Day 4: The Infamous Day 4

[Erin]:

We had our morning coffee and muesli, packed up our gear, and faced the day.

First up, we crossed Harrington Creek, cold and swift, with water up to our mid-thighs. We entered a quiet bright-green trail lined with poison oak and thimbleberry, then a trail covered in a blanket of beige tanoak leaves. The colors and textures changed as we hiked, but the trail was there.

Then the trail was gone. We got to a saddle and simply wandered about for a while. Emily got stung just above her ankle by a yellowjacket, but seemed to feel okay. I got out my GPS and looked for the track, my first time using this function. We found the trail again and rose through the beautiful Douglas-fir forest, confident in our trailfinding.

We were following a trail called the South Kelsey or Old Kelsey Trail. It was a mule train trail from the 1850s through 1909, carrying supplies between the coast and Fort Jones, through wild and mountainous country. We walked a section where the trail was built up on mossy rock walls, wending clearly through the forest.


The Old Kelsey trail.

Admiring giant madrone

Conferring with the maps.

As we wound up toward Baldy Peak, the trail disappeared into a six-foot wall of huckleberry oak, ceanothus, and manzanita, entwined in an iron embrace. I pushed through, my GPS out. "We are on the trail!" I yelled periodically, in disbelief. Of course, the trail only existed in that place as a concept, not a reality on the ground. We would aim for the solitary Douglas-fir trees, where shrubs couldn't grow under their canopies. There we found brief respite before again attacking the shrub wall.

We cussed and pushed through. I felt lost and hurt, my patience thin. My legs became scarred, battered, and bloody. But it did have the effect of focusing all my energy on the task immediately in front of me. I thought about short-term goals. Getting 5 feet forward, 3 feet forward.

We got past the wall of vegetation, and hit an old burn. Up and over down wood, then up and over down wood, until we were within sight of the top of Baldy Peak and Emily pointed and said, "there's a snow field." We were low on water, demoralized. We sat by the snow field and contemplatively ate snow.



Smile, Emily. Dammit, Smile!

We hiked down the ridgeline from Baldy Peak, through burnt forest with plentiful regeneration. We reached a beautiful creek in a green ravine, where we had meant to camp. But we kept hiking, thinking that our destination was still in front of us.

Near Baldy Peak.

Baldy Peak.

Navigating through the woods.

At some point, I looked at my GPS. "We need to be above the... there" (I turned toward a steep cliff face to our left). We started up. From below, it looked okay. But when I got about 2/3 of the way up the face, I froze. I pressed myself flat against the rock wall, my breathing shallow and panicked, and I looked blankly around for secure places to put my feet, to put my hand. Everything was sideways for a moment and I looked up at Emily above and said, "I'm so scared." She looked down, told me where to put my hand, and said, "you can do it." And I did.

We found a camping spot, a small flat with a steep drop down to a creek, and a sharp incline on the opposite side. A bear was on the opposite side, but it ran when we called out. We set up our tent, tied the bear bag rope to a rock and threw it up into a tree, and sat down to cook dinner, too exhausted for yoga.

Tent, facing the small ravine.

Emily in the foreground, me in the background.

Emily poured the alcohol into the little stove and lit it, then put the water on to boil for our dinner: cheddar broccoli dried soup mix, dried vegetables, and cous cous. As she sat cooking, I looked past her and saw a large, cinnamon-colored bear, standing on the opposite side of the ravine. Much bigger than the one we'd seen before, with a pendulous stomach (perhaps pregnant). I said "bear" in a whisper. We both stood up, yelling, "HUMANS HERE" and other things designed to strike fear into the bear's heart. She looked at us, sniffing the air heavy with the scent of our cooking soup. She started down the ravine toward us. Emily held up two sticks in a warrior pose, and screamed, "GET OUT OF HERE!" She then turned to me and said "is that okay?" and I said "I think so" and then she then did it again. I got out the bear spray, removed the safety and stood at the ready, and we continued to yell. Ms. Bear stopped for a moment, seemed to consider the threat we posed, and again walked toward us down the ravine. I said to Emily, "if we have to run, run downhill," and I realized that we weren't supposed to run but we had no game plan. The bear was still across the tiny creek, on her side of the ravine, but less than 40 feet away. Finally, she stopped advancing, turned down the hill, and walked away, unhurriedly.

Emily and I sat down to a tasteless meal. We ate quickly, hardly speaking except to look up every once in a while and yell out. We put the food into the bear bag and pulled it up into the tree. Then we realized we still had chocolate, and stuffed it in our mouths. We went to the tent, where I saw I still had a clif bar in my pocket, which I ate in about three bites.

I had some doubts that night about the trip. I wondered about my ability to tolerate fear. I thought about how much more we had to do, and whether I was really committed to this hike. And how the next day, we were still going to be off trail, at least for the first few miles. I started to think of the little basin we were in as "bear basin" though it could also have been "cliff basin," "yellowjacket basin," or "scratchy shrub basin." Or maybe "lost trail basin."

Total miles: 8.5