The joys of watching a brother hobble forward without aggravating sun
sensitized skin only lasted most of the first day back on the trail. Truth be told, I expect he was getting just
as much pleasure watching me struggle along as I was watching him.
Altitude sickness had really kicked me in the ass early in the trip and
I was still struggling with it on a daily basis. I had oatmeal twice a day; going down and
coming back up. And to this day, while I
will eat the stuff for breakfast while hunting and backpacking trips (only), as
far as I am concerned oatmeal should only show up with raisins and nuts in
cookie form, and never in a cup or bowl as breakfast.
All in all the worst memory of that first 50 was the altitude
sickness. I lost all of every breakfast,
all of most dinners, and some part of every lunch. Keeping up the strength to hump hills and
carry a pack was damn unpleasant. Barry
helped in pulling weight off me as the other healthier boys used up meals from
their packs, but one foot in front of the other never came easy that trip.
I had been to the Doctor’s office the Wednesday before the trip began
for a full physical that was required for Scout summer camp scheduled for later
that month. And when I got home from the
50 Mom drug me back to the same Doctor to see why I had been sick all week.
The same nurse put me on the same height and weight scale. And while I wouldn’t recommend duplicating my
week, it was an effective weight loss plan.
Turns out I had grown 2 inches and dropped 35 pounds that week. The Doc said the sickness was to be expected
with the sudden growth spurt.
A couple of days out of Garner Basin I experienced my first high
country thunderstorm. Now, most of
California has pretty drab lightning storms.
Mostly dull gray clouds and sheets of lightening that brighten a large
expanse of sky, but show few individualized lightning bolts striking the
ground.
Well, let me tell you, if you are above 10,000 feet, it can be a vastly
different experience.
We were humping across a high treeless expanse when suddenly a storm
blew up; actually blossomed right in front of our eyes. One moment the sky was clear and blue, the
next moment dark grey-black clouds were actually coalescing right in front of
our eyes.
The sound of boys joking and hassling each other was instantly
over-ridden by a hissing buzz.
The hair on our arms and back of our necks stood on end.
Everyone came to the same instant realization: Not only were we the
tallest things around, but we were all wearing aluminum backpack frame/antennas
strapped tightly to our backs, and most of us wore ours high, with the top of
the frame about a foot over our head. It
didn’t take much thought to realize that if a lightning rod’s job was to attract
the lightning to the rod and channel it down to the ground through the attached
wire to keep the house from being damaged, we had a problem. The only conductor on us was going to be our
wet clothes and boots.
There was an instant war going on within me; my body screamed “Run”,
but my Brain refused and said, “Drop, now, get rid of the pack”.
I am not sure which I would have ultimately chosen had I been alone,
thankfully Mr. Green commanded everyone’s attention and made the decision for
us. He was in a position to see a high
step rock ledge just off to one side and he hustled us all over to it. We dumped out of our packs, grabbed our
ponchos and moved several feet away from the packs and right up against the
granite rock shelf. There we hunkered in
to wait out the storm.
What a half hour that was.
Lightning bolts laced between rock and cloud. Rain fell like a wave breaking its curl. Ear rupturing rents in the air pounded our
senses, timed exactly to the strobe flashes of light. The air smelled of fire and acrid ozone. Hail piled up to cover the ground.
It was sudden, it was awesome, and thankfully it was brief.
That first 50-miler was filled with new experiences that helped me to
grow and change, and there are not enough pages nor time to recount them
all. But, all in all, from trucks and
gas pumps, to make believe bears and water slides, swimming, sunning, and hail,
it was a grand adventure. One of the
best summer weeks of my life.
I have been on near countless other 50-milers over the years. Some as a mere hiker (such as this) some as a
youth leader, or route planner, or adult responsible for the lives and health
of the team, and while each and every one has been memorable in its own way,
none of them packed as many intensely memorable events as that first
50-miler.
I wore that commemorative patch with pride for years. And while I have long since given up the
cloth symbol of that trip, I wear the experiences to this day.
© Copyright 2015, Marty Vandermolen, All
Rights Reserved
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