Mountain Mishaps

So even though I am off the PCT and have returned to almost normal person living, I will still tell people about my adventures this summer. Hopefully people find this remotely interesting. I will exclude the most exciting aspects of my life, like answering phone calls from people who want a gyserside hotel room with two queen beds at the Old Faithful Inn, and just stick with the regular old adventures.

This was a weekend of mountain climbing. Tuesday morning we climbed Electric Peak, and on Friday, we climbed Emmigrant Peak.

Electric Peak seems as though its name may have been inspired by Pikachu, but it was actually named by the first man on the summit, who "experienced electrical discharges from their hands and hair after a lightning event on the summit." You see, the mountain is a giant lightening. This is because of high iron oxide content in the rhyolite lava that formed it.

But alas, this did not discourage our intrepid heroes.

 

 The hike was steep up to the final approach which involved some solid class 3 scrambling (something between hiking and rock climbing, where hands must be used in the ascent). 

This was a pretty dicey catwalk that we managed to avoid with some quality route finding, but much of the final approach to the summit looked like this. It was enough to discourage Abby, Caleb, and Jerimiah from summiting. It was only I, mustering some ripe mixture of bravery and stupidity, who reached the top. The challenge was fantastic and exhilarating, and the view was marvelous. 

 Looking down into Paradise Valley and Gardiner.

 Looking at the Gallatin Range from Electric Peak, the high point of the range.

Obligatory summit selfie.

In retrospect, the way up was not scary. But in the mindset of the time, being a little spooked by my co-adventurers' caution, I decided to take a different way down. From my perspective, it looked better. Safer even. From far away it looked like this.

This is bad. What you are looking at is called scree or talus. Football sized rocks created by frost-thaw cycles that precariously rest at what is called the "angle of repose," or the steepest possible angle at which the forces of gravity and friction combined = 0. A little force in any direction will change the angle at which it settles. This may sound gentle but it actually could easily mean a rockslide. The summit is the irregular, rocky part of this ridge in the middle right. I decided to go down the steep scree fields, and once I found myself stuck, was force to traverse the rock protruding from the scree for about half an hour, down about 1000 vertical feet and across maybe a half mile. This process was terrifying and exhausting, but I didn't die. Woo! 

This is what a proud person looks like after a near death experience. After drinking much Gatorade and saying my prayers, we resumed our joyful romp down the mountain.

We sport climbing in Bear Canyon in Bozeman the next day with my homeboy Danny Kaiser. It was great to hook up and the climbing was awesome. Abby climbed her first outdoor route and it was a 140 foot 5.8. She has a special knack for radically introducing herself to things. Sorry we don't have any pictures! It was beautiful.

The climb up Emmigrant was uneventful. And by uneventful I mean a ludicrously steep hiking trail. It had this special way of being exhausting and boring. 

The last few moves up to the summit were really cool though, and up there we enjoyed spectacular views of the Beartooths, and tasty sandwiches from the employee dining room.

 Last few hundred feet of the climb

Abby gracefully crushing some class 2 scrambling

a shot for r/earthporn

Summit!

Our siesta on the summit was abruptly ended when we turned around and noticed storm clouds rolling in. Despite a forecast with a 2% chance of rain, Montana mountains never fail to produce. I should have known. This created a very dangerous and urgent situation though, as we literally ran down the side of the mountain on exposed ridges to the sound of thunder and pelting rain. My foot blew off a rock and I scraped up the side of my leg and pretty seriously bruised my IT Band, but instinct kind of dictates that you ignore things like this when you are worried your body might become a lightening rod. The sweet, tasty mixture of pain, exhaustion, and fear made me delightfully puke-y as we neared the bottom of the descent. Abby and I covered 5.5 miles and 5000 vertical feet in 1.5 hours. This is stupidly fast. Yay us! We have no pictures of the descent because we were too busy shitting ourselves. Next time I will ensure to stop and take a picture of whatever impending doom faces me, all for your viewing pleasure.

Though for now, all we have is this picture of my leg. Enjoy!

Have a good day and live the good life.

Thanks for reading,

Daniel

Getting off Trail, Across the Country, and into a Desk..... In FREAKING YELLOWSTONE

We have come a long way since my last post. Almost a thousand miles. Our speed has increased greatly!

SIKE. We have gotten off trail. After resting my IT band for 4 days and nights in Bishop, we returned to the trail, up and over Kearsarge Pass for a second time. We made it about 10 miles out, close to the fearsome Glen Pass, before determining that returning would be the wisest plan of action. It was a challenging decision to make, especially considering the view from the base of the pass in the morning sun.
However, I haven't left the Pacific Trail behind me forever. The trail will still be there next year, and the year after. I'm not sure what the allure of the trail is, but it exists. I will hike the trail again, and this time I will do it right. In all, we hiked 321 miles this summer. That provided me with a lot of experience, and many ideas about what i might do differently next time.

The summer isn't over though. One of my best friends, Tanner Martin, has really come through for us. He hooked us up with jobs in Yellowstone National Park for the summer, is writing our recommendation letters, and will be picking us up in Bozeman in a few hours. It's great to have amazing people like Tanner in your life.

Oh yeah, by the way: we're in Bozeman now. We really did travel 1100 miles to get here though. Traveling with us was was our companion, Lamp. We picked up Lamp at Hostel California. Hostel California is located in the historical Chalfant House. The place is absolutely the raddest place we stayed at in California. Great people, great atmosphere, and an unbelievable rate ($15 a night). We are "Original Gangster" (OG), as we stayed there the second night of it's opening.

Anyway, at the hostel there was a lamp cache, and we decided to pack one out for our journey across the country. After all, it's not about doing it, it's about saying you did it. And it's a great souvenir. Abby and I travelled 200 miles from Bishop, CA, north to Reno, NV by hitching, and Lamp rode with us every mile.

We met some interesting people. The first guy to show us kindness was Mark Gibson II. He was a trucker who saw us and came to ask us if there was anything he could do to help us out. He was headed in the opposite direction we were, but that didn't stop him from going into the gas station and buying us a large sack of gatorade and candy bars. Thanks Mark!

The guy who took us from Bishop to Mammoth was an entrepreneur in the IT world. He was a hyper intellectual who dropped out of high school to start an IT company. He was incredibly successful and became a millionaire by his early 20s. Now he's moved to CA and drives around climbing mountains and smoking weed. Interesting!

Next was a sweet old man who took us north of Lee Vining. He was a retired ski bum and adventurer himself, who lived a quiet life in his solar powered home in the mountains. Chucky, our next friend, was a full blooded Native American from North Dakota. He told us about how his wife doesn't like him picking up hitch hikers, but that his proficiency in hand to hand combat gave him all the confidence he needed. He then proceeded to demonstrate every scenario he could be put into with thief or murderer in his car and how he would repel my attacks, break my arms, or retalliate. Then he drove us 15 miles out of his way so we could get to Bridgeport. Great guy!

In Bridgeport we caught a ride with the coolest people. Abby chased them down after asking a local bakery owner about rides North out of here. Turns out they were big wall climbers, Trevor and Priscilla Swezey, from Washington who just got down off of El Capitan in Yosemite. We had a great time peppering them with questions about climbing, travels, and life as an adventurous married couple. We camped with them that night by this beautiful river and shared stories and good food.

The next morning we got dropped off by the Swezeys in Gardinerville so we could catch the bus to Reno. Unfortunately it wasn't running that day. We had a frazzled walk 4 miles to the north side of town, worrying about catching another ride and making it to Reno in time to get on our Greyhound to Bozeman.

We turn around and thumb for all of 5 seconds and a police officer pulls over, flashing his lights. He tells us not to approach his because it makes him nervous, and asks for our ID's. He wants to make sure we aren't axe murders. Apparently it's illegal to hitch-hike in Nevada. We told him our story though, and after he checked to make sure we weren't axe murderers, he agreed to take us to Reno. This is the second time I have ridden in the back of a cop car this summer. He turned out to be so cool, though, and we had a great time on the way to Reno.
 

The bus ride from Reno to Bozeman was a wearisome adventure. The quarters were cramped and the people were interesting. For example, I got asked out by a transexual. She asked if I was straight, and I told her yes. The problem was, I wasn't sure which answer she would have preferred to hear. There were also many screaming children on the bus, which made the 30 hours we spent on it quite joyous.

Luckily my friends Jared, Katie, and Barrett came to the rescue, picking us up in Butte, MT, saving Abby and I from an 8 hour layover in the great Butt of America. They took us to Bozeman and life has been perfect. I feel like I am at home here. I'm staying with Jared, Barrett, Katie, and Xan, and have gotten to see Erika, Sarah, Shane, and Jason again. I wish I could have seen more people in my time here, but most folks have gone home for the summer. When you all return for school in August, we absolutely must have a get together with everyone!

I'm really excited for a new chapter of this summer in Yellowstone! Montana is the baste

Fun isn't the Right Word to Describe Backpacking

I am writing you from Bishop, CA. In the past two weeks, we have left the desert far behind us. This is a good thing. The desert does scary things to people.

The reason why you haven't heard from me recently is because we have been without internet service for the past 150 miles. Bambi and I have entered the High Sierra, the most magnificent and isolated part of the Pacific Crest Trail. For me, this section has been filled with as many mental ups and downs as it has been filled with literal ones. And to give you an idea, we've gone from Walker Pass at 6300 ft to Mt Whitney, the highest point in the continental United States at 14,500.

The biggest source of suffering for me comes from two places. First being food. Perhaps you may have heard of it. I think it is hard for a human mind to conceive exactly how much food a hiker walking 20+ miles a day will need to eat. Also I believe that asking your body to work like that without food is akin to asking your car to work without gasoline. The human body is a selfish machine. It will not do you any favors without something in return.

This is what a hiker looks like when he has to hike 10 miles on 2 scoops of coconut protein powder.

The other challenge I have faced is IT Band Syndrome. I twisted my ankle walking on scree on the way out of Walker Pass, and I believed that act strained my IT band. Because this was at the beginning of a 50 mile section, getting out necessitated about 10 ibuprofen a day and profuse swearing. Some of the irritation went away as we rested in Kennedy Meadows, allowing us to press onwards. I am proud though, that despite the pain, we were able to complete the next section as planned. It certainly helped that we were walking through the most beautiful terrain I had ever seen.

Despite the beauty, communion with nature, and other hokey bullshit, I ask myself every morning when I wake up cold, sore, and hungry why on earth I am doing this. Plenty of people told me that I was crazy for attempting this trip, and sometimes I wonder if they were right. It much easier to read John Muir's books about the High Sierra, peruse google images, or frequent r/earthporn than it is be out here and have this experience.

And it is just that. An experience. Fun is not the right word. Because walking on golf ball sized blisters and batting golf ball sized mosquitoes is not fun. But it is an unforgettable experience. Maybe all it will do is make me more grateful for the conveniences of modern society, like Chinese food or access to infinite toilet paper. Perhaps though, this trip will alter my life in some more meaningful way. Only time will tell.

The moments of pain and suffering are sometimes abated by moments of sheer majesty, excitement, and gratefulness. Two days ago, we crossed Forester Pass, the highest point on the PCT at 13100 ft. The north face still had several feet of snow on it, and with the trail lost, we had the option of glissading (think ass sledding) or making mile long snow traverse right over a cliff and scrambling down the mountain-side to relocate the trail. We chose the latter, and I got a huge kick out it. Perhaps the trail is miserable sometimes because the stakes are low. If you are cold or hungry, you won't die. That doesn't even make for a good story. On the north side of Forester, the stakes were much higher.

I guess it's not fun if you can't die.

It's also unbelievably beautiful out here. Often the most pleasant part of the day is the "sunset cruise," or after dinner walk. Leisurely strolling about while witnessing a breath taking sunset is a quality experience. We are considering packing out wine, grapes, and cheese to supplement these walks in the future.

We've also met some awesome people.

 Sockpot, Mountain Spice, and Penguin

 Penguin and Mountain Spice

 Amtrac and Signal

Uke, Spirit Fingers, and Jambo

We will continue on. 95 miles from Bishop is Vermillion Valley Resort, our next resupply. We plan to be there in 7 days, but for these 7 days, I will pack out 12 days worth of food. I honestly think that this will make the next section much more bearable. If worst comes to worst, there is always the option of dropping out, finding a job at a National Park, and making money instead of spending it. Whatever happens will be the best. I am sure of it. Life is good, folks.

A Time when your Life may Depend on Accepting Cookies and Soda Pop fromStrangers

First things first, I owe a big thanks to Dennis Leacock.

This dear friend of mine from LA picked us up at the airport, embarrass him by walking around like goofy tourists on an LA beach, took us grocery shopping, drove us 2 hours to the trailhead, and almost didn't even let me pay for his hamburger. What a true bro. This is what friends are for! Thanks Dennis. 

We would not have survived this week without the kindness of many other people. You see, Bambi (Abigail's trail name, check out her blog) and I didn't quite pack out enough food to last us the 90 miles to Lake Isabella. For this reason we hiked quickly but rationing food like that was tough. I figured out that my body is a very selfish machine. It's like a drug dealer, it doesn't have what I want unless I've got the stuff. So a nature valley bar won't quite carry you and a 20 pound pack up a hill 5 miles. 

There were saviors to the rescue though. The first came at the end of a very tough morning, we were both calorie deprived, starting to get blisters, and a little dehydrated. And then we arrive at the cache in Kelso Valley Road, which we discover to be empty. From out of the back of an SUV comes Steve. He's a trail angel following his wife for support, and he has bottles of water, snickers bars, Doritos, and Gatorade for any hikers he sees coming through that day. While this may seem simple to you, this was a game changer for us. 

Further on the way out of the valley we ran into Goaltech, a southbounder handing out instant Starbucks and chips to all northbound hikers! The stars were aligned in our favor. Check out his blog at goaltechhikes.blogspot.com.

I am convinced Gatorade and Doritos could take me up any mountain. After these snacks I felt like a mix of the Michael Jordan and the flaming hot version of Chester Cheetah. 

It rained on us in the desert three days in a row by the way. This is clearly bullshit.

It actually snowed on us once. 

Our final day in this section was the roughest. Our plan was to walk 26 miles to Highway 178 and hitch to Isabella for dinner that night. Luck was with us. We found an ice chest full of Gatorade, left by trail angels, conveniently placed before a 2500 foot climb. That evening, as we neared the road we saw a tent and a van. The van we immediately recognized as that of Coppertone's, the trail patron saint of root beer floats, cookies, and bananas. The man gave me his socks because I mentioned to someone else mine weren't treating me well. THESE ARE THE KIND OF PEOPLE YOU MEET OUT HERE! 

The tent belonged to none other than Yogi, the author of the Guidebook to the Pacific Crest Trail. I already owed this woman my life for the invaluable advice she had given me in her book, but now I owe her again because she was cooking every hiker who walked through spaghetti. Mother freaking spaghetti. And bread and salad and everything else good you can imagine. 

As you can probably imagine, this was a great thing for someone who could hardly remember the last 3000-4000 steps he had taken. And because we had a full meal in our bellies, Bambi and I decided to camp at walker pass and chill with everyone. I got to spend hours talking to a trail legend! We chatted gear and chatted life and she gave us great advice.

The desert taught us many lessons. My feet are blistered and my muscles are sore. I'm sunburned, and at the moment, underwearless. We're stronger and smarter though. For anyone who hasn't read the Alchemist, please read it and I think you will understand my thoughts on all of these happenings. 

Next time I will pack out more food. 

Speaking of food, I'm going to go eat an inappropriate amount of Mexican food. 

Pissing into the Wind with Varying Degrees of Success

The Mojave Desert is dry, God forsaken place. However, it's actually quite beautiful once you get past the 17-35 mile water resupply. Our hike is not going as planned but I actually think this is a good thing. Our initial plan was to travel slowly in order to conservatively approach this first section. We quickly discovered this strategy was bullshit and abandoned 20 pounds of food in the desert and walk at about double the speed we were previously. Right now I am in Tehachapi, CA and we've walked 55 miles in 3.5 days. Abby walks faster than me most of the time.

The desert is a very windy place. These windmills you see in these photos and stuff are actually the same one's they used for Hangover 3! The police officer who we hitched a ride with on the way to Tehachapi informed me of that, confirming my suspicions. The wind was blowing at about 70 mph at times. Especially at night. And when don't set up your tent right you may end up half naked outside in 50 mph winds at 2 am, trying to reassemble your shelter as your nose drips copious amounts of blood.

Oh yeah. My trail name is Rudolph for now. My friend Thor calls me that because I have nose bleeds like clockwork 3-4 times a day.

This is a photo of me after I peed into a gulch created by a down cutting stream. I wanted Abby to take a (tasteful) picture of me urinating, post it to Instagram, and #downcuttingstream. It's a bad geology joke.





In the desert we do a lot of night hiking. The first night there was a beautiful red moon on the horizon. Abby and I tried to take a low shutter speed photo to capture the majesty of the moment. It ended up coming out like a giant, flaming space dick. Enjoy.

Catch y'all in Lake Isabella. It's 90 miles away and we're trying to make it there in 4 days.
Until then,
Daniel Babin