November 2011
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IN THIS ISSUE...
From The Editor
This Foggy View that you hold is the last edition of the newsletter to be widely distributed with the Southern Sierran in paper form. It's appropriate that the article submission from Bob Beach (right) is just the kind of story that lends itself to sitting down with the paper and a cup of coffee or tea on a fall morning, content to be warm and dry and out of the elements.
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A Hike in the Merry Month of May - by Bob Beach
The trip started out as "Smith, Jackass, and Crag". The first day and the first mile were pleasant enough for anyone to enjoy, with nice hiking weather and clear trails on easy terrain. As the miles passed, the solid trail turned to soggy mud, with frequent crossings of wide flows of shallow water. We marveled at the numerous springs feeding the wetness. Those who didn't have waterproof boots wished they did. Those who did have waterproof boots didn't always succeed in keeping the water out.
As we approached Smith Mountain, our ascent took us out of the soggy mud below and into the cold snow above. Wet boots became cold and wet boots. By this time, pleasure was derived not from mild weather and easy terrain, but from preparedness for otherwise. Those in the know used vapor barriers to keep their feet warm, if not dry. Those who didn't know learned quickly. There were no other human tracks on the 3/4 mile, 800 foot ascent of Smith Mountain. We practiced our kick steps up and plunge steps down, with a little rock scrambling at the top.
Our return to camp was slowed by fatigue and darkness. The moonlight helped, but headlamps became essential. By the time we reached camp, we were fighting off drowsiness to prepare our dinners in the increasingly frigid air. There was no campfire, no singing, and no cases of home-brewed beer, but fond memories were shared by all. Spirits, if not toes, were warmed with the sharing of 40 year old port wine provided by our 40 year old fellow hiker, Speed. Both the wine and our fellow hiker have gotten better with age, generating warmth and good cheer among all who indulge. We went to bed, satisfied with a respectable day of outdoor adventure.
The weather forecast predicted lows in the high 20s with slight chance of snow. With this knowledge, I was content to seal myself in the warmth of my tent, rather than fall asleep looking up at the stars. In the middle of the night, I heard the pitter patter of what could be none other than the predicted snowfall. I woke up to an unexpectedly quiet morning. The thin walls of my tent were thickened by a thick layer of snow, insulating my ears from the sounds outside. A quick peek showed that the green and black views from the day before were now dominated by white, as if the picture were turned into a negative. I quickly zipped the tent closed and snuggled up back into my sleeping bag. I was determined to relish every last moment of warmth before the inevitable activities that would require exposure to the cold.
What I (and many others) expected might be a light dusting of snow had turned into three inches by morning, with snowfall continuing on and off even as we started our egress. Unserious suggestions to climb Crag Peak were accompanied by more serious warnings not to give our illustrious trip leader any ideas. What was planned as a "Smith, Jackass, and Crag" trip was reduced by nature to just "Smith". We were all content to come back another day. We packed up and hiked out of camp in falling snow.
As we got closer to the trailhead, the snow cover thinned. The air warmed. The sun shined brightly. Our cars finally appeared in my view. I paused and looked back before taking my last steps to the cars. My next foray into the wilderness cannot come too soon.