain. No lunch stop today.
The best
thing about day 3? Downhill, all the way! Yay! I'd been looking forward to this
ever since it had been uphill all the way. The last obstacle was the Salmon
River to ford. It did seem a little higher than before, but still below the
knees. Loreleigh and I didn't want to soak our hiking boots, so we changed into our crocs.
Icy cold, and a little swift, but not too bad, as I didn't fall in.
The last
uphill slog to the parking area at the trailhead, and there was our driver,
waiting for us. Even though at first he acted like he didn't see us coming so
he could finish the chapter on his audiobook, we we were glad to see him. 12:25 pm, just 25 minutes off our scheduled plans!
We
passed a celebratory beer, Deschutes Red Chair, and drove down to Weaverville
for Subway sandwiches.
