The Wind Rivers There Are Not Enough Superlatives…

Left to Right: Pingora Peak/Cirque of the Towers, Ellen at Indian Pass/Basin, Clark Lake and Gannet Peak

Introduction When I was an innocent Seattle-ite, I hiked the Enchantments and thought I'd never see anything comparable. After Patagonia, Washington's wee bit of granite seemed but a small piece of rubble. For awhile, I didn't think I'd ever bed down in another granite range that moved my soul as much as Patagonia (neither the Himalayas nor the Tetons did it). But then I planned an accidental trip into the Wind Rivers… and every subsequent trip to the Winds has felt like that. The Winds exploded my theory that first loves are forever, that first loves are the best. After hiking the John Muir Trail (which came close), I still plan to have my ashes spread at Island Lake because that remains where my soul belongs. This collection was ordered chronologically - from Cirque of the Towers to Titcomb Basin, to a traverse from Titcomb Basin to Green Lakes.

Left to Right: campsite against the Warrior, the team at camp, waterfall in the upper cirque

Cirque of the Towers - August 2000 After a week of research in Yellowstone (including 3 days backpacking in searing heat), we headed to Pinedale and the Cirque of Towers for fun. The team included Ellen, my friend Matt, and 3 new graduates (Kevin, Chris, Danny). While Kevin and Chris were Yellowstone veterans, Danny just accepted a newly funded position as my research assistant. I found Pinedale to be a quaint town that felt like West Yellowstone before the yuppies moved in (RETROSPECTIVE COMMENT - the yuppies have moved in). After confusedly driving around town (impossible but can be done), we found the hotel I'd picked on the web. Appropriately run by this trip's obligatory longhaired blond man (albeit MUCH older than the original), the cabins were clean and welcome. Everyone but Kevin (the only one who had worn cheap tennis shoes - NOT expensive hiking boots) had multiple blisters and 2-6 bleeding toes from Yellowstone. Consequently, we decided to enjoy a full day of rest before strapping on the backpacks again (this would mean going ALL the way into the Cirque on one day - not half-way, as originally planned). After showering, we inquired with the hotel owner about a good place to eat. He must have thought we looked rich because he sent us up to this marina on magnificently Patagonia-like Lake Fremont (a 4-mile drive UP from town). Despite the cost (and the fact that we were all underdressed), dinner was fantastic. We sat outside on this huge deck - Lake Fremont before us, the sun setting to the west. After the meal, we rolled ourselves back to the cabins where Kevin mixed tequila and Sunny Delight, and we sat playing cards while, outside, it poured buckets. The next morning, we went out for breakfast at this awesome greasy spoon (The Wrangler) that served giant oval platters of food. Afterwards, Matt and I dealt with groceries and mailing research specimens while the others did laundry. I then spent most of the afternoon sorting food (something I enjoy greatly… probably because I can put stuff in bags, knowing someone else is going to carry it). In what we agreed later was an unnecessary precaution, we rented an obscenely small bear canister that would only hold some of our dinners (rent = $25 deposit at the ranger station, claim-able upon return). For our party to have put ALL our food in said devices, we would have had to rent at least 5 canisters. We regrouped at 5:00 p.m. for grilled hot dogs, salad, chips, and ice cream. Most of the rest of the night was spent packing - although Ellen and Matt got sucked into watching their first episode of Survivor (then in its first season). Both were appalled at how trashy the show was in terms of "depicting the dark side of humanity." Nevertheless, jokes abounded the next few days - mostly about whether Ellen would be the first one voted off our little island.

August 3 - Into the Cirque Over night, it rained buckets. Even as we set out (nice forecast in hand), it rained during the entire 2-hour drive. Memories of the pampas came to mind as we bounced over the horrible dirt road that snaked through scrubland - no sign of mountains in the distance. At the trailhead, over 50 cars (10% with horsetrailers) jammed the main parking lot and beyond. I can't say spirits were lifted by any of this - not to mention that we had to stuff lame feet into cold and rock hard boots. The planned mileage today was 9 miles/2500 feet - although Matt's new GPS unit said we did 11 miles/2800 feet. As usual, the team bifurcated and we would not see Kevin, Chris, and Danny (the boyz) close-up until Arrowhead Lake (8 miles in). The first 5 miles to Big Sandy Lake were easy and scenic. Although we didn't appreciate it at the time, the rain kept the dust and horse shit smell down. At Big Sandy Lake, we stopped for a substantial lunch. Above, we heard and then saw Kevin yelling and waving. The boys were a quarter mile up, having finished their lunch and decided to press on to Jackass Pass. Given the parking lot, observed traffic to this point was surprisingly low. Up to this point, the trail was open to stock (indeed, we saw lots horses, mules, llamas - plus a whole lotta dogs). After Big Sandy, the trail was closed to stock and became more akin to a climbers' path - although there were extensive easy sections. We trudged up the first headwall, which was steep-looking but well-graded, and then the way flattened out for a long time. We then began this gradual climb up giant granite slabs. Given the sweltering heat, many breaks were necessary. We meandered around North Lake, gaining and losing an annoying amount of elevation. The quality of the trail diminished greatly here, turning into an uneven mess of pure rock. We were using our hands to carefully maneuver our backpacked bodies in an exhausting manner. There was so much shit to think about in terms of foot placement that you never had time to consider the fact that your toes were bleeding in your boots (they were). Near Arrowhead, Kevin greeted us as we slogged breathlessly. He then proceeded to lead us to this ACTUAL climbers' path where Chris and Danny were waiting to propose an alternate route. Again, I have to stress that the REAL trail we'd been slogging was considered unofficial - and NOW we were considering leaving said trail to use a bona fide Wind Rivers' climbers' path (ha ha). It took me a long time to process all this but eventually I figured out where we were going relative to the regular trail.

Left to Right: setting out in the rain, big climb from North to Arrowhead, on unofficial talus route above Arrowhead

Looking at Jackass Pass, the real trail proceeds right and climbs high over the lake. It then drops to the far end of the lake before TOTALLY CLIMBING straight up Jackass Pass (over 10,000 feet). But Jackass Pass is not the lowest point on the gap above Arrowhead. The climbers' route we opted to take headed left of Arrowhead, contouring a gigantic talus boulder field (mobile-home sized rocks, in many cases). The way then climbed briefly to an obvious notch lower than Jackass. From there, it proceeded directly into the Upper Cirque of the Towers. Not fully understanding this, I skeptically watched Danny and Chris start bouldering. 90% of the route was fine but there was a boulder jam so big near the end that I almost fell to injury or death when I snarled up therein. The way was also such that everyone fanned out, making up his/her own route. After losing sight of everyone, I found myself wedged by my pack between these two car-sized boulders, an 8-foot drop before me. I couldn't do anything cautiously as I cussed and throttled myself and my bloody pack through this slot. At one point, everything gave suddenly and I almost face-planted on granite. I emerged last from the rocks, cussing like a sailor and vowing that I would NOT do that again. The view from the climbers' route "true" pass was probably one of the grandest I have seen (despite the wild light). The Cirque spread out in all directions - Pingora, the most photographed and climbed, central and captivating. The rudimentary trail from the notch was thin but we followed it for some time, in search of a camp near one of the high lakes (Hidden - and, amusingly, we never found it). The camping situation and terrain in the upper cirque is fascinating and may trouble beginners who want defined campsites. Simply put, there are none. The good thing is that even with a zillion people up there, there is so much room that you never really see neighbors (but we sure as hell heard dogs - thanks to this fucking group climbers who left their pets tied poorly to shrubbery while they were out all day). Given the crazy topography, you have to hike a lot of cross-country (and most of it is pretty gnarly) to find a useable patch of ground. Also, there are no pit toilets or bear wires, so be prepared to shovel a lot and don't count on finding a tree tall or sturdy enough to hold your food. Even so, I was shocked there was not more evidence of human waste among all the boulders.

Left to Right: Kevin at climbers Jackass Pass, me waiting for campsite reconnaissance team, Jackass Pass that evening

In terms of camping, we lucked out completely (although we did pay for it via a lot of hiking time). We sent able-bodied Danny and Chris out to find a site, thinking this would save energy and nerves amongst the weak and hungry (it did, albeit only momentarily). Of course, now-packless Chris and Danny picked, like, THE farthest (but most gorgeous and private) site: a central meadow in the upper cirque, offering commanding views of all major peaks. To everyone's disbelief, it was ONLY 5:30 when we threw our packs off. The tents were up immediately and I was halfway through cooking spaghetti when - with no warning - the rain came. Clouds - as if from nowhere - ripped across the towering walls of granite to the north, dumping water in an earth-shattering sound that drowned out nearly all of the concomitant thunder. A mad dash to throw on raingear and secure packs under vestibules was underway as the pasta slowly evolved to al dente - its final form for the night. I ordered the guys to get a bear rope up in some scraggly trees way up the rocky slope above the tent site as the rain seemed to subside. Food that wasn't in the canister was strung a measly six feet off the ground - mostly as a deterrent for rodents. Once the spaghetti was distributed, people dispersed. Not about to haul my soaked ass into the tent, I danced with arms (and spaghetti) outstretched in the rain. The old folks' tent, it should be noted, was a weight-saving variation that I'll never do again: Ellen, Matt, and I all in my 3-man Sierra Designs tent (3-man MY ASS). Danny, having tented with farting Matt in Yellowstone, slept alone in his personal bivy sack on this leg of the trip. While my one-time decision probably allowed us to successfully carry everything, I wanted my privacy and space (and fresh air) after cramming the 3 of us in there. Despite wet gear everywhere, though, that first night provided my best slumber on the whole trip. In contrast, Ellen and Matt hardly slept. Indeed, Ellen was already grumbling about how this trip was going to suck because it was surely going to rain all week - so we should just cut our losses and get out early. I remember replying: no, Ellen, Wyoming weather isn't like that; it'll surely be sunny tomorrow.

Left to Right: spaghetti dance, Kevin pressing flowers, Lonesome Lake (Texas Pass is major notch), Ellen-Kevin-Banana

August 4 - Climbing Texas Pass The next day was, indeed, GLORIOUS. We slept in late - just to let everything dry out. As I lay there half-awake, I remember hollerin' out to make sure Danny was still alive. By the time the sun hit full-on across the cirque, it was 9:30 and, within 30 minutes, everything was dry. Over breakfast, it was decided that most people were interested in this climbers' path up Texas Pass (4-5 miles, 2700 feet). After consulting the maps, though, Ellen and I decided we just would follow until we were tired. Regardless, though, we agreed to all be back by 3:30 so we could have a dry dinner. The route to Texas Pass was mostly questionable because we could not agree on the best route down to Lonesome Lake. After hiking all over the place to find our campsite, we were WAY up in the cirque and had to trek a LONG way over difficult terrain (shrub, talus fields, creeks). Ellen and I decided that it was not wise to follow Danny and Chris who seemed to seek out the most brutal routes. After making our various ways, we joined at the nearest edge of Lonesome Lake, a gem-like mirror of shallow water beneath Pingora. Camping here has been banned, thanks to an abusive public and years of uncontrolled access. Given the noon hour, we ate lunch. Ellen demonstrated how to explain different fruits to Japanese kindergarteners using body language (LONG story); only Kevin responded to her appropriately. From our vantage, the route up Texas lay across the lake. Looking at the straight-up chute, Ellen and I decided that we were just going to take the real trail that continued counterclockwise around the lake (i.e. to the left). Everyone else decided to go for the pass and set off on a trail-less jumble to the right (clockwise). Amusingly, Ellen and I made quicker time on the trail, arriving near the base of the Texas route before Kevin and Matt (but not Chris and Danny, who were already hauling up). Not wanting to be perceived as weenies, Ellen and I decided that we had to follow.

Left to Right: climbing to Texas Pass (final notch = snow in middle shot), the boyz at Texas Pass

In contrast with our trail guidebook, there was NO well-defined trail up to Texas. It was the same shit as the route between our camp and Lonesome Lake (only straight up - a la Aasgard). I went through the motions of nearly giving up about 5 times during my climb. At one point, Ellen decided not to go on and I had to leave her in this little sub-cirque just over half way to the top. I made my way up, the boys 20 minutes above me. The way grew more and more rocky and open. Texas Pass proper is, notably, over 12,000 feet. Consequently, I grew more and more stupid with the altitude. Near the pass proper was a shallow snowfinger. I watched the guys begin climbing it and then vanish as I huffed and puffed my way towards them. I likely had mild altitude sickness when I arrived at the snowfinger. The boys popped over the visible edge of the pass as I climbed and they all cheered me up, wondering if Matt and Ellen had given up. I thought they had and said yes (they actually both came - about 20 minutes later). The guys and I climbed back up to the pass proper (5 minutes beyond the snowpatch), took pictures, and gawked over the other side (which wasn't, in my opinion, impressive - although the view onto the Cirque proper was). The weather had, by this point, begun to deteriorate - with dark clouds swirling in a strong wind. While I was somewhat concerned about lightning at this elevation, I was mostly concerned about getting back and eating before this likely storm did a repeat performance. The guys and I began climbing down, meeting Ellen and Matt 10 minutes into the descent (they did make it up). Then the guys left me in the dust and I actually got lost/off-route several times (including into cliffy stuff that required back- tracking). Consequently, I decided to wait near the bottom (slightly shaken) for Matt and Ellen. Hiking back, we took the leisurely trail all around the lake and then did our best to find a more palatable route back to camp (this endeavor was not very successful). Chris and Danny took the nastiest route back (in my opinion): they skirted the granite bottom of Pingora, contouring from partway up Texas in a jagged line back to near camp. I had spied the route where the meadow hit the stone and thought: that is nasty ass shit. It was 4:00 when we arrived at camp and I prepared an excellent corn chowder from scratch. After it became clear the weather wasn't going to dump, we enjoyed cobbler and then enjoyed/endured a late night of cards in Kevin/Chris' tent, including much audible farting and smelly feet in Chris' pillow.

Left to Right: the Norwegians at Lizard Head Meadows, Lizard Head namesake rock, Bear Lake

August 5 - Lizard Head Meadows and Bear Lake In terms of weather, the third day was perfection - albeit hotter. Being wasted, Matt opted out of the planned hike down to Lizard Head Meadows and beyond. Originally, I'd hoped to hike a whopping 12 miles (round trip) to the Bear Plateau. Ha ha. But we did reach glorious Bear Lake (6 miles total, 1500 gained), recommended by Roger. The way to Lizard Head required retracing our steps back to Lonesome Lake and then continuing south on the trail. After the lake, I was expecting the way to become viewless forest. While there were more trees, the vistas - particularly in Lizard Head Meadows - were some of the most impressive on this whole trip because of their all-encompassing perspective back at the cirque. An actual wooden sign (surprise, surprise) indicated the way to Bear Lake and beyond. Of course, next to the sign was this underdressed women bent over gathering water at the creek. Let's just say her enormous breasts exceeded everything Ellen and I lacked - and garnered enthusiastic responses from the boys (MOST of the boys - sorry, Danny). The Bear Lake trail climbed gently through shaded open woods - although you wouldn't have known it based on all the whining and rest stops. After 40 minutes, we reached another sign for Bear Lake, a side-trail off the main drag. Within 15 minutes, we entered this fabulous open cirque with stunning views up towards the austere Bear Plateau (SO close and yet so far) and this interesting cluster of peaks to the west. We enjoyed the name-inspiring face of Lizard Head Peak, ate, semi-bathed, and then curled up on the ground to take a long nap in the sun. I can't imagine how the 5 of us sprawled out looked to passer-by's. By 2:00, we headed back. Kevin, Ellen, and I enjoyed a rather deep conversation about his love life, instigated by him (I believe he wanted straight talk about women, sex, and love from mature women - although why he was asking us remains a mystery). Of course, this conversation DID finally explain why Kevin had been demurely pressing flowers into a notebook every night between getting into camp and dinner - ahhhhhhh (RETROSPECTIVE COMMENT - whoever received the flowers didn't last but Kevin is a very serious relationship once again). After straggling into camp, I prepared Ellen's requested birthday dinner: macaroni and cheese (with the deluxe squeezable cheese), followed by instant cheesecake. I earned the "gross" award by sucking out the large wad of unwanted cheese after everyone was through cheesing up their noodles. Of course, I paid for this indulgence over the next 2 days with GI distress that manifest itself via multi-sensory sleep-farting and mild diarrhea. After our early dinner, I napped while everyone else piled into Kevin/Chris' tent for cards. Part of my cheese-induced reputation apparently began to express itself even at this early stage. But I really need to move on - given that MATT was the fart king on this trip (even legendary Chris didn't come close). Six weeks after we returned, I said something to Danny about Matt while we were working. Danny just shook his head, "man, do vegetarians fart a lot." Back in August, I wouldn't have pictured those hard words coming out of Danny's innocent mouth. And thus I knew I'd properly broken Danny in. But I digress: lying there half-awake, I just stared at the colors of Warrior Peak, the colors of the sky - the blue to periwinkle to lead to velvety navy. And then the stars began appearing. At one point, a shooting star blazed across 150° of the 180° view and I was breathless... despite the muffled laughter behind me. It was definitely one of those nights I was at one with the mountains and the heavens.

August 6-8 - Back to Pinedale and Home Given that we'd sort of exhausted the cirque (or the cirque had exhausted us), we split the hike back into 2 days - enjoying a leisurely start, heading out at noon. While Danny, Chris, and Kevin elected to take the climbers' route back, Ellen, Matt, and I decided to take the official Jackass trail back. I can truly say that the latter is a total pain in the ass and I would rather do the nasty scramble. First, we had a hell of a time finding the trail (even though it was a visibly blazing scar from camp) - thrashing through flora, bumbling on talus. Once we hit the actual trail, we climbed a TON more. But the HUGE views were ALMOST worth the effort. At the pass, the trail dropped severely to Arrowhead, CLIMBED steep slabs of granite to this promontory (300 feet higher than the climbers' route), and then shot down more slickrock. It was incredible how much longer the trail took, how grueling it was. We reached Big Sandy around 4:00, utterly exhausted. There, we found the guys cheerfully sitting on this log by the water - having waited 90 minutes. Although we discussed just getting the hell out, I said no because we didn't have hotel reservations and the hotel manager had said everything was booked that evening. Given the blazing heat, we washed up in the lake. In front of all the skinny 20-something guys, Ellen took one look at me in my bikini and audibly remarked that this was the first time my body looked old to her - to which I replied: GEE THANKS. I was told I kept oggling these climber dudes setting up camp next to us. Where I guessed they were mid-20's, the boys guffawed - try barely legal. I then cooked a vegetarian minestrone soup that received high marks. Of course, my good cooking probably explains why my body finally looks old to Ellen. After another odiously odorous game of cards, Ellen and I (cheese-products AND beans churning in our GI tracts) took a pre-bed run together into the woods. Scared of bears, we took respective squatting positions, a huge rock separating us. At this range, though, we endured mutually audible suffering - which cracked us both up to the point that we were howling in laughter, no-doubt waking up everything in a quarter-mile radius. On a prior trip, Ellen prophetically remarked to me that she knew she was old because she could now walk into any public restroom and shamelessly take a ripping dump. Ellen and I definitely added a few experiential years to our ages for those 10 minutes sputtering and exploding in the dark and shadowed woods. Of course, laughter does diminish maturity and age - so it probably all makes for a net zero gain. Remarkably, we received no comments from the guys after we stumbled back into camp, still laughing (RETROSPECTIVE COMMENT - Ellen told me during the 2002 Wind River traverse that whenever she is feeling blue, she intentionally thinks about our lovely run-and-squat by Big Sandy Lake… and can't help but howl with laughter yet again).

Left to Right: Ellen at official Jackass Pass, view from Jackass Pass, Ellen descending to Arrowhead Lake

After another poor night's sleep, we packed up and were on the trail in no time. Except for the parched ground that blew up dusty messes of dried horseshit, the hike out was pleasant. Passing MANY parties, we arrived at the trailhead around 1:00. We took our time unpacking and then repacking the cars. Driving back, we wondered if the hotel owner would sympathize with our dirty, beat-up state and let us into our rooms early for showers (he did). Craving pizza, we wound up at this dive for lunch. I freely accept the snob award for verbally dissing this horrible establishment even while there (I would report it's name but it has since shut down). Unfortunately, I don't remember much of the rest of that night. I do remember that we all thought we set our alarms for 6:00 a.m (in fact, only the boyz did). Thus, when they knocked on our door the next morning, Ellen, Matt, and I were all asleep. Of course, Kevin jumped in Ellen's bed when he heard she was still not awake (jumping into bed with Ellen, it should be noted, is a dangerous thing). But Kevin will always be family to Ellen and I - mostly because he is, like us, descended from Norwegians in the Bergen region (seriously - we likely share relatives within 2-6 generations). Having mostly packed the night before, I was rolled to my car and, with Kevin at the wheel, whisked away. Ellen and Matt, who took a little longer as they were returning to Washington in their own car, were disappointed we barely said goodbye. The drive home went like clockwork and my crew arrived home around 7:30 p.m. I wish I had more philosophically enlightened things to say after this trip but, at times, it felt like a big smudge amidst a blurry summer. Unfortunately, too, my feelings are cluttered by too many dynamics (most preceding this trip) that I have chosen not to describe (friends who dropped out for reasons of personal stress, friends who had to be axed over research permit issues, hiring decisions, moments of interpersonal strife, and so on). Nonetheless, we had a marvelous time and were unanimously stunned with the supreme grandeur of the Wind Rivers.

Left to Right: the fast and fickle Wind River weather - Island Lake with Mt. Fremont, Titcomb Basin, and team.

Taking Peter's Backpacking Virginity, Island Lake and Titcomb Basin - July 2001 Having experienced the southern Wind Rivers last year, we set out to tackle the northern Wind Rivers. After hiking the trail, we all felt mislead by the photographs and descriptions of this area - first because the route from Elkhart Park was rated as easier than that to Jackass Pass and, second, because this meadow-covered region looked more forgiving than the stark granite of Pingora Peak. Two telling guidebook sentences, though, say it all (as noted AFTER the trip): "The trail seems longer than its distance would suggest... many ups and downs make this trip to the high country an arduous 2-day journey" (we did it in 1, of course). Initially, we were to have 6 people, most experienced. But then we lost 2 veterans, leaving Danny, Peter (a new undergraduate research student), Lee (Peter's best friend), and I. In contrast with Danny and I, Peter and Lee had no backpacking experience (RETROSPECTIVE COMMENT - Peter publicly insists that "took his virginity" on this trip… his BACKPACKING virginity). During the weeks prior to the trip, we scrounged gear and I took the boys out walking the stadium stairs with packs. Even though I briefly questioned taking such beginners to the Winds, I have come to accept that 21-year-olds males usually survive about anything (and kick my ass in the process). Given the guidebook's mellow descriptions of this hike, I felt confident we would survive. This prediction proved only half correct. After a LONG day driving, we arrived in Pinedale at 10:30 p.m. We stayed at the same place as last year, the same obligatory longhaired blond hotel owner greeting us warmly the next morning (he thoughtfully left our cabins unlocked, given that he knew we were arriving late). Despite the stressful drive and late night, I was up bright and early. And so I left the guys (sleeping) to go shopping and have a double mango breakfast smoothie. Pinedale seemed much more touristy this year. As I walked back to the hotel - smoothie and booty in hand - I ran into the zonked boys on their way to the Wrangler. We met an hour later to begin packing. Given the lack of bears last summer, we did not even consider renting a food canister - despite the fact that a so-called aggressive black bear had just been killed near Mary Lake (disturbingly, the severed head of this bear - bloodied with its tongue hanging out - was physically on display in the visitors' center). In terms of food, we each packed and carried our own breakfasts; we divided lunches and dinners according to peoples' sizes, abilities, and packs. Having finished packing tasks quickly, we took a 20-minute drive up to the Elkhart trailhead and were shocked to find the parking lot less than a third full. Wow. Even during the drive, we enjoyed spectacular views of Mt. Fremont and slivers of Titcomb Basin - separated from us by this undulating sea of rolling granite interspersed with stands of trees. We then enjoyed a substantial dinner at the lakeside marina restaurant (same one as last year). After dinner, I enjoyed a luxurious bath and retired early.

July 14 - To Island Lake (What a LONG Haul!) Of course, I didn't sleep much because I was excited and some sort of rodeo kept up until just after 11 p.m. I distinctly recall the final "Now y'all come back tomorrow" before tossing and turning for a LONG time. At the ungodly hour of 3:30 a.m., an air- raid-like siren started howling and I remember thinking: the world is coming to an end and I am sleepless in PINEDALE, Wyoming. Shortly thereafter, it then began to rain and rain. At 5:45 a.m., Danny was pounding on my door and then we were driving to Elkhart Park again. Near the turn-off to Fremont Lake, fire crews were cleaning up after an obvious blaze had blackened the previously dry, parched earth. It was 6:15 when we arrived at the trailhead. Anxious to get moving, I strapped everything on and took off with Lee. Despite the fact that I usually do not enjoy long forest hikes, I found the first 4 miles - all in woods - moderately open, the views alright, and the gentle trail in superb shape. By mile 3, we arrived at this spectacular granite promontory (Photographer's Point) and beheld our destiny: massive bulges of granite interspersed with frequent stands of knotty pines, mirror-like ponds and lakes - all rolling to the base of mighty Fremont (a notable ceiling of clouds at 14,000 feet). Looking back, I regretted that we saw Mt. Fremont so soon. Not only did it enhance our expectations of an easier hike, it also made the day less interesting because we had less to look forward to.

Left to Right: Barbara Lake (I believe), Seneca Lake, Little Seneca Lake

After crossing several meadows, we dropped to Eklund Lake. Given many side-trails to other lakes, we checked our maps to make sure we were proceeding correctly. From here, the way dropped again and I remember thinking: this is SO going to SUCK on the way out. Meandering down a circuitous forested trail, the way descended two big open switchbacks into this lovely green meadow. But the trail was wide, well-graded, and in excellent shape. As we approached Barbara Lake, we slopped across a boggy meadow and plodded up this rocky bowl toward a small pass. It was clear that we were in the thick of all the undulating granite knolls. While small, these passes and bowls were defeating and I began to lag behind. The trail dropped again, eventually strolling along Hobbs Lake. Given a hunger headache, I called lunch upon catching up to the guys (it was 11 a.m.). During lunch, 4-6 horses and 2 packers plodded by. They were going to Island to up to pick up climbers, hauling in/out in a day. Indeed, the amount of horse travel in this region was more impressive than that to Big Sandy. The packers were burley cowboys wearing leather chaps and 10-gallon hats. After lunch, as was the ongoing theme, the trail meandered up and down and up and down. During one substantial ascent, we came to a large creek that required we leave the trail to locate an appropriate place to rock-hop. It was just after this point (at 12:30) that Lee and I permanently separated from Danny and Peter. Danny seemed confident that he and Peter would make camp by 3 p.m. and we agreed that it was better that they push on and claim a site. Within the hour, Lee and I began climbing a long ramp toward a substantial pass. Near the top, a couple coming down informed us that we were (finally) near Seneca Lake. They also claimed that this pass would be the hardest it ever got before Island. While the first part of this statement was true, the second was complete horseshit. Seneca Lake was the largest lake we had encountered so far. While the way around Seneca was not too ugly, it was neither flat nor short. Its blasted, solid rock topography looked formidable, particularly from a distance. Beyond Seneca, the terrain was very different than I was expecting. Based on the maps, I pictured this route as flat and through low granite; in reality, we encountered more of the same: an endless wave of moderately steep hills and valleys, all high alpine meadow. After a short section of flat greenery and shallow ponds beyond Seneca, we climbed to an intermediate meadow where Little Seneca Lake was set in a flowing carpet of green (a deer grazed along the shore). Contrasting with the picturesque fauna, the dark wall of clouds and big wind moving down from the range grew VERY apparent. Above Little Seneca, we climbed a steep slope of loose gravel. There, for no apparent reason, we were bombarded by flies and mosquitoes (the bugs were HELL most of the time). At the top, we tried to convince ourselves we were not feeling rain (but we were). Given plummeting morale, we were extremely disappointed to find Island nowhere in sight. In its assumed place was another LONG meadow leading to another exasperating pass. If this wasn't the last one, I swore, I was going to fucking curl up in a fetal position and cry. Given the rain, Lee decided to don his raingear but I was determined not to dig out my stuff because Wyoming storms were always fast and fleeting. I asked to charge ahead because I had a feeling we were near the end (it was 3:30). To the right (due north), Arrow and Bow Mountains rose impressively (RETROSPECTIVE COMMENT - a year later, Ellen and I traversed said region, camping at Upper Jean Lake en route to Green Lake). I was then passed by the aforementioned horse team, loaded and leaving. I briefly chatted with a father and son, both having successfully ascended Gannet, Wyoming's highest peak.

Left to Right: Arrow and Bow Mountains, final push to Island Lake, my tent - Island Lake and Mt. Fremont

Continuing, I slogged up the final pass: FINALLY - Island Lake, albeit down an intense hillside. I could see Danny and Peter in a stand of trees near where the incoming trail intersected a social/camp path. Lee, now in raingear and limping, overtook me on the way down. Danny wanted to use the site in the trees where he and Peter had been hunkered down (ironically, where Ellen and I camped a year later). But I was determined to have a scenic campsite… and so I proceeded to annoy everyone by leading us through the now-soaked grass, down to the lake, and then back around via a little peninsula. There were either no flat spots or there were people. Just as we were about to give up and head for the trees, 2 dads and 3 daughters (ages 10-16) called us to a small, scenic site right below their complex. Our large tent (Peter and Lee), small tent (me), and bivy sack (Danny) managed to awkwardly fit. A house-sized boulder (Ellen's yoga rock the following year) lay just beyond our tents, affording the perfect place to cook dinner direct views onto Fremont and Titcomb. The weather cooperated with us during the early part of the evening. Owing to our lack of patience, though, the spaghetti noodles were hard and starchy. I regretted not helping wash dishes given that gorgeous hiker dude (Rob Morrow-esque) showed up to chat with my boys. His plan was to summit Fremont (8-10 miles, 3000 feet, class 2-3) AND hike out tomorrow (we doubted he made it). After cleaning up, the boys crawled into their tents and went to bed (it was only 7:30!). With everyone asleep, I was left on the big rock, admiring still-visible Fremont. Given the peaceful vista and reasonable weather coming in, it seemed impossible for me at the time to predict what lay ahead. By 8:30, HUGE claps of thunder began to rumble from all alpine directions. It was then that I decided to retire. Pretty much starting at 9:00, lightening struck every 2-10 minutes (followed by huge thunder), and this kept up until around 1:00 a.m. It sounded as though there were at least 3 weather cells in our vicinity - all syncopating. The most impressive strikes were in Titcomb proper. The whole damn basin lit up and you could see the giant granite towers momentarily turn this eerie gold (right before the first-crackling and then-deafening thunder shook the ground). There was neither rain nor high wind during the thunder and lightening show - which surprised me. By 1:00, though, the deluge arrived, dumping until 9:00 a.m. I finally popped in my earplugs and succumbed to a good sleep despite the sustained and hammering rain. Despite the violent storm, the temperatures were pleasant and I slept all night with the sleeping bag unzipped halfway.

Left to Right: me en route to Titcomb Basin, hail actually falling during hike, me leaving Titcomb Basin

July 15 - All Hail to Titcomb Basin It was 9:30 before I finally ran down the hill and peed in some bushes; indeed, we all had been holding it much of the night, afraid to go out in the storm. Unable to agree on a plan of action, we decided to go back to sleep and reconvene later (I was told I snored audibly). Just after 11:00, a glimmer of warm gold shone through my tent, waking me. And so our goal became a 5-mile trip to Titcomb Basin. Having earned 4 blisters during the hike in (RETROSPECTIVE COMMENT - the days before I became a die-hard sandal-only freak), I wore socks and Chacos. Within 5 minutes, Lee was seriously limping (probably ITB). I ordered him back to camp because we could not risk him being unable to hike out. I told him to medicate and stretch; I was told that he did neither. The first, flat part of the trail took us around Island, crossing several creeks and sloppy sandbars. There, we met a 50-something man with an old frame pack who had camped in the basin during the hair-raising storm. He had tried to climb Gannett but didn't make it. He asked me to mail a postcard to his family and I obliged, waiting for him to write it. Then I climbed emerald meadows toward a low saddle where Danny and Peter were waiting. Here, thunder rumbled and HUGE HAIL erupted from the sky. We then came to a fork: a sign indicated Indian Pass (6 miles, right). I had hoped to see Indian tomorrow but it was clear - given Lee's knee - that we needed to leave early (RETROSPECTIVE COMMENT - Ellen and I visited Indian Pass in 2003). The trail to Titcomb headed left, dropping to a large shallow pond. By this point, the hail turned to rain and Peter and Danny were substantially falling behind. This gnarly party of 40-something guys hiking out asked me questions that suggested they thought I was some crazy, half-dressed, sandal-wearing nut-job. Despite assumptions I was suffering hypothermic denial, I felt warm. Even so, I ducked under this big boulder as more lightening struck, downed GORP, and waited for Danny and Peter. Peter, soaked to the core, decided to go back. Danny and I continued, although Danny also thought I was crazy to be out in shorts and sandals. As we pressed on, I stepped into a few boggy spots that fully soaked my feet (although they never grew cold). The climb to the last pass was minimal. Huge granite slabs and mighty glacial erratics dominated the lunar, tundra-like terrain. We found a good sitting rock and ate a meager lunch along Titcomb Lake proper. During that time, it actually stopped raining and the sky grew lighter (although the sun never fully emerged). En route down, we discussed the fact that last night's awesome storm was worth every imperfectly gray view today. Used to the northwest (where fog and cloud linger closer to the ground), we were amazed we could see anything at all. Although I did my best to duplicate last year's superlative corn chowder, it was quite as good. Everyone seemed restless after dinner. A rapid darkening of the skies sent everyone into respective tents, this time unable to sleep. Peter and Lee resorted to singing intentionally annoying songs. When it looked like it wasn't going to dump - we all emerged to play cards. But within 20 minutes, the rain began to fall (albeit not hard enough to drown out Peter and Lee's singing). The wind was much greater the second night and, combined with the harder rain, made for a few interesting tent wet-spots where the fly touched the walls/ceilings. It was also MUCH colder - so much so that I had my bag zipped fully and wore my hat all night.

July 16 - Doing What We Said We'd Never Do Again At 8:30, I woke up because there was this odd sensation in the tent: heat and bright light. Outside: blue skies, sun, and calm. Our new plan was to be on the trail by 11, camping at Hobbs Lake. Given the weather, we dismantled and dried all gear during our leisurely breakfast. Nevertheless, packing took longer than expected because we were distracted by the stunning views of Fremont and Titcomb. Removing substantial weight from Lee, we hit the trail around 11:30 and slowly made our way up the nasty first pass. It was SOOOO hard to leave. Feeling stronger and more motivated than ever, I wanted only to drop the pack and haul up Indian Pass. As we crossed the high meadow beyond the first high pass, the cloudless views to Bow and Arrow made our departure even MORE difficult. Up to this point, Lee had been doing well and it seemed that we were making excellent timing. As we passed Little Seneca, though, Lee confessed that he was in great pain. So wrapped his knee and upped his ibuprofen dose. But Lee seemed to slow with each stride, stepping gingerly across the muddy fields of grass and rock. Danny plowed ahead and I tried to keep somewhere between Peter/Lee and Danny as we rounded Seneca Lake. We designated the pass above Seneca as our lunch stop and regroup point. At one point, we passed a horse team coming down and I fleetingly wondered whether Lee would be willing to pay to ride out. I then caught up with Danny, sitting in the shade below Seneca pass (he notably heard me coming by the ibuprofen rattling in my pocket). Danny and I pow-wowed about the situation and agreed that Lee was getting worse. Splitting the hike out could be bad because Lee would stiffen up overnight and things would be worse tomorrow. And so we agreed that we were going to haul out TODAY (despite vows never to do this hike in one day again). Danny wanted to race ahead, drop his pack at the car, and then come back for Lee's gear. Although Danny and my change of plans did not go over went over well with Peter and Lee, they seemed more surprised than upset. Danny, Peter, and I took about 15 pounds out of Lee's pack and divided it. After downing lunch, we also upped Lee's ibuprofen again (probably beyond label recommendations).

Left to Right: climbing to first pass from Island Lake, Bow and Arrow again, Lee and Danny and the bad knee

I can honestly say that we owe ibuprofen a HUGE debt for getting us out. Lee was so drugged up that he occasionally began to sing AND kick my ass. Where the previously annoying up and down shit seemed to go faster on the way out, the gentle sections seemed to go ON and ON and ON. Even though I had calculated that it would take until 7 p.m. to hike to the parking lot, I desperately wanted to believe otherwise. Starting at 6 p.m., I kept hoping for the end, anticipating Danny would appear. At this point, given Lee's performance, I hoped Danny would carry MY pack given that now my knees were starting to feel pulpy. During the final 5 miles, we were surprised at the numbers of incoming backpackers: 4-6 parties totaling 30-40 people. Where the sustained forest began, I began hiking well ahead of Peter and Lee, concerned about Danny's whereabouts. My worst fear was that there had been a break-in involving the car. When I was 20 minutes from the car when Danny popped around the corner - exhausted. Even Danny expressed surprised that we were so close. He said the car was fine but he decided to rest and find a campsite at nearby Elkhart campgrounds (I assumed we would get hotel rooms). We walked into the parking lot around 7:30 p.m. - remarkable given that we had set out at 11:30 a.m. Amazingly, we actually hiked out faster than we'd hiked in - despite Lee's knee situation. We drove 2 minutes to the campsite and, as we pulled up, Danny began cursing because he had claimed our spot by leaving his Thermarest and bivy poles on the site picnic table. Of course, I was not surprised that someone walked off with them. Unable to do anything about the theft, we cooked dinner (4 boxes of macaroni cheese). Making up for calorie losses, I added two sticks of margarine to the cheese sauce. Peter and Lee and I set up respective tents but Danny was stuck with no bivy poles - so he slept in the car. In retrospect, I would have been happier in the car and Danny should have taken my tent. I failed to sleep well for many reasons: rodents running under the corners of my tent, usual bear fears, the surprising number of cars that drove through the relatively empty camp after dark. Even so, I was completely awake and starving at 7:30 the next morning. I annoyed everyone by insisting we get up and go for a Wrangler breakfast and then hit the road for Yellowstone. It would be nice, we eventually agreed, to get to our West Yellowstone hotel early. Indeed, the remainder of our research trip was beautiful, successful, and proceeded without incident.

Left to Right: Titcomb Basin, Mt. Fremont, Near Lower Jean Lake - Mts. Bow, Arrow, & Henderson

Grand Traverse and Side-Trips, Island Lake to Green Lakes - August 2002 Last Christmas, I dreamed this trip up - although it was conceived while Danny, Peter, Lee, and I trudged to/from Island Lake in 2001. Ellen, one of those little girls who loved horses, was less enthusiastic than expected when I suggested a horse- supported trip (of course, she'd never actually been on or near a horse). Our initial plans were to ride into Island Lake where, for 3-4 days, we would basecamp. The priority list here included Mt. Fremont, Indian Basin/Pass, and Titcomb Basin. From here, we would move up and over the range, spending nights at Jean, Peak, and Lozier Lakes (packing out via New Fork Park). But our cowboy (Cole) felt riding out via Green Lakes was more appropriate for beginners. Given that I'd yet to see Square Top Mountain, I had no issues with this alternative. Portions of this traverse involved the Highline Traverse (THE Wonderland Trail equivalent): Island to above Jean, and Three Forks Park to Green River Lakes. But we decided to tackle the off-trail traverse of Shannon Pass/Peak Lake/Cube Rock Pass instead of the longer Highline section by Elbow and Summit Lakes. Given the popularity of this route, we expected to be inundated with people the whole time (i.e. no concerns about our small and female party size). Ellen and I did not speak much about this trip again until a week before our departure for Wyoming (notably on her 30th birthday). This conversation began with Ellen whining about how she was having grave second thoughts about 9 days in the mountains; they ended with us generating gear and food lists. In contrast with Ellen's last Wind River adventure (Cirque of the Towers), she (thankfully) planned 5 days of jetlag recovery time following her flight from Japan - before getting in a car with me. Being that I am now in my mid-30s, I no longer enjoy driving 15 hours straight - and so Ellen and I drove, on Aug. 6, to Mountain Home, Idaho. The weather here was turning sour, with high cool winds blasting across the baking hot flatlands, and thunderheads darkening the skies. We got a leisurely start the next day, completing the drive to Pinedale by 7 p.m. Something possessed us to search the whole town until we found a place that served open face roast beef sandwiches with gravy. Not surprisingly, this turned out to be the Wrangler. We stayed at our usual accommodations, the Log Cabin Hotel, where OLHBM greeted me at the desk by taking both my hands and asking how everyone has been this year. I knew, by the manner in which he did this, that his father - a visitor during last year's trip - had passed away. Ellen, of course, thinks I'm weird for my fond attachments to people like OLHBM but Pinedale wouldn't be the same without him. We planned one full down day in Pinedale - for sleeping in, shopping, and visiting Pinedale's Mountain Man Museum. While worth the $4 adult admissions price, the self-guiding tour through the two-story building would have not been worth any more money. During a very overpriced Italian dinner, we realized that we weren't sure how our car would be handled the next day and so we decided to check in with Cole. The car question, however, was complete news to him. While we were extremely happy with Cole's on-trail guiding, we found that other details had been poorly communicated along the ranch chain of command (owner, assistant, and Cole). In general, the assistant was the trouble spot. In the end, Cole picked us up and the assistant retrieved my car a few hours later (it lived at the ranch until the end of the trip). Some other last-minute news to us: First, Cole would be bringing his wife and 2 of his 4 kids. I have to laugh and say that before I left, many of the womenfolk at work gave me a lotta shit about hiring a cowboy to haul me into the mountains (speculating what this guy would look like, wear, and do while serving me in the hills). Needless to say, I knew - when Cole's family entered the picture - that the womenfolk would be disappointed to hear the truth (i.e. he wasn't single and he didn't show up wearing only chaps, a cowboy hat, and a smile). Second, our pick-up point was such long ride in that we knew our cowboy would be camping with us; thus, we asked the owner if they would also haul up a nice dinner (i.e. steaks, as advertised for full-service trips). Although the answer back in February had been yes, Cole now informed us that he had to take out a hunting party the day before our pick-up and thus he would only be able to ride in part-way in, camp on his own, and then ride up early to get us on our last day. I had the sincere impression Cole had never been told we requested dinner our last night and we felt too guilty to ask at this late stage. Trail Day One - To Island Lake Ellen and I tried to go to bed early but that didn't work because we were excited and anxious. Cole and company arrived to pick us up at 7 a.m. Ellen, at the moment, was sitting on the can, unable to take a much-desired morning dump because of horse-related nerves. Outside, 5 horses and 2 mules were in the trailer being remarkably quiet. We threw all the gear into the pickup and climbed into the extended cab with Cole's daughter, Brook. Cole, wife Sherry, and son Tanner sat up front. We conversed a bit but I freely admit that talking with a cowboy family is challenging. It is actually difficult to say who had a harder time with whom. Remarkably, Ellen got the most mileage out of being from Japan. Ellen adeptly remarked that interacting with this culture was as distantly and distinctly foreign as any of the international cultures she'd visited or lived among. Imagine, if you will, 2 overly educated unmarried, unchilded 30-something women from the city going into the mountains for no apparent reason ("no huntin' or fishin' - what are you doing up there?" - an actual question from Cole). And now imagine 2 weather-worn 20-something ranchers with 4 kids and twice as many large animals from a town of 200 (not Pinedale). Of course, I was equally confounded at the idea that Cole and Sherry had lived here their whole lives and never traveled high into the mountains. But Cole and Sherry were fantastic cowboys and parents. They were also not righteous and had no flaming conservative tendencies that came out in our presence. Although it had been warm and sunny the week prior, a cold front was predicted to be coming in via two waves (one today). Indeed, it was fucking freezing as we drove to Elkhart Park, the sky powdery blue with wispy white clouds that smelled like snow. We pulled into the stock trailhead just beyond the nearly-empty parking area. Here, Cole's family unloaded the stock. Ellen tore off to the pit toilet after seeing her gigantic mule, Alf. Alf, taller than my horse, finally caused Ellen's unresponsive bowels to dispense their contents. Watching Cole's kids mount and manage their horses was amazing; Tanner's stirrups didn't reach half-way down the horse's torso. I was given a "good horse" (Brook's words) named Maiden. Three things greatly improved my ride on this trip: padded biking underwear, flawlessly comfortable saddles, and actually fitting us in the saddles. We were on the trail at 8:30, hands and feet feeling frozen. People-phobic Alf liked to eat foliage but he didn't trot. When we passed hikers, he paused a long time before cutting wide around them. But Ellen took everything well, nearly losing it only once on a steep rocky section around Hobbs Lakes (I memorably said she had to have absolute faith in her ass). Although I thought we'd have a lunch break on the way to Island, we stopped only twice for bathroom and adjustment things. In general, our silly horse naiveté likely drove determined and pragmatic Cole bonkers. Cole would remark in his quietly smiling way that we were, by no means, abnormal for beginners (his nearly exact words were: yes, unfortunately - our horses pick up bad habits from all inexperienced riders and then we have to remind them how to act again).

Left to Right: meeting the horses and mules at the trailhead; Cole's daughter and Ellen

When we arrived at Island Lake at 1:30, Cole was pleased and surprised (again, none of them had been in the "high country" before). After unloading our gear, Cole and his family enjoyed a sack lunch, spending 20 minutes with us before leaving. While Sherry seemed entranced with the beauty of the alpine scenery, Brook seemed confounded by the concept that Ellen and I were going to be out here another week without any large camping devices. Before leaving, Cole asked if we had warm gear and a tent and I assured him we did. Even so, Ellen and I both felt a short-lived sense of intimidation once Cole's family was gone. But that passed as we scouted the area for a campsite. As with the parking lot - I was SHOCKED at the lack of people. We had one set of fairly close neighbors (3 guys); another party of 3 would erect an American flag at their camp up the hill from us. Ellen, relatively shielded from 9/11 in Japan, found all the flag-waving (whether in civilization or here at Island Lake) bizarre and strangely shallow. I could spend many pages talking about our conversations about 9/11 but I won't. The tree-sheltered campsite we selected (for weather reasons) was directly above the spot Danny, Lee, Peter, and I used one year before. While Saturday (tomorrow) was good, Sunday, was supposed to be bad (cloudy and raining). Monday was supposed to be the worst: cold front arriving with snow; possibly 12" above 7,000 (Island Lake is at 10,500). It was then supposed to improve dramatically. Tentatively, we planned to move to Upper Jean Lake on Tuesday. For hours after dismounting, Ellen suffered pure stress of a kind she has never felt, having tensed up completely during the ride. Indeed, she now wished she'd had exposure to horses before this trip. To stretch out, we enjoyed a 30-minute hike around our end of the lake, visiting our closest neighbors who were going up Fremont tomorrow. We didn't trudge up the hill to the flag-wavers; we would meet them the next day. For this trip, I made several gear upgrades: 3 pound Bibler tent (like Sara's in Patagonia), a down bag that stuffs into a football-sized object, and an ultra-thick geriatric-edition Thermarest. I'd like to think the new tent more effectively exhausted Ellen's extensive farting to the outside was, but I don't have objective data to this effect - only the anecdotal remark that we didn't seem to suffer as much, despite high thru-put. Although we enjoyed sunny and warm weather through dinner, the temperatures began dropping by 7 p.m. And, unfortunately, I had NOT packed my fleece pants (a major mistake). After dinner, we decided that tomorrow's hike would be to Indian Basin/Pass; we would forego Fremont because - given the weather - it scared the crap out of us. Indian Pass was ambitious enough: 14 miles/2500 feet (to 11,800). At 7 p.m., as we were cleaning up and chatting loudly, this 50-something male climber from Seattle returned from his solo summit of Fremont, climbed into his bivy sack (30 feet from our tent), cooked some dinner, and went to bed (snoring throughout the night). While I retreated to the excellent warmth of my new sleeping bag, Ellen stayed out/up reading and staring after dark each night. Originally, Ellen hoped to sleep outside - but the bugs were ugly. So, we shared the tent, sleeping head to toe (because Ellen thought side by side was "WAY too close"). Ellen, who has this annoying habit of rubbing her feet together in her sleep, drove me bonkers. Consequently, I had to repeatedly quiet the "grasshopper."

Trail Day Two - To Island Lake We awoke at 8:30, enjoying an excellent breakfast of fried tofu. Owing to Roger's insistence, I decided to be good and wear my hiking boots, cramming my giant bunions into the tight leather. Given Ellen and my tradition of crazy sartorial accoutrements, we carried silk flower leis, daisy hair clips, and pimp-daddy accessories - and tiny Horsy and Kitty stuffed animal good luck charms. Under gloriously blue skies, we rapidly hiked 1 mile to the Indian Pass side-trail. I was impressed with the meadow flowers and Ellen was amazed with already-enticing Titcomb. We passed a family backpacking into Indian Basin, dad thwarted from the summit 20 years ago. From the Indian Pass trail junction, we started up this broad bowl of rock and meadow. It was there that Ellen's bowels called - and she went running off for an "excellent dump" in low scrub, concerned the aforementioned family saw her the whole time as they climbed. Indeed, the trail crossed a boulder-filled creek and ascended the head of this bowl via long, gentle switchbacks. We passed the family once more on the last ramp, never seeing them again. At the top, the views of the Indian Basin cirque were massive (the whole region, I swear, could hold several Enchantment-equivalents). After this trip, I cannot return to be impressed with said features again. Of course, I'm sure people who run off to the Sierras or Karakoram would say the same about the Winds (RETROSPECTIVE COMMENT - having now seen the Sierras, I prefer the Winds - but you'll just have to read that story). In my experience, ONLY Patagonia compares - although the Winds seem more quiet and undamaged. I also think the Winds attract the most genuine and dedicated hikers I've ever met. On this trip alone, we shared long conversations with parties from 8 different states, all repeat visitors. Once we reached the first plateau, it was clear we had a LOT more work to do. Indian Basin is a HUGE mess of up and down, domes, bulges, valleys, tarns, creeks, and boulders. The trail also does not seem to take the easiest and most direct route (in my opinion) to Indian Pass. First, you ascend a low dome-like hill of rocks; then you descend and cross a boulder-filled creek; and then you descend again, rounding and contouring a small mountain of rocks to a large tarn. If you are lucky, you meet two 30-something long-haired dudes as you boulder hop - and they remark favorably on your attire (looking at you, nevertheless, like you are crazy). This first tarn has a convoluted shore and you wind round and round the edges, sometimes in soft mud along the water but mostly on rocks - all the while trying to keep track of the cairns. You eventually cross a stream and climb a meandering trail to another tarn and repeat… eventually making a more determined climb to the unofficial Fremont basecamp junction. Here, people have constructed a rock arrow pointing left - indicating a tarn way up in the rocks where climbers camp. The next section traverses beautiful, lush meadows. In the distance, there appears to be a virtual wall of granite and scree. I assumed (thank god correctly) that we'd climb this and then make a sharp left to gain the pass. But, honesty, you don't see the pass until the last ten minutes of climbing.

Top Left to Right: views from Indian Basin - Mt. Fremont, Mt. Ellingwood, me at lunch spot overlooking lower lakes Bottom Left to Right: Mts. Fremont & Jackson, meadow before final climb to Indian Pass (up rubble), Ellen at Indian Pass

In the middle of the meadows beneath the final ascent, we enjoyed lunch on a boulder with a commanding view over the whole basin. Mind you, we'd seen NO ONE - heard nothing but the wind and our laughter. After lunch, we plodded up the rocky terrain, reaching an intermediate basin with a shallow tarn. From here, it was not clear where the path went based on looking up the rocky headwall. Given sparing cairns, our creative route scrambled boulders, crossed multiple run-offs from high fields of snow, slopped through muddy meadows, and slid on loose scree as it zigzagged up to a sub-pass that was perpendicular to slightly higher Indian Pass. I remember this horrible moment when had just gained the sub-pass and looked across this MASSIVE rocky gorge to another distant pass, notably laden with high-angle snow (Harrower Glacier). Thinking we had to go up that, I just shook my head: SHIT! Thankfully, Ellen - ahead of me - was walking an obvious path due left toward a gentle gap that resembled photographs I'd seen of Indian Pass. Above Harrower, MASSIVE mountains with huge spires and fingers (and maybe toes) soared above unbelievable heaps of rubble. While not smooth granite faces (like Cirque of the Towers), the peaks (in particular, Ellingwood) rivaled things on that first trip to the Winds. We were exhausted and stupefied when we arrived at Indian Pass - not surprising given that we were up almost 12,000 feet. Honestly, though, the views north SUCKED!!!!! We were expecting this grand white icefield (Knife Point and Bull Lake Glaciers) - but the icefields have seriously receded (Ellen descended 10 minutes down the talus but saw nothing lower). WAY down in the valley, there was a visible river but it was hard to judge its size and whether it looked glacier-fed. Beyond the immediate rubble and dirty snow, the distant peaks were gentle, eroded hillsides. Ellen and I did agree that the view back over Indian Basin was worth every drop of sweat. After this trip, Roger provided me with a terrifically powerful story about Indian Pass, featured in Backpacker magazine many years ago. Apparently, a 40-something preacher/father began a 10-day solo traverse of the Winds, only his dog at his side. He spent his first two nights at Island Lake and, after watching a outdoor leadership group vanish over Indian Pass, decided to attempt this seldom-used cross-country route. Descending talus, he was caught in a boulder slide that trapped his leg. Unlike recent crazy dude in Utah (who cut his arm off to save his life), this man spent a week dying, recording his final thoughts in the pages of his Bible (mid-week, he nearly renounced god; but then he grew peaceful). Back home, his family didn't start worrying until after day 10. For a week, search efforts were concentrated in the south, near his exit point. Then, backpackers at Island lake found his dog, recognizing it from missing posters at the Pinedale Ranger Station. His family - who had never seen the Winds - carried his ashes to Island Lake and spread them on the water one year after the day he died. Although heartbroken, his wife was deeply moved by the beauty her husband enjoyed in his final days. Every hiker should read this story.

After 20 minutes of descending, we finally met the flag-wavers, disappointing their assumption that they were the first and only hikers to the pass (our attire seemed to actively ridicule their assumed status as well). After an extensive conversation, we continued down slowly. Although we were running 2 hours later than expected, the afternoon light was SUPERB and I had to re-shoot all the Indian Basin peaks on the way down: Jackson, Fremont, Elephant, Ellingwood. Smelling the barn, we dashed down the headwall switchbacks and across the meadow before reaching the Indian/Titcomb junction. Shortly thereafter, we met this HUGE crowd of people hiking in: 3 teenagers and 5 adults (including 2 men carrying babies in pack-carriers). We enjoyed a long chat with their leader, learning that they used a mule pack team to carry all their gear up to Titcomb (the outfitters would pick them up at the end of the week). The token single male of the bunch (notably NOT carrying a baby) was wearing a swanky, open Hawaiian shirt; he notably perked up when he saw Ellen and I. Of course, we flirted back, joking about coming back tomorrow so we could properly give him one of our leis. After moving on, we ran into this strange woman from Colorado who cornered us 10 minutes from our tent with endless commentary. Normally, I don't mind meeting folks on the trail but this woman went on and on - insinuating (despite having never been here) that she knew more than we did about Titcomb/Indian, and insisting she could do BOTH in one day. We arrived in camp at 5:30, enjoying a cold sponge bath near the lake. Upon removing my boots, I had (predictably) ripped off nearly all the skin covering my right bunion. Needless to say, it was Chaco's ALL the way across the range (baby) - and that's with a backpack. Because it was late, we didn't get a chance to talk with our neighbors about whether they made it up Fremont. Given a disappointing meal (spinach miso noodles and chicken-flavored parmesan risotto rice), it was time to break open the Jagermeister and sake. Despite poor meals and good booze (nightly themes for the rest of the trip), it should be favorably noted that Ellen and I worked really well together in camp. I cooked and organized food while she cleaned and pumped water. We both hung the bear bags and did general camp straightening up. As usual, I went straight to bed and Ellen stayed up reading Catcher in the Rye.

Left to Right: Titcomb Basin, me and Mt. Fremont from basin, good luck Horsy and Kitty at Titcomb Lake

Trail Day Three - To Titcomb Basin In contrast with more ambitious pre-trip plans to hike to the far end of Titcomb (including an off-trail jaunt to Mistake Lake), we enjoyed a leisurely day three. After waking late, we were surprised to see mostly sunny skies - a few thin wisps of white high above the peaks. Fighting increasing winds, we hiked to the midpoint of the second largest lake in the basin (10 minutes beyond where Danny and I had stopped last year). En route, we chatted with 2 men and 1 woman from Utah who memorably asked whether we were concerned about being assaulted by men - what, being just 2 women out here and all. Our reply: "would-be assaulters typically don't haul in 15 miles on rough terrain to prey on women and if they did, we had military-strength pepper spray and plenty of rope for hog-tying. " It is hard to say how many bodies of water there are in Titcomb Basin: there are several closely-spaced small tarns and lakes just over the small pass above Island. While our chosen turnaround point was beautiful and sunny-looking, the winds were so high that we found it difficult to enjoy lunch. We also dunked Kitty and Horsy after setting them up on a big rock for their daily photo-shoot (well, the wind dunked them and we deemed it their baptism). The number of people camping in Titcomb Basin this year FAR EXCEEDED the numbers we saw camped the year before. In 2001, Island was SWAMPED and Titcomb was empty. This year, it was completely reversed. On our way out, we spied the quiet tents of the group we'd met yesterday but decided to leave them alone (even if it meant not flirting with swanky Hawaiian shirt dude). Unfortunately, we also ran into crazy Colorado chick, now hanging out with some guy. Having only managed to hike to the first plateau of Indian Basin, crazy chick spouted nothing but repetitively upset statements about how hard things had been. We felt mild sympathy for her until she revealed that she had not carried a stove and was eating all canned goods. She then tried to pawn 2 whole cans of organic garbanzo beans, which we declined (as we packed out of Island, we found said cans placed on a trail sign above the lake). Sympathy turned to disdain. Upon returning to camp, Ellen was determined to wash her hair - although there was an awful lot of whining before she did it. After our alpine spa, we returned to camp, enjoyed happy hour, and began dinner. At some point, 4 men (35-45 years old) showed up and spent a long time searching sites near ours. They ultimately split into 2 groups: upstairs above us and RIGHT next to our cooking rock (i.e. where Ellen usually sat out each night). I hoped they wouldn't come over and try to chat given that we were amusingly tipsy and didn't have the pepper spray in reach. Dinner (palak paneer and curried cous cous) was, once again, a sad disappointment (even with the sake clouding our judgment). As we cleaned up, we agreed that we would stay at Island one more day if it was actively raining or snowing. If it wasn't, we would move to Upper Jean Lake. As usual, I retired early. Around 8:30, though, Ellen hauled me out of bed because there was this SPECTACULAR sunset flaming all sorts of colors against the undersides of the clouds. Shortly thereafter, one of our upstairs neighbors (Calvin, fireman from Spokane) strolled down to visit and we stayed up talking with him for 2 hours. Tomorrow, they were on their way to the Gannett basecamp above Titcomb Basin - and then the summit. Gannett, the highest in Wyoming, involves a glacier approach and some low technical rock. Calvin had lots of questions about horse-packing after we confessed how we got here. We suspected he was married with children given his comment that "horses seem like a realistic way to get kids up here." Given that I had been chatting in shorts this whole time, it would take nearly an hour to fully warm up after climbing back in the bag and shivering for 30 minutes straight.

Trail Day Four - To Upper Jean Lake The next morning saw both blue skies and clouds. Despite mixed feelings about leaving Island ahead of schedule, we decided to move on. In contrast with me, Ellen was glad to be moving on, having grown restless. Likely the product of my older status, I have fewer problems sitting around camp, sleeping and eating (to avoid food-heavy packs). By the end of the trip, we agreed that our biggest trip error was not staying at Island one more day. But it was hard to call it a mistake. It is better to say that staying would have been more pleasant and may have prevented a big argument on day 8. On paper, the hike looked easy: 6 miles. Although Upper Jean was only 400 feet above Island, the terrain between these two points racked up over 1000 feet gained - all at or above 10,000 feet. In contrast with expectations, everything did NOT fit inside our packs and we had to lash a lotta shit to the exterior/frames. I blame this on needing to carry my boots and eating little lunch the last 3 days. I took at least 20 rest stops on the way up the big hill above Island. Even so, I was way ahead of Ellen when the Highline branch trail appeared across a substantial, flat-looking meadow. Seeing this, I attempted to shortcut. By the time Ellen saw me, I had reached a rift of un-manageable rocks and knew I needed to back up and end-run them via another route. Yelling back to Ellen to use the real trail, I found a crossable route and then waited on the Highline proper. After some time, I hollered back several times before Ellen showed up and cussed me out, having been waiting at the Highland/Island junction. As usual, we surrendered our spirited bitchiness once we started hiking. After MANY small ridges and valleys, limited views, and uneven rocks, we descended 150 feet via a steep zigzag of loose dirt to the Fremont crossing, an impressive and scenic bridge. In the meadows across from the bridge, we dropped our gear because Ellen's top-heavy pack was pulling her backwards to the point of discomfort. Sadly, we still felt no desire to eat - even though we knew it would lessen our loads.

Left to Right: Fremont crossing, unnamed tarn (looking back at Elephant), Bow and Arrow by Lower Jean Lake

After crossing the Fremont, we began a sustained climb - the views impressing me more. En route, we met a young couple backpacking the Highline and a huge horse team lead by an older woman with this thick ponytail. After climbing ardently to what looked like a promising pass, we gazed out onto rock bowl after rock bowl - Bow and Arrow peaks (our goal, sort of), far in the distance. We passed at least 3 small tarns before we reached Lower Jean Lake, the first substantial body of water since Island. Indeed, Lower Jean was a third the size of Seneca - large after all the seeming puddles. We were at a loss to see any obvious campsites in the area. While the trail never passed directly by Lower Jean's lakeshore, it was near the water and moderately level (NOT the horrible scramble we thought it would be based on guidebook descriptions). The tough-looking climb beyond Lower Jean was unsubstantial. After more tarns, we traversed a long flat meadow and ascended a modest bowl of rocks to Upper Jean. By this point, it was cold, the wind was howling, and ominous clouds were ripping across the sky. Upper Jean Lake has been deemed by some guidebooks: "the finest camp along the ENTIRE Highline Trail." Given this lavish description, we assumed there would be many obvious campsites and people. There were neither. Once we saw Upper Jean - half the size of Lower - we started looking for campsites around the ex-current end of the lake. To our dismay, we found nothing dry or obviously used. At the far end of the lake - nothing but a headwall of boulders. Across the lake, I spied a distant meadow but refused to haul over there with no trace of a social path. In contrast with the lush environs around Island, Upper Jean was austere and desolate. Given this, I decided that we'd camp near this big, 15-foot rock along the shore. That such a rock could shield bad weather seemed desirable given the breakdown (mental and climatic) in progress. Leaving the trail, I scrambled clumsily down a short rocky section to reach this giant windbreak. Amazingly, there was a small cleared site (room for 2 tents maximum) amidst smaller boulders. Correspondingly, an empty coffee bag, a sock, and old fish parts lay strewn near the edge of the lake - 20 feet from the prospective tent site. Despite the fact that the site was likely illegal (i.e. less than 200 yards from water), we were desperate - not to mention in the middle of nowhere with no one. When Ellen stumbled down to the site, she lost it. It was 2:30 when I began setting up the tent - howling wind, snowflakes falling. Ellen stood dazed, anxiously assessing the tundra-like landscape: "I REALLY think we are out of our league here." And then she remembered an apt quote from one of her friends: "Sometimes I lose my patience in my solitude." And I can quote these statements because we wrote them down in our journal after settling down. At the time, though, I could only do my best to calm her down: we were going to be fine, we had the right gear, we were setting up the tent. Even if it snowed hard (which it never did), it would be gone quickly and we would be fine. While setting up the camp, we heard whooping climber calls from the base of Bow Peak. Throughout the evening, we continued to hear distant sounds of people and at least one dog. Given that we never saw anyone, we assumed they were camped at a known tarn above Upper Jean (directly under Bow) - their voices carried randomly by blasts of gusting wind. For the next 2 hours, we huddled in the tent.

Left to Right: Upper Jean Lake camping - tent, Ellen grumbling and uncomfortable, gorgeous sunset alpenglow

Overhead, ominously dark clouds blasted across the sky in this mighty and thunderous train of weather. At 4:30 p.m., the skies began to clear and we set up our kitchen on the far side of the big rock. Tonight's meal was a low-point for me, despite Ellen's surreal enjoyment of it: macaroni and cheese, green beans, and Vienna sausages (all mixed together). My journal says: "shitty dinner" followed by "fucking cold." I'm not sure if the latter refers to dinner or weather - but both were. While I doubted large animals would visit this extreme region, I still climbed onto the lakeside rock face and stuffed our food into this well- hidden crack. Given our stench, we broke out the Handi-Wipes and washed down. Ellen especially delighted in "washing her bare bottom on an exposed alpine boulder, " the (surprisingly) first time she became an outdoor exhibitionist. After returning to the tent, we discussed changing our itinerary because it was agreed that we needed a full down-day at Upper Jean. Maps out, we determined that we could end the backpacking portion of our traverse at Trail Creek Park, near the Green River valley. The trick: how to relay a message to Cole. A couple ideas - prepare notes to hand out to hikers who planned to get out before us (each had Cole's number and our new itinerary), or find someone with an operational cell phone. After dinner, we resumed huddling in the tent. Near sunset, we poked our heads outside, gasping at this massive flaming vista of light on rock… and then running around in the FREEZING wind to take pictures - light snowflakes dancing as if from nowhere. After reveling in the ridiculously beauteous views (and cold), we climbed into the tent for good, playing several rounds of gin and hangman before going to bed. Despite the rational chorus of voices in my head, I slept poorly because there was no one around and I was afraid. How could there by NO ONE at the most beautiful campsite on the Highline Trail? How could there be no one? And it was only going to be more remote and isolated as we continued.

Left to Right: Upper Jean Lake down day - me and my hula getup, whole lake, shadow puppet entertainment

Trail Day Five - The Good Day of Rest After sleeping until 10 a.m., we were refreshed and pleased with the sunny, warm weather. Moving the kitchen to this flat rock by the lake edge, we began the eating fest: oatmeal, Odwalla bars, tofu jerky. Shortly after breakfast, horses appeared at the far end of the lake. I instinctively grabbed our pre-made notes for Cole and ran. When I arrived, one cute cowboy and several hefty, middle-aged businessmen were setting up to fish. Thank god they had a cell phone (Ellen couldn't believe our good fortune) Back at camp, we washed and hung clothes that, by the end of the day, were dry. Unfortunately, Ellen would make the heroic mistake of eating an entire bag of dried tropical fruits while reading. The pains, emission, and odors from Ellen's ass would plague us for days. BUT we did make a significant dent in the food volume. After scrambling up this knoll with commanding views, we enjoyed major baths in the lake then sprawled in the sun. Despite swimsuit-coverage, the fishermen packed up quickly, perhaps un-amused with our noisome and liberal-looking behavior. After unsuccessfully trying to take a nap (the tent TOO HOT), I decided it was time to don my coconut bra (and wares). In contrast with my usual wearing of the nuts (i.e. over a top), I went commando - which caused Ellen to use obscenities. Nevertheless, I got Ellen to take pictures without popping out my boobies (more suited to coverage by walnut shells, if that). Two parties hiked through the area while we were preparing dinner (now fully clothed) but no one camped nearby and I grew concerned about not being able to sleep again. Dinner, beef stroganoff plus canned chicken, was tasty but un-plentiful. After dinner, Ellen and I both suffered mild diarrhea and decided that we needed to develop the "Crazy Crap Chair" (you can imagine). We then enjoyed Ellen's fine shadow puppet show, viewed by the late afternoon sun on our large boulder. Freezing, we settled in the tent by 8, playing cards and hangman until 11. The meteor showers were to peak at 2 a.m. but we found, during respective pee dashes, that even 5 minutes outside was brutal (and only one star fell during our combined trips). Compounding matters, the winds were ferocious and kept up all night, making me edgy and unable to sleep until after 4 a.m. As it turned out, our tent was not well shielded from the wind, most of which was coming from over the pass above the lake (the big boulder on the post-wind side).

Top Left to Right: Elbow Lake, toward Shannon Pass (Stroud Peak to right), at Shannon Pass Bottom Left to Right: descending through the rock metropolis, Peak Lake (source of the Green River)

Trail Day Six - Upper Jean Lake to Trail Creek Park via Shannon and Vista Passes Despite trying moments, today was TRULY amazing. We woke to sunny blue skies that were deceptively cold and windy. Originally, we planned only to go to Peak Lake, camping 2 nights so as to visit Mammoth Glacier (source of the Green River). Having said that, it should go without saying that we changed our plans. We packed quickly and, for the first time, enjoyed a little more room in the packs (they would have felt lighter had the wind not pounded us backwards). The climb above Upper Jean was painless, revealing a stark tundra of rocks and browning grass. Stroud Peak stood like a cock's comb above Shannon Pass. In contrast, the gentle hills above Elbow Lake appeared almost rounded. We dropped to a signed junction where the Highline trail goes left and an unofficial, non-stock climbers' route (the one we took) heads up Shannon. Our route looked ugly head-on, consisting of a poorly boot-beaten path straight up loose dirt. Fortunately, the pass shielded the wind. At the top, a broad, flat plateau bore some dry, old bear shit. For the first time, we could see the Green River valley, the high rectangular mountainsides - for some reason - reminding me of the Grand Canyon. Given said views, I wasn't expecting the next section at all: it was as though we headed into this metropolis of boulders. Ellen and I both agreed that this trail section was amazing, awe-inspiring, and constantly interesting. The way seemed to twist and turn amidst a maze of boulders (but not, like, scrambling on teetering rocks). Having totally misread the map, I wasn't expecting to drop to Peak Lake. Somewhere in the rock jungle, we met an older couple - likely stoned out of their minds - two days into completing the Highline; they warned us to keep careful track of the cairns below Cube Pass because they had been lost for hours in that boulder jumble. Emerging from the towering rocks, the way opened onto these cliff-hanging switchbacks that dropped precipitously to Peak Lake - a deep, opaque, turquoise gem to behold, especially from above. From this surreal vantage, it was evident that we were NOT going to find forgiving campsites or a reasonable route up to Mammoth. Indeed, the trail never passed closer than a quarter mile to the lake. We also spied one tent crammed into a tight space of extremely bumpy meadow between HUGE boulders. Surveying this daunting scenery, we agreed to move on to a more hospitable campsite (hopefully with people) - including the possibility of going all the way to Vista Pass if need be. Of course, I also suffered some vertigo. When we finally bottomed out near Peak Lake, a signed side-trail to Stonehammer Lake appeared. Shortly thereafter, we began our minor (10-minute) climb up Cube Rock Pass. The next lake after Cube Rock was Dale and we hoped there would be nice flat spots and people here. But, alas, Dale was small, occupying a tight notch under all sorts of talus fields and bigger peaks. While there were illegal flat sites RIGHT between the trail and lake, there were no people. And so we decided to make a major commitment: we were heading DOWN the chute of no return. As suggested, we hoped to camp at popular-sounding Vista Pass. I cannot stress enough that the commitment to leave Dale is a big one.

The section of trail connecting Dale and Vista is legendarily bad. The worst section goes straight down this huge-ass boulder chute (WORSE than Aasgard Pass). Ironically, this route doesn't have a name and, from here on out, will be called DAMN CHUTE (despite the fact that WAY worse terms came out of my mouth while piecing my way down that thing). DAMN CHUTE started out fine. Given that big boulders weigh more than little rocks, huge-ass shit winds up at the bottom - where the route became the most treacherous. Up high, a VERY obvious path cut an easy route down the right side of DAMN CHUTE. The final 30% of DAMN CHUTE was littered with medium to large boulders, most of which actively moved. Consequently, I found myself repeatedly suffering full-on vertigo. It wasn't the sprawling views that got me. It was the 10-foot drops between the rocks, knowing I could seriously injure myself with any number of falls. It was hearing the granite creak and move, knowing the rocks could fall on my appendages. I was cussing, hyperventilating, and nearly in tears through most of the lower DAMN CHUTE. Ellen, who found the climbing easy to the point of fun, was keeping a careful eye on all the cairns (more than she was on me, actually) - leading adeptly all the way. At several points, though, she did express concern that maybe I should be wearing my boots. Although I was concerned about skinning my feet a few times, I felt I had as much traction and control in Chaco's as I did in boots. After many ego blows (mostly in my case), we made it to a grassy meadow - a place we erroneously assumed was the low-point between Dale and Vista Pass. Having eaten nothing since breakfast (it was now 2 p.m.), we devoured Odwalla bars and Gu. We joked about setting up the tent but there was little water, the ground was lumpy, and we knew no one would be joining us. And so, after my breathing and psyche calmed down, we continued DOWN the trail (and down, down, down it went).

Top Left to Right: looking back up Shannon/Stroud, Cube Rock Pass, Dale Lake (2 views), Ellen at top of DAMN CHUTE Bottom Left to Right: Ellen in DAMN CHUTE, me at the foot of DAMN CHUTE (looking up chute), to Vista Pass

Despite acknowledging that we were going to have to re-gain ALL this elevation to reach Vista, we happily found ourselves in these strange and wonderful things we vaguely remembered: trees. Normally, I am not one to love trees (especially when it comes to hiking through them). But entering the forest at this point in time was sensually magical. The smell alone was overwhelming - not to mention evoking this wonderfully enclosed sensation that, in the windswept openness of the tundra, we had forgotten about. Of course, we next began freaking about bears and so I started yelling while Ellen sang and whistled. Within 5 minutes, twin redhead brother climbers rounded the bend, appearing more embarrassed than us. I started talking to them like a madwoman about that horrible DAMN CHUTE (I even used the word DAMN) and they seemed to step backwards as I spewed. After this brief exchange, the way climbed and climbed, albeit on gentle switchbacks in the shade of the luxuriously scented flora. In selecting our packer/outfitter, I had read this patron father's testimonial letter that thanked the ranch for hauling him and his boys to Vista Pass. Consequently, I was hopeful that Vista would fulfill my growing expectations. The way leveled out after 30 minutes - but still there were trees everywhere and I was not certain where the pass was. With Ellen now far behind, I decided to study the map for a spell - noting only one source of water at the pass proper. I also was chagrined to see that there were no open meadows on Vista proper (there were some higher meadows on either side of the pass). Continuing for 5 minutes, I arrived at a shallow, partly dried-up lake (its edges choked with grass). THIS was IT??? Major disappointment. Views included only the top of Stroud, most eclipsed first by a nondescript ridge in the foreground. Ellen caught up and I proposed that we consider dropping all the way to Trail Creek Park because, if we did this, we would NEVER have to move camp or haul our packs again (famous last words). Didn't that sound nice? Reluctantly, she agreed. The way down (3-4 miles) took just under an hour. I was joyful, yelling HEY BEAR every minute the entire way down. Following a fresh trail of horseshit, we anticipated there would be a huge party at the bottom to keep us company. Unfortunately, when we arrived at camp, there was (you guessed it) NO ONE! Where were all the damn people who flocked to the Highline?? I waited for Ellen, 10 minutes behind, at the signed junction where the Lozier Lakes side-trail branched to the left (our dayhiking destination tomorrow). Trail Creek Park camp lay immediately downstream in slightly open meadows. A beautiful creek flowed musically down the valley and, where the trail passed nearest to the river, we spied an obvious, unsigned path up to a grassy meadow with intermittent stands of trees. Here, we found a prominent, cleared campsite beneath several trees. Near the tent site, there were several logs, a fire-ring, and an impressive tree limb for hanging food (several discarded lines hung some 20 feet in the air). Ellen will kill me if I do not overstate that she (NOT ME) successfully threw our rope over this branch after some dozen failed attempts by both her and I. Indeed, in my vast experience, it was a record height achieved. We completed a thorough search of the immediate surroundings: no bear shit, a few possible bear scratches on trees (old and low, suggesting black bears), and plenty of grouseberries (that should keep bears well-fed). At least 6 comparable but empty campsites had been cleared amidst the trees.

We set up our tent at the site most visible from/nearest to the trail (because we figured that Cole would have a better time finding us). After the prior cold nights at Upper Jean, Trail Creek finally seemed like summer. We brought all our cooking gear to the creek where a well-worn spot among the rocks provided our kitchen. We decided that we deserved spaghetti - our largest meal - and so we indulged profusely, consuming the entire can of dried parmesan cheese with our substantial meal. Ellen and I agreed that this was our only hearty and filling meal. During dinner, a Highline-bound Vermont couple in their early 50s arrived in camp, having set out that morning from the Green River Lakes trailhead. I found the number of older couples doing the Highline satisfying - particularly given that my 62-year-old parents have basically given up serious hiking. Ellen and I had a tough time enjoying time outside the tent, though, because there were many mosquitoes. And so we retired, playing cards and writing Mad Libs until 9:30. Having neighbors 500 feet away generally put me at ease. However, just as we were about to hit the lights, this high-pitched screech pierced the still quiet and Ellen screamed. Heavy hooves pounded through the meadow and Ellen jumped into my lap. I assured her it was only a rutting male elk but she wouldn't get off me. I then announced that I was going outside to take a piss and she thought I was insane. I assured her it was perfectly safe and so we went out together. Of course, now Ellen was calm and I was antsy and so we sat up talking another two hours. By 11:30, Ellen was asleep and I would lay there awake - falling in and out of short naps - until at least 3 a.m.

Left to Right: asending Lozier Pass, Clark Lake from ascent, view over Lozier Lakes basin

Trail Day Seven - Dayhiking to Lozier Pass Camped under trees and in a deep valley, we didn't wake until 9:30. Given a planned 7-mile/1800 feet hike to Lozier Pass, we took our time with breakfast and set out at 11 a.m. Backtracking briefly, we proceeded up the Lozier Lakes trail, crossing Trail Creek and hiking in shady, lush forest for 20 minutes. Climbing, the trail zigzagged through a silver snag where this HUGE, shiny, yellow-nosed black bear sniffed us and ran (from 200 feet away). While Ellen panicked, I - despite all my bear- induced sleep loss - kept right on walking. I don't know why bears during the day fail to flip me out more. For the first time on this trip, Ellen understood why I did so much bear-calling. Consequently, SHE never shut up: alphabet-based category games (fruits, television shows, animals, science, infectious diseases, etc.). After an hour, we reached a rocky basin and I fully expected to see Clark Lake. But we still had a ways. And then the parade emerged, all having shared cramped quarters at Clark the night before: a well-armed couple (HUGE bottles of pepper spray) who insisted they saw grizzly tracks yesterday, a group of four 35-45 year-old guys (several slightly injured), and 2 hard-core climber types. WHY didn't these people camp with us?? Ellen and I reached Clark around 12:30 and, given our shrugging lack of impression, moved on after a snack. Indeed, Clark is much more amazing when viewed from up high. Despite little sleep, I pounded effortlessly up the trail. Ellen, in rested contrast, was lethargic. This trail was one of the finest I have ever been on: perfectly graded, stupendous switchbacks. Although the superlative, high, and windy pass was glorious, all the big peaks (including Gannett) lacked snow/glaciers and appeared less beautiful than they would have a month before. Could it be that those damn scientists are right about global warming? Behind us, Lozier Basin looked lovely - though not amazing enough to make us regret not camping there on this trip (as planned). We descended, singing as many songs as we remembered from "Jesus Christ Superstar" before moving into always-dangerous Neil Diamond territory (no-doubt offending this couple who had just arrived at Clark from below). We arrived in camp at 3:30, bathed in the river, and then ate over-corned chicken noodle soup that was filling but not tasty. Starting around 5:30, all these people started showing up: a pair of teenage guys who kept to themselves, a Christian youth group from upstate New York, and 2 overzealous trail repair crewmembers who would have you believe they were rangers. I enjoyed an extensive talk with the too-good-looking 25-year-old youth group leader the next morning - during which time he downplayed the organization as mostly non-denominational. Amusingly, I actually typed "too-god-looking" and "non- demoninational" - talk about double slips. Upon arriving in camp, the trail crew (a DDG pony-tailed man with a small shovel and a tough chick wielding a long saw) informed us our tent was illegally close to the river. DDG-shovel dude explained that camps must be 1000 feet from all water sources, adding that 1000 feet was as big as a football field - in case we did not know. Just to be cocky, Ellen asked if that was American or European style football. Even though our site was cleared and had a fire-ring, we were ordered to move the next day. The trail crew folks also visited the youth group, searched their site, and condemned their bear-hanging set-up. The youth group leader and I heartily agreed that the trail crew folks were drunk with power and should be occupying themselves with any number of more realistic tasks and goals. As my final anecdote, the youth group spent a long time that first evening a-whooping and a-hollering jubilantly. At the time, we didn't know their religious origins and Ellen issued bad jokes about what they were up to (i.e. booze and sex). Ironically, I was the one who retorted: you know, Ellen, they are probably a bunch of Christians having some wilderness Bible revival. Must me my intuition from teaching at a conservative university. Of course, we never SAW any Bibles - only one secular-looking Frisbee.

Trail Day Eight - The Bad Day of Rest While having god-fearing neighbors helped, I was still kept up by every little sound. In the middle of the night, I sneezed - causing Ellen to scream, shoot up from her sleeping bag, and snap at me. During the subsequent discussion, we agreed that we were grimy, nasty, putrid, and REALLY didn't want to spend another night outside. We woke up late, the trail crew adding insult to injury as we emerged from the tent: "we will be out for a couple hours and expect this tent to be moved when we come back." By this point, all our neighbors had packed up and left. Over the next several hours, we moved camp, ate loads of food, bathed, and read. Sufficed to say, it was a long and boring day. Ellen and I, however, were antsy about what was going to happen with Cole and spent most of the day sitting by the river waiting for him. In reviewing the maps, we noticed that there were 2 camps with similar names: Trail Creek Park (where we were) and Three Forks Park (5 miles down-valley). Given that we had moved our pick-up camp closer to the trailhead, we assumed that Cole would have NO problems riding in with dinner today. Unfortunately, by 4:30 (no sign of ANYONE), Ellen and I started arguing about the situation. Such conversations, of course, always degrade near the ends of trips when - as with all good vacations - you have to want to go home. After pissing Ellen off by saying I should have listened to my intuition back at Island, I reminded her how NOT into this trip she'd been the month before going - and explained I felt I was constantly walking on eggshells to keep from upsetting her (NOT my favorite way to spend a vacation). And it went on and on. At some point, I went so far as to say: I'm not sure we should take any more vacations together. As usual, Ellen reminded me how dominant I was growing up with her (and still am) and I launched into how delicate and passive she was and continues to be. Despite everything said, though, no one cried. After awhile, we admitted we were tired and stressed - and then we did the I LOVE YOU and girly hugs. One central problem remained, though: how to handle problems with the outfitters. The things we agreed on: First, we would be packed and waiting by 8 a.m. (the contractually stated pick-up time). Second, we would start hiking at 9 a.m. if Cole had still not arrived. And, last, we would communicate frustrations to the ranch owner - not Cole. We erected a large sign by the trail - addressed to Cole, in case he came after dark. As we put the sign up, I prophesied that we would run into Cole around 10-11 a.m. the next day, at or near Three Forks Camp. Our final dinner - NOT steak and potatoes - was emergency macaroni and cheese. We tried to fill our grumbling stomachs with unsatisfying lunch extras. During our pathetic meal, the redhead twins we'd met post-DAMN CHUTE appeared and we were SO HAPPY because we figured they would stay the night. But they plowed on. We did ask how they liked DAMN CHUTE and they both did this adorable miming impression of climbing with both hands and legs. At around 6, a lone male hiker wandered into camp and set up his tent fairly close to us (the shiny canister of bear spray and his unused backpack suggested he was a new hiker - not some crazy violent type). We didn't talk with him much - except to offer the shared use of our bear-wire (emphasizing we had seen a bear nearby) and to ask if he'd seen any horses coming up (which he hadn't). Owing to exhaustion and the knowledge we were - no matter what - leaving the next day, I slept well.

Left to Right: the ride out - along the Green River, and the Green Lakes

Trail Day Nine - An Awesome Ride Out… and Home Given that neither of us had an alarm, we did our best to get up at first light. We had organized gear the day before and so we had little packing aside from camp breakdown. Despite all our efforts, the packs still seemed too large for the last day. They were lighter, but the volume never reduced to the point that we weren't lashing things (mostly trash) to the outside. By 9, the sun was actively hitting Trail Creek. I can't say we were angry, but we were upset and determined as we departed. We actively discussed what this hike out would feel like, our assumption being that, yes, we may be hiking the whole 18 miles. Part of us wanted to do it so we could claim a refund. Part of us wanted to be macho. Even so, we both put on our padded riding undies... just in case. At first, we followed Trail Creek, arriving at this rocky point that jutted out from the shady trees. Here, we overlooked Trail Creek as it tumbled down a ravine. The sun was just beginning to illuminate the Green River valley below. Up to this point, I had been bombing down, well ahead of Ellen. I wasn't in the mood to talk; there was nothing to say. Now sweating, we re-grouped, took off packs, and lost fleece. Moments after leaving the promontory, I heard big stuff coming up the trail and then, before us: Sherry, Cole, 5 horses, and 2 dogs. Ellen and I were overcome with joy. Cole and Sherry turned around, made their way to a wide clearing, and dismounted. They had stayed at Beaver Camp, having hauled as much gear for one night as we did for the whole week. After we spewed about our exploits, Cole gave us their news: 2 days before (and one drainage away), one of their horses threw a guest, breaking his wrist. When Cole went after the spooked horse, he stepped into the stirrup - only to have the horse buck again. Cole's boot stuck and the horse dragged him up this ravine, breaking his ankle. Cole apologetically explaining that he used my car (the only fast, non-trailer vehicle) to take the guest to the Pinedale clinic (he seemed to think I'd be upset but I wasn't). Although I felt overwhelmed by their coming out here after all this (it made Ellen and my issues insignificant), I was freaked at the idea that now we were going to get on horses. But we agreed, at the end of the day, we had COMPLETE faith in Cole, Sherry, and these horses.

While Sherry and Cole rode their usual, they brought a different pack-mule (who farted enormous blasts all afternoon) and a new horse, Patches, for me. In contrast with Ellen, I didn't fawn all over horses as a little girl. The look on Ellen's face when Sherry brought Patches to me was girlish love, pure admiration, astonishment. Indeed, Ellen later confessed that she was completely jealous. Patches was a gorgous Paint; her mane was yellow blond, wiry rough, and evoked too many tactile images of James' hair. Ellen thought Patches was the most beautiful horse she'd ever seen and said she wished she could have ridden her out. But, we both agreed, Alf was Ellen's - metaphorically, physically, spiritually. Even though Ellen seemed to look at Alf then with a certain eye-rolling disdain, she loved him unconditionally. And every time Patches - more spirited than Maiden - took off, Ellen knew she would have wet her pants had she been handed my mare. The trail out was LONG and BLAZING HOT. Ellen and I decided we had been WAY too full of ourselves to believe that this was going to be some cakewalk. We crossed the glorious Green River four times - definitely sexy on horseback. We passed more hikers on this route than we had during ALL previous days - including the redhead twins who did a double-take when we waved from high in the saddle. Alf, as before, had a difficult time with people; it did not help to have many inexperienced kids (most barely stepped off the trail, wanting to touch or be near the horses). Frankly, I felt like this overgrown kid, envied with terrific looks by all these wide-eyed children. All afternoon, Ellen and I had separate conversations going with Cole and Sherry. Sherry and I (in the 2 lead positions) spent most of the morning talking about raising kids in small-town/ranch Wyoming. Given that there were no hospitals in Pinedale, she and Cole had to make 77-mile birth runs to Jackson Hole. Their kids had to ride a bus 20 miles into Pinedale to attend school (each school served 5 communities in a 30-mile radius). I didn't get into any curricular discussions - although the boys did attend school-run karate programs. We then discussed 911, Sherry explaining that her kids were convinced terrorists/war would show up at their doorstep. Sherry explained (seriously) that if it came to that, they would pack up and live in the mountains indefinitely. I explained that folks where I live felt that way too - although there were an equal number of young macho guys who wanted to go kick some ass (not understanding, in my judgment, what it means to be maimed or dead). Sherry's kids were also concerned their dad would be drafted. At various points (influenced by the terrain), we talked about environmental issues. Meanwhile, Ellen made progress into the land of Cole. I could hear them laughing about all sorts of things (at one point: fish, fishing, and eating raw fish). After returning to Pinedale, Ellen said she had been bold enough to ask Cole how he lost his right ear (something I've failed to mention): Cole used to rodeo and, at his last appearance, a bronco threw him and stepped down the side of his face, smearing off his ear. This was when Sherry also put her foot down and said "no more rodeo." Since then, Cole has earned his living guiding, ranching, and building log cabins.

Left to Right: Square Top and Green Lake, Ellen and Alf, trailhead - note Sherry and Patches in rear

About 90 minutes from the end, we arrived at the first of the 2 Green River Lakes - HUGE and opaque blue-green. The trail by the first lake traversed this thinning edge of high rock and talus. This was the ONLY moment during our 30 miles riding (in and out) that freaked me out. Between the lakes, widely braided channels between marshes were overrun with canoes. The trail along the second lake was back on a high, flat plateau of scrubland above the water - the vistas amazing. While Cole and Sherry were pleased to be back 90 minutes earlier than expected (it was 2:30), they were visibly exhausted. Ellen and I, after 17 miles riding with no breaks, actually could not move our legs after dismount for several minutes. In contrast, Cole hurriedly unloaded gear and carried it to my car - all despite a broken ankle. While Cole worked, Sherry's horse - who had a strong personality - started teasing and nibbling the farting pack mule. Sherry smacked her horse on the nose, stared him down, and shouted "ignorant." Later, Ellen and I became debated this action as we made our way back to Pinedale. Ellen admired Sherry's control, insisting horses were like kids and needed firm discipline. I reminded Ellen that I was the one who had all the wooden spoons and hairbrushes broken across MY ass while SHE cried her way out of every penalty (and, trust me, we did an equal amount of punishable things). Our different responses, I smiled, said a lot about who we each are and where we are now. Despite the perhaps-ominous tone of this conversation, Ellen and I were in great spirits as we drove back to Pinedale. The first 45 minutes, though, were on what Cole described as the worst dirt road he'd ever used (honestly - it wasn't that bad). After that, Pinedale was 30 minutes away via paved highway. Starving and filthy, we went to the grocery to pick up donuts, potato chips, French onion dip, yogurt, ham, and drinks (you'd think we were pregnant). As we left the store, this unfamiliar woman yelled my name: the infamous ranch assistant. She'd recognized my car (which she moved day one). Despite her gushing friendliness, I didn't feel bad cutting our conversation short, explaining our severe need for a shower and food.

This trip made Ellen and I appreciate modern conveniences at a level of unadulterated euphoria (yes, I know - I say that after a lot of trips). Ellen and I were SO tired of digging shit-holes, precariously squatting, being cold, staring up at a tent ceiling for 12 hours at a time, feeling clammy and dirty and smelly, and trying to chew and swallow Odwalla bars (Bryan adeptly referred to them as sawdust). OLHBM who had already made our dinner reservations at the Fremont marina, must have seen that intense look in our eyes because he put us out in the largest and most distant cabin: "the one with the biggest porch… so you can unload gear outside." Although I try to be good when it comes to hotel messes, there are some things that cannot be avoided: the toppling pile of trash in every garbage can, the brown wash-rags and towels, the lingering BO... While Ellen showered first, I occupied myself with: (1) physically finding ALL stinky clothes (that should be burned) and placing them in a double-wrapped stuff-sack (these must NOT be opened until standing by an operational washer and dryer); (2) finding ALL food and throwing it away because - no matter what - you NEVER want to see or eat that damn stuff again; and (3) unfurling/airing tents, sleeping bags, and air mattresses for one full night. Given that it was only 4:30 when we both finished bathing, we went out shopping. I bought a horse bit and some spurs because I thought they would look interesting in my living room (Jenn, of course, says they look more kinky than western). Dinner at the marina was pleasant: my curried jumbo shrimp were excellent, Ellen's ribeye went half-uneaten, and neither of us could finish the too-rich chocolate dessert we foolishly ordered. We rolled ourselves back to the hotel, sat up watching bad TV, and thoroughly enjoyed sleeping on mattresses. Of course, I did tease Ellen by repeatedly trying to climb into bed with her (head-to-toe), insisting I had gotten SOOOO used to her grasshopper feet-rubbing sounds in my ears ALL NIGHT LONG. The next morning, we packed up and headed to Wranglers for breakfast. Despite a long and chaotic wait, the hash browns and bacon were heavenly. We hit the road around 9:30, stopping at Missoula to visit our good friend Mary one night before returning home. Despite everything, Ellen admitted this was a fabulous trip - one that took her from her comfortable but high-stress life in Japan and forced her go for days without thinking about work. Although Ellen appreciated knowing she was capable of enduring so many nights in a tent, she wasn't sure she wanted to push or test that idea again any time soon.

Left to Right: Wonder Woman - yoga rock at Island Lake, mid-way between Island and Upper Jean Lake, Upper Jean Lake