Nepal Notes Part 8: A Wild Tiger And A Life Changing Coin Toss
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
My two day motorcycle trip, part 7 of this saga, gave me a sufficient kick in the rump to get me moving. Despite still feeling the effects of my pneumonia, I was determined to get out of Pokhara, I had abruptly hit the wall for how long I could stay in that town. I had read about Chitwan National Park before my trip, but dismissed it under the assumption there wouldn’t be time, turns out there was time.
Chitwan National Park
The bus ride back to Kathmandu was 12 hours so I decided to break it up a bit by taking a detour to Chitwan National Park, its located south of and somewhat equidistant from Kathmandu and Pokhara. I was told the bus to Chitwan would be about 4 hours, it took 7.5. At the but station I was met by a man in a very rough pickup and taken to my hotel. It was hard to tell who was there to work and who was just a friend of the employees hanging out, nobody wore a uniform of any kind and everyone was just kind of hanging out. Also all of the men had short hair except for a small patch on the back left long, it was strange. It reminded me of my cousin who, in the 90s, had what we called “a rat tail”. I was fed a large, late, lunch and then was shown to my room. It was dated, dusty, and overall tired, but there were a lot of geckos around so that was nice, they look nice and keep the bugs down. Luckily they weren’t too noisy, sometimes geckos can make a barking noise that reminds me of a turkey yelp/cluck. With its thatched roof and wicker furniture, it reminded me of the budget hotels in Fiji. One strange thing that stood out to me at this hotel, the bed sheets only covered the top ¾ of the bed, meaning my feet were on bare mattress. It grossed me out, but I was so used to rough accommodation at that point, I just tucked the blanket under my feet. At about 4pm I was walked to a river front to take in the 630 sunset. We arrived at 415 in the blazing heat, after half an hour of standing on a concrete flood wall roasting in the sun, I decided to walk farther down the bank. At the end of the flood wall was a river front restaurant and beyond that were two locals riding elephants along the river. They saw me and wandered over, I took some pictures and patted one on the trunk. I had never seen an elephant up close like that. I wandered back to the restaurant and ordered a cold soda… it was now about 515… Finally, the sun set in a rather lackluster way and I was able to go back to the hotel. There were 4 other guests there, two couples and they said little more than hi to me.
Morning of day two I was crammed into a dugout canoe. I was sat near the back on a square stool with 2 inch legs and someone was place ahead of me, and someone ahead of them and so on until we were just shy of a dozen. It felt like a back massage chain, but sweatier. 3 canoes took off around the same time and we all floated down the shallow river, occasionally bottoming out right under me… I was still not feeling great about my weight, before this trip I had never considered myself in shape, but I also never thought I was overweight. I definitely put some pounds on after the divorce, I just never realized it was this bad. My more pressing consideration was that we were spotting crocodiles from a boat where the gunwales sat 6 inches above the water. It felt low to me, and apparently I would make a well marbled snack. Along the way we also spotted a wide variety of exotic birds include some beautiful teal coloured King Fishers. The boats brought us to a steep bank where we all piled off. I was fortunate that I was the only person my guide was taking on the jungle trek. We were able to see monkeys, spotted deer, barking deer, and in the distance some Rhino. I was surprised at how quiet my guide could walk the jungle, he seemed impressed with me too, all those years of hunting whitetail deer seemed to pay off for me. I was glad it was just the two of us, in my experience, very few people actually know how to be quiet. Our jungle trek ended at an elephant breeding center. I didn’t love the elephant center. Initially it was just elephants chained to posts under simple shelters, like a farmer’s pole shed. As I learned more, I found out the elephants were trained to be used for patrols in the park and were walked twice daily. It wasn’t a life too far off from some horses, but it still didn’t sit well with me.
In the afternoon I went on a jeep safari (I had the option of an elephant ride, and declined). I was loaded into the back with an American man, and a large, loud, Nepali family. We spotted a lot of wildlife but the preteen son kept trying to call the animals by yelling at them… It was a bit frustrating but also a bit funny. Our guide did his best to keep everyone quiet, and himself, used only a rock tapped against the metal bars on the jeep to communicate with the driver. It was a good system, were it not for my chatty companions. I also saw a wild peacock, and up until that moment, I had never thought about where they are native to, turns out they’re from Nepal and India area. They were just an animal that was around, like a loon in Canada. It was beautiful dark blue, high in a tree, and its long tail flowed gracefully as it jumped down and glided away. The jeep drove us to a Gharial hatching facility. It was about a dozen pools surrounded by chain link fence all full of little crocodiles. Its a good program, though not particularly photogenic. On our way out we passed some forest fires, at first it looked like small fires, but before long we were going fast down a dirt trail with flames on both sides and I thought I was at risk of losing eyebrow hair. It’s a strange feeling to be in nearly 40 degree heat and drive by a roaring fire, its like sticking your arm in the oven when its already just too hot outside.
At a military checkpoint, near the exit of the park, we crested a hill and saw, about 50 meters ahead, casually walking away, a tiger. The first thing that happened was the American grabbed the kid’s shoulder and pre-emptively hushed him. A much appreciated gesture. For about 15 seconds it walked down the dirt track without a care in the world, then turned left into the tall grass and wandered off into the wilderness. It looked thinner than I expected, to be honest, and its walk had more of a casual sway than the stealth walk my mind had imagined. It walked more like a domestic dog than a wild apex predator. Everyone in the jeep was glowing with excitement. The guide claimed he only has about 3 tiger sightings a year. I was skeptical about those numbers, he worked for tips and definitely wanted me to open my wallet a little farther, I did. When I got back to the hotel everyone there was exciting about it, wanted to hear the story, and made sure to remind me to mention it on my google review of the hotel. It was mentioned, along with the sheets.
The end of my action-packed day was to take in some cultural dancing in town. I was driven there in the box of a truck with a young couple that were a little better dressed than me. I was clearly in Nepal for the hiking, and they were there for the sights. It was a small theater with a broad stage and I was witness to some of the most impressive athletic dancing I had ever seen. In my youth I had witnessed Ukrainian dancing, French dancing, Powwow dancing, and breakdancing… none were quite on this level of both athleticism and team work. The first dance was a group of young men with staffs dancing and hammering them together, sometimes blind behind their heads, and doing it to make a melody. All I could imagine was a pinched finger. The ladies came on and did impressive dances with drums and twirls, then a man came on solo and spun fire in the dark. The fire spinning in the darkness with the hammering of drums felt like a trance, I was locked in and couldn’t look away. Towards the end there was a comical dance with two men, one dressed in traditional women’s attire who basically dodged the others romantic advances with twirls and jumps while the other tried to impress with dance moves, while closing the distance. Despite it not being in my original itinerary, I was glad to have made the trip south. I got some sleep, the next day was my bus to Kathmandu, and I could only imagine how long that would really take.
Back to Kathmandu
The 4-hour bus ride to Kathmandu was, naturally, about 8 hours. The American from the jeep tour was on the bus with me, we decided to share a cab from the bus to our hotels. While waiting for luggage to be unloaded, a woman beggar tapped my arm and held her hand out. I was in no mood and had been desensitized to beggars by this point. She kept stepping in front of me and tugging on my luggage and then giving me a blank stare with her hand out. Somehow that stare just felt entitled to me, like she expected me to pay a tax. Finally, as she was blocked me from getting to the taxi, I faked left and rolled right, just like I used to in my basketball days. The American said he thought I was being attacked by bugs, I guess my technique has rusted over the years. The cab driver scolded her and explained to us that she is always there and it pays her better than a normal job. Checking into Planet Nomad hostel was much smoother this time, I had texted the owner directly, a few days prior, and she just told me what room would be mine and to let myself in whenever I arrived, easy, peasy.
The following morning I started asking around about hiking Everest Basecamp. KTM airport was under construction and I was told I would have to take a 4-hour night-bus ride to a nearby airport then fly to Lukla. All in all it would cost me just over $2k USD, I could get it down a small amount without a guide, but not much. I thought about it for the day, I was still recovering from my pneumonia and had actually pulled a muscle in my chest causing some painful breathing. I didn’t have the heart for more frozen squat toilets and Nepali busses. I called my airline and asked about changing my flights to get home early, motorcycle fever still had me so I thought maybe I would buy a bike and tour around Canada. The customer service rep, without a laugh, told me to fly home early would cost me seven thousand dollars, the only available flights were first class. Naturally, I wasn’t about to do that. Natalie suggested I come to Thailand… over breakfast with her and some fellow travelers, I flipped a coin. Thailand it is. Within about an hour, I booked a round trip flight from Kathmandu to Thailand, it was cheaper than cancelling my flight home from Nepal. Natalie was headed to Thailand in a few days. Before she left, a bunch of us made friends with a Dutch girl and gave her all the hiking gear that we didn’t want to take with us on our next stop. Natalie gave her clothes, I gave her mitts, water tablets, and hiking poles. I burned a few days in Kathmandu, a few were spent just going for a walk to get food, much like Pokhara. Those days did make me feel a little guilty, like a fake traveler, hiding out in his hotel and venturing out to get western food. That said, one of the days I did wander to the old town part of Kathmandu, I took in a museum and the town square. It was called Durbar square, and I was mobbed by sellers and would-be tour guides, I also did some book shopping and found a few worth buying. In my wandering aimlessly about Thamel I also found an amazing burger place that sold buffalo burgers (water buffalo, not bison). In preparation for Thailand, I bought a cheap rubberized duffle bag and filled it with trinkets for my family as well as any gear I felt I wouldn’t need for the next leg of the trip. The hostel let me store it in their spare room. I put my information on a card in the top and plunked it in a dark corner, hoping I would see it again when I got back. My only real fear was losing my beloved sleeping bag, but I have a lot of trust in the Hostel owners and travelers dont usually steal as that just gives them more stuff to carry around. I had a few days before my flight to Thailand left, so I opted to have one more Nepal adventure, but that’s a story for next week.
Technical
There’s not much in this story for gear other than me being thankful I brought some shorts and my crocs. They came in very handy in the 30 to 40 degree Celsius (86f to 104f) heat.
The elephant breeding center was certainly a mixed bag of emotions, it felt cruel, but it was mostly just under funded. The animals appeared fed and in good health and this center did increase the elephant population, but it wasn’t a wild population so does it even count? The elephants were trained and used in anti poaching patrols so they were doing good. I suppose, like most things, its shades of grey rather than black and white.
The coin toss. I was debating toughing out Everest base camp, trying to get home early, or going to Thailand. I’m rarely one to gamble and usually only do anything AFTER a lot of research. It was out of character for me but a coin toss felt right and it ended up working out. I had a lot of fun in Thailand (you’ll see) and spending more time with Natalie, built our friendship and as a result, led to me gaining a few travel friends and ended up inspiring 3 trips so far and two more are in the planning stages, so I am calling that coin toss life changing in more of a butterfly effect kind of way.
Lastly, a bit of gloating or maybe therapy? I sometimes on this trip, on days I didn’t do much, felt a bit of a fraud. Like I wasn’t really having an adventure because anyone can fly to any country and just hide out in a hotel only venturing out for western style food… Upon writing and proof reading this story I realized that driving a jeep through an active forest fire in the jungle is barely a note, so maybe, just maybe… I should go a little easy on myself when I take a day or two off during a long trip. Also shoutout to my sister for telling me to be nicer to myself in my stories.
And if you ever find yourself in Kathmandu, I know a place for a good burger.
Posted in Hiking, Photo Drop, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Chitwan, nepal, Outdoors, Rhino, tiger, travelwith 2 comments.
Nepal Notes Part 4: Over The Pass
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
The climb to High Camp was hell. Most of the day was walking along a well-worn foot path, and the occasional suspension bridge. At first the trail appeared to end at Low Camp, but it actually continued up a very steep hill to High Camp. I considered staying at Low but I wanted my hike over the pass to be as short as possible. I didn’t think I had it in me to hike up to high camp and over the pass in one day and I didn’t want to spend an entire day at high camp. So, I faced the hill and started marching. I could only walk a few feet before needing to stop and catch my breath. I started up the hill the same time as my friends and arrived nearly an hour after them. At the altitude of High Camp, it was cold and snowing, almost permanently. I inquired about a room and was told I would have to share. They put me with a complete stranger, a tall and friendly, older, German man. Walking from my room to the main building, I thought I could hear someone below yelling for help. I was in no shape to mount a rescue. I yelled back but got no reply. Standing silent and listening close, I could occasionally, faintly, hear yelling for help. Despite questioning my sanity, I told some guides and the tea house staff, but none seemed to understand or care. Eventually a rather frazzled looking American arrived and explained he had hiked ahead of his guide and took a wrong turn in the blizzard. He was an interesting character, an absolute bragger of a man, who was about to start a very lucrative career in computer engineering and had no trouble mentioning his quarter of a million-dollar salary. All those dollars and didn’t have the sense to stay with his guide in a snow storm. That said, he was good conversation in camp.
I sat in the main area, feeling very ill. I had nausea, a headache, and just general pain in my joints and muscles. David gave me some altitude medicine, in hopes it would help with acclimatizing. It felt a little late for that, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Raju suggested garlic soup, which I forced down, along with a pot of ginger tea and as much water as I could. All the guests sat around the pot-bellied stove trying to stay warm, into the night as the wind and snow howled outside. It very much reminded me of when Indiana Jones went to Nepal, a small shack high in the mountains warmed by a fire and howling snow outside. Only difference, is we weren’t drinking, apparently your not allowed to drink of get frisky at those altitudes… That must be why those Dutch girls weren’t coming over and talking to me. For evening entertainment we all huddled together and showed off our passports, the Portuguese and American passports stood out to me as the nicest, but my Canadian one definitely got some compliments. Before bed I bought a hot water bottle from the kitchen staff and headed to bed… I guess I rented the bottle and the water, and purchased the heat, either way, the few dollars seemed well worth it. My roommate came with me from the common area, he told me not to feel bad about coughing because he was a solid sleeper. He also informed me his stomach was upset so he would be running out to the washroom throughout the night. He was correct, the poor man had to use the frozen squat toilets a half a dozen times that night. One thing I was thankful for, was my stomach had decided on constipation instead of diarrhea.
I awoke very early for the final push, I put on every scrap of clothing I had including both pairs of gloves. I felt near death but decided pushing the last day and last 600m elevation over was preferable to the multi day hike back. The conditions at High Camp were cold and uncomfortable, I wasn’t interested in staying another night. After returning the, now warm, water bottle, I followed the tracks of Linda and Raju who had left before me. The clouds meant the only light was my headlamp. I kept my head down and followed the snow tracks precariously along the side-slopes. As pre-dawn emerged and the clouds broke, I shut off my headlamp and was able to witness both the stars in the sky and the amazing silhouette the Himalayas cast. With no light pollution, I got the full view of all the stars in the sky. It was by far the best view I had witnessed in my life. I tried to get a picture, but cameras can’t capture that kind of magic.
I crossed a small bridge and could see lights ahead of me. It was nice to know I was on the right track. Unfortunately, I was in such bad disrepair I could only walk a few meters before needing to catch my breath. Eventually the path widened so it was just up a gentle slope and no longer side hill goat paths on a mountain. As I made my stops, I would still cough a lot. I decided my line in the sand would be, if I coughed up blood. In my mind, that was the sure sign of HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema), the rest of my symptoms were just altitude and weakness. I was determined to get over. After hours of hiking, I kept thinking I could see the top of the pass only to get there and see the next hilltop. At some point I stopped to catch my breath and was strongly considering turning back, my fear now, was that I didn’t have the energy to get back. It was brief, but the thought of “this might really be it” crossed my mind, one trip too many, one risk too great… It was a very narrow window, maybe more of a look through a keyhole, at those Everest climbers that get so exhausted, they just give up and lay down. As I weighed my options and caught my breath, a friendly Italian man came marching by, he made small steps in a perfect steady rhythm. He took one glance at me and stopped to check in. He asked if I was ok and what was going on, I explained the situation. He looked at his GPS and informed me we were very close to the top of the pass, and that over was a better idea than back at this point. He put his hand on the back of my shoulder and asked if I needed anything and gave an encouraging word. It was a small thing, in the grand scheme, but at the time, it was very helpful in keeping me going.
He hiked on ahead, occasionally looking back at me. At some point, he started dancing and waving and I knew he saw the sign at the top. I slogged my way there where I was greeted by a crowd. Everyone there was cheering and hugging whoever showed up, including me. Summoning what energy I could I got a picture of myself beside the sign. Thorong La Pass 5400M. As I stood gathering myself, a young woman, in a bright red one piece snow suit, did a perfect cartwheel in front of the sign. I guess this hike was a bit harder for me than her. Someone asked if I wanted to stay and have tea as there was a tea house at the top. I do regret declining, but I decided my best bet was to keep going. The next town was 1600m lower and I knew the altitude was hurting me. As I hiked down the pass, I stopped to eat a chocolate bar, as I sat thinking about what I had just done a few tears rolled out. I was exhausted, sore, relieved, and proud of myself. This hike was something I had day dreamed about for years, and quitting my job and going was a fuck you to a job I hated. It was also my first solo trip so I had a lot to prove to myself, and dammit, even with pneumonia I still did it.
As I descended, I found myself feeling noticeably better by the step. The hike down was incredibly steep and the snow had been packed into ice. I did a lot of controlled sliding and a very sketchy side hill on a cliff top. In my mind, at the time, I thought it would be such a shame to fall off the mountain and die so near the end of this hike, as though the timing of my death on the hike would make it worse. After an initial steep descent, the landscape somewhat leveled off and I was left to walk across what felt like a barren landscape. It was a lot of grey slate, shrubs and grass, with small creeks and rivers that had flowed from the snow in the valley I had just come down. It reminded me of Iceland. There were a few long bridges that made me nervous to cross and I passed a few rather sad looking tea houses that did their best to bring me in.
I wanted to get to town, I wanted a comfortable hotel that only a town with vehicle access could offer. So I carried on. Eventually I got to the town of Muktinath, but couldn’t actually find my way into town. A large wall surrounded a temple at the edge of town and I couldn’t find a way in. First I tried walking clockwise around the temple, but the road dead-ended at a steep hill covered with prayer flags. Later I would learn those flags are spiritually structural, they prevent the hill from land sliding into the temple and town. A bit of searching and using google maps, I found a foot path and cut across the temple lawn to get onto a set of stairs from the temple to town, I didn’t feel great about that. As I walked down the long staircase, all the oncoming traffic were ill and infirm individuals making their way to the temple to pray for health. In that moment I became very germophobic and did my best to keep my distance, we were, after all, just coming out of a pandemic. As I wandered, looking for a hotel in decent shape, I saw Linda through a large window waving me in. I was relieved to see a friend after that day. We shared a pizza and a soda, to toast our survival. We also waved in my German roommate, we played cards that night and enjoyed hot showers. I can’t remember the German man’s name, but he was fascinating. He had to be in his 60s and had done Annapurna several times throughout his life. He was a navy veteran and had told us all about his trip to Bhutan. Apparently, when he went, he had a government assigned tour guide with him at all times and could only stay at pre approved hotels and eat at pre approved restaurants. I don’t know much about Bhutan, but everything I learn about it makes me want to see it more. Linda was planning on hiking to Totopani, I planned to bus there. For me, the hike was over, I had survived and wasn’t interest in hiking the rest of the way out. I had already seen the pass and I had heard the rest was just roads. I was a little embarrassed because my original plan was to hike all the way out and maybe even see Annapurna Base Camp. I had allotted myself nearly three weeks for this hike and after just one week, I was done. The pneumonia played a huge part, but really, I was just down and out.
Technical
This isn’t so much technical as, a diversion that didn’t fit in the story. When climbing the pass, I vividly remember thinking it was closing in on 10 or 11 am. I remember part of my decision to skip lunch at the restaurant at the top was that I wanted to make it down to Muktinath before I lost daylight. Yet, somehow, all of my photos at the top say they were taken just after 8am. I even remember taking a picture of my cheap Casio watch on my way down, and it clearly shows 8:29 so there’s no disputing the time. Is my memory that bad, or did altitude really play with my brain that much?
A few weeks later I ran into the Italian man who helped me at the top. He was walking down the street in Pokhara and I recognized him, I ran over and thanked him. He was glad, or at least polite, to see me, and didn’t seem to think he had helped me all that much.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged adventure, Annapurna, backpacking, hiking, nepal, Outdoors, travelwith 1 comment.
Nepal Notes Part 3: Starting The Annapurna Circuit
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
The entire point of my trip to Nepal was The Annapurna Circuit. I had first heard about it from guys I met on the West Coast Trail, and really got to seriously thinking about it over the next few years. The dam finally burst around Christmas 2022 when I was fed up with my job. While at a friends house getting help with my resume, we put on a movie about mountaineering and Nepal came up and I decided that sounded better than working. It just felt like the right thing to do. I booked my flights within a few weeks and in March, I quit my job and fled the country. I am an adult, and I can run away from my problems if I want. The morning I started this hike I had just had two rough days in a row getting there and was not in the best spirits, but, I was there, and forward on my feet seemed better than backward on those busses.
This is what I came here for, The Annapurna
The first day of the hike was from Chame to Lower Pisang. It was a hard uphill slog with little to see as most of it was still along the road. I started the day early and on my own. The hike, at this point, was still on a gravel road, though traffic was rare. For the most part it was other hikers, porters, and the odd motorcycle or truck. Though cool and crisp the air and altitude did not help my lingering cough, it did feel refreshing, mentally, after the dust and exhaust of the city. It was also nice to put on miles under my own power rather than bouncing in a seat. This was my first up close look at the sheer size of the mountains around me. The old villages, prayer flags, and occasional patch of snow were a reminder of where I was. I was still feeling a little sick and down, but I couldn’t deny that it was a good view.
After a long day of walking, I ended up at a Bob Marley themed tea house. The owner was friendly and showed me to my room. An outbuilding with three beds, the walls were made of vertical 1″x4″ planks that I could see daylight through, and outside it was starting to snow. I came to this tea house because that’s where Linda and Bonnie had gone and I was clinging to anyone familiar to me. I texted the French couple about where I was staying, but they were in Upper Pisang for the night. Linda’s guide took us to a temple in Upper Pisang, it was a nice sight and the extra altitude was supposed to help our acclimatization. The short hike up from our tea house was brutal for me, I sucked wind up the stairs and more than once they had to stop and wait for me to catch my breath and catch up. I felt weak, I felt embarrassed by how weak I was.
When we got back, I talked the owner into moving me into a different building, one made of cinder blocks that had a little more wind resistance. The deal was, I had to buy dinner, breakfast, and lunch there and could stay for free, in the nicer building. I had dinner with the girls and the owners young son, he just kind of wandered over to our table and was too cute for us to kick him out. While we ate, he stood on a ledge at the head of our table and rambled on, he actually spoke a little English, which I found impressive. After supper, my marriage came up. I was already in a bad mood and that somewhat crashed me. I had a chill down to my bones and I spent the remainder of the evening doing my best to be pleasant and trying to heat up. I huddled close to the little stove in the center of the common area, it had a rather pathetic little fire in it and I was amazed at how little heat it produced. Some friendly locals showed up on motorcycles and were staying at the tea house too. Unfortunately, every time one of them came in or out of the only heated room, they left the door to the outside elements wide open. I went to bed fairly early and questioned my own sanity and my own resolve, worried that maybe I didn’t have it in me to travel like this anymore. The attached bathroom was a cement floored room with a squat toilet and a bucket of cold water, it had a strong chemical smell masked by cheap air fresheners. Sleep did not come easy, but at least I wasn’t cold in my bed. Maybe I should have just spent a week at a resort in Mexico like everyone else my age. I weighed the merits and considered the logistics of turning back.
Sick in The Himalayas
The second day of the hike I could barely eat breakfast. I felt like hell and my spirits were still low. As I gained altitude, I was finally able to get good views of the mountains as the trees started to thin. The Himalayas felt so much grander than the Rockies I was used to. In the spirit of my pity party attitude, I found the small villages rather sad. The weather was still poor in the morning, and everything was a muted grey, like wool that had been washed too many times. The villages were also filled with livestock in muddy pens, they smelled like they had been wet for decades. I tried to keep my mind on the mountains and not the cold or the smell of old soggy manure. At some point I started coughing so hard I had to stop and rest on my hiking poles, before I knew it, I was having a proper coughing fit. It only stopped when my body tried to vomit, but there was nothing to come out. So there I was, on the other side of the world, feeling too sick to even puke. I continued on the road, in a hurry to get to my destination, Manang.
I ambled into town, looking and feeling rough. Manang is the last town with road access, there were a few jeeps on the edge of town, I debated asking about a ride out, but thought better of it. There was an older couple sitting on a bench in the sun outside of the first tea house in town. I asked them if it had hot showers and was shocked to find that this place had solar showers in each room. I found the manager and checked in for two nights. I paid $10 a night, plus I had agreed to buy all my meals there. I had the hottest shower possible and changed into my warmest clothes in my cold room. Solar showers put out good heat, but only when there is sunlight. It was surprising how well it worked, the shower got hot enough I couldn’t stand under the stream. I checked the time and decided I had better go see the doctor in town. Once out on the street, I spotted and spun some prayer wheels for luck, another surreal moment to add to the list. It was just one of those little goals I had, when planning this trip I had imagined myself in my down jacket, breath visible in the cold, spinning a prayer wheel while looking at the mighty mountains. I hadn’t anticipated the cough, but you can’t win them all. It was still a big win for me and really started to make this trip feel more worth it. I followed the signs from cobbled streets, to an alley, to a livestock path, to a rough building with a medical center sign. I questioned the quality of the doctor I would find here.
A local man who spoke little English informed me there was a fee for seeing the doctor, I agreed and he showed me to an exam room. Moments later a handsome American man about my age walked in and introduced himself. I, of course, asked about how he ended up there. As he examined, he explained, he was a doctor for NASA and specialized in extreme environments and “Space Medicine”. So, if you ever get too high on yourself, remember, there’s someone out there who’s parents get to brag their son is a space doctor working for NASA… And I couldn’t even land an HVAC apprenticeship… I later texted Natalie about this handsome doctor and suggested she find an excuse to stop in. I recommended faking a glute injury.
In the end I was diagnosed with mild atypical pneumonia, given antibiotics, and cold meds. I was told I could continue but was advised to turn back if it got worse or if I exhibited signs of altitude sickness. I went back to my room, had a nap and a meal. The following day was a rest and acclimatization day. All I did was hike to a lookout above town, I was rewarded with the sight of two large Himalayan vultures circling high above. I would later learn that in some parts of northern Nepal, such as Mustang, the dead are cut into pieces and fed to vultures as part of a funeral ceremony. I also, on a whim, bought a pair of wool mitts to put over my thin gloves, it later proved to be a wise investment.
Where The Road Ends
I was tempted to stay additional days in Manang, it was comfortable, more comfortable than my other tea houses so far, and I was afraid of what was ahead. Knowing I wanted to stall because I was afraid was part of what convinced me to keep going, back didn’t feel like an option to me, and neither was staying forever… though living there for the rest of my life, looking at the mountains, breathing the cool air, and walking the cobbled streets did hold some romantic charm. On I went. There was no longer a road, just a narrow hiking path. It was just me, other hikers, and porters carrying impossibly heavy loads. I had some digestive biscuits in my pack that I would offer to any porters I passed, or, more commonly, passed me as I rested. In the end this was a benefit as they occasionally would show me shortcuts on the trail to avoid long switchbacks. The views were magnificent and the prayer flags flapping in the wind were a constant happy reminder that I was actually doing it, I was realizing my dream. The day dream turned into a plan and the plan was being executed. It was a proper adventure, farther than I ever dreamed I would go. I would occasionally reflect on my mother’s friend Jennifer, our families were close, her late husband was good friends with my step-dad and her two sons and daughter were friends with me. Many years ago, when I was nervous about applying for schools, she told me, rather sternly, that it was important for me to get out of my comfort zone. It was one sentence, in passing, nearly 20 years ago, but I still think about it a lot when I travel. I was a nervous kid, prone to home sickness… oh, how times had changed.
The day ended at of the town of Letdar. With white knuckles firmly on each cable, I crossed the tall suspension bridge into town. I went into the first tea house on the other side and sat in a sun room that afforded me a view of the bridge. I was watching for Linda and Bonnie, I hadn’t seen them in days and the French couple were taking an extra day in Manang to acclimatize. I felt very much alone and had spent much of the day inside my own head. While I waited, a group of Spanish and Italian hikers checked in and joined me in the sunroom. A man of slight build played guitar and sang in Spanish, it was slow and soothing, but truthfully, I had no idea what he was saying. Eventually Linda and her guide showed up and I flagged them down. It turns out Bonnie had opted to stay back an extra day. They had also made another friend, a young English man named David. He was hilarious. It turns out this was his first big vacation and he always ordered food randomly on the menu and hadn’t been burned yet. I split a bottle of Sprite with Linda as I was craving something carbonated but knew that much sugar would hurt. The Italian hikers ordered a pizza and then criticized it to each other, which I thought was funny, but maybe a little mean. We had some dinner and played cards. The guide, Raju, showed us a card game that involved setting down pairs and trying to get rid of your hand. It was simple and fast paced. There was no electricity in the rooms and certainly no Wi-Fi, which, honestly, was nice. The room was well insulated and I got a decent night’s sleep. I was exhausted from all the elevation gain that day and knew more was coming.
The Card Game
I quickly jotted down the rules of the card game in my journal. Once home, I searched a bit and found it be a version of Dumbal, a very popular game in Nepal. The rules of our version are as follows:
– Game is played with standard deck without jokers, and is played in rounds, no limit to number of people but 4 to 6 seems to be optimal.
– Each player is dealt 5 cards (they can hold and look at them).
– The remaining deck is set face down on the table in the middle.
– Players in turn (clockwise) place 1 or more cards face-up beside the face-down stack (or in front of themselves in a pile, if thats easier for the group). If placing more than one card at a time they must be pairs, triples, quadruples, or a 3+ card straight.
– Players draw a single card from the face down stack at the end of their turn. If they have played a pair or straight at any point in the game they are allowed to take the previous players card from the face-up stack on the table instead, if they choose.
– Once a player has less than 5 points in their hand (an ace=1, 2=2, 3=3 and so on, Jack=11, Queen=12, king=13) they can end the round at the start of their turn, if they wish. They dont play their turn, but everyone else gets one more turn before showing cards. If they stop the round and have the lowest points they win, if another player has the same or less points in their hand, that player wins.
– Losers of the round add the points in their hand and add it to their overall score, once they hit a pre-agreed score, they are out (typically 200 is used). The other players continue until all but one is out, last remaining player is the victor.
– The game ends with two people on a very fast head-to-head and bluffing and smack-talk is almost mandatory.
Technical
I always get travel insurance. For my consultation and some antibiotics I was out approximately $90 USD and given a receipt which I later submitted to my insurance company and was fully reimbursed without follow-up questions. I was also way way below budget on food and accommodation. All the cash I had brought from Canada had been exchanged for Nepalese Rupees in Kathmandu (a very easy and transparent process as exchange rates are publicly posted and even posted daily in newspapers) and I was barely making a dent in my wallet (I had brought around $2000 cash). I ended up not needing to withdraw cash for weeks which was easily done in any city.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged adventure, Annapurna, backcountry, backpacking, hiking, Himalayas, nepal, Outdoors, travelwith 1 comment.
Nepal Notes Part 2: Getting To The Trail
Part 1 of the story can be found here
Up until now, I had spent about a week in Kathmandu, walking everywhere I needed, and just trying to get my bearings. This was my first solo trip, and that level of freedom and socialization took some getting used-to.
Nepali Busses
Nepal is a tricky place to navigate, and I mean that literally. Roads are, generally, in rough shape and the buses all seem to be on their last legs. There are two types, Local and Tourist buses. Tourist buses are similar to a charter bus in Canada, in that, it is assigned seating and it’s typically one passenger per seat. Local buses are more what you would expect of a developing country. They are small and they fill them with anyone willing to get in. They also tend to run different routes. I wanted to get from Kathmandu to Besi Sahar, the original starting point for the hike. My plan was to take a taxi from my hostel to the station and catch a local bus direct to Besi Sahar. I had skipped breakfast and even avoided drinking water. I have IBS and bus travel is difficult for me, and there are simply no buses in Nepal with a bathroom. After seeing the roads, I understand why. I was also told my trip should take about 5 hours, keep that in mind as the story progresses.
As I was walking out of the hostel early in the morning, I was met by a French couple (a woman from France and a man from Quebec). The man, Ioan, was one of the guests that helped me on the roof that first night in Kathmandu. They were headed to the trailhead as well. They convinced me to join them. Their plan was to take the tourist bus headed west to Pokhara but get off half way at Dumre and then catch a bus north to Besi Sahar. I should have declined, but I wanted travel companions. At this point in my trip I was a little afraid of navigating alone, and was desperate for familiar faces. We walked to the tourist bus station, found a bus, bartered for our seats, loaded our gear, and hit the road. Nearly 5 hours into our trip I noticed on my phone, we had passed Dumre. Ioan went and talked to the bus driver and got a vague “yes yes 2 minutes, 2 miles” which did not comfort me. A local sitting behind us, who spoke excellent English, asked about our situation and talked to the driver on our behalf. He came back with the news I expected, we missed our stop, and the bus was not turning around. Luckily, there was a bus rest area ahead, the driver said he would put us on a bus headed back and we would be golden. We reached it shortly and our driver found us a bus, I suspect the other driver offered our ride as a professional courtesy. When we went to board, an oddly dressed woman scolded us. The bus drivers and our, now, translator had a quick meeting. I looked around, took it in, and realized what I was looking at. It was four tour buses and a chase truck. The chase truck was full of pedal bikes and the buses were filled with people wearing full cycle gear, including helmets… while seated in the bus. I knew what was coming, some things are truly universal. Our interpreter came back and said the drivers were fine but the buses were rented privately and the passengers didn’t want anyone else on them. Ioan and I had to physically restrain Selena. She wanted to go on that bus and fight someone. This incident solidified my opinion of cyclists, and made me like the French a little more.
The driver loaded us back on to be dropped off at the next town, where we could take a local bus back. As we pulled out of the rest area, I spotted Rita standing among the crowd, she had mentioned earlier that she was headed to Pokhara, small world. We took two more hours in bumper to bumper traffic through road construction.
Just shy of being assisted with a boot, we were rushed off the bus and onto the side of the road, abandoned. Not a bus in sight. A local spotted us and stepped in to help, as Nepali’s seem prone to doing. He walked us a few blocks to a parking lot and loaded us on a very small bus headed past Dumre. This bus was a bit on the full side but more importantly, it was tiny inside. I wedged half of myself onto a seat next to a lovely old lady, a good foot shorter than me while seated, she spoke to me in Nepali. I smiled apologetically and she just kept chatting. We were now taking local buses, a real interesting creation on their own. I have previously written about them here.
After a few more hours, back through the same construction zone, our bus found its way to Dumre. I got up to get off and: bop “OH!”…. bang “Gah!”… pow “sonofa!”… crack “FFFFFFuuu!” I hit my head on 4 rungs in a row while walking out. My fellow passengers stifled their laughter as best they could. We were escorted a few blocks on foot to the next bus, by yet a different friendly local. Selena began to barter with the driver, I was ready to pay for her ticket and everyone else’s if it meant we could leave right now… I was about 10 hours into my 5-hour trip and doing my best to be polite. Silence was my best option at this stage, so I kept my hungry, grumpy, yap shut. I still hadn’t eaten that day, my stomach felt like it was full of fire and my head was throbbing. I was wedged in the back next to a very young girl who was fascinated by me and asked a million questions. At some point I mentioned to the crowd man that I needed to use the washroom, as did my companions. We stopped at a general store, got out and talked a bit then he waved over. I was led to the bathroom in the back, there was a hole in the tile floor, a dim light, and a bucket of water in the corner. It was rough, but I was thankful.
The bus, well after dark, rolled into Besi Sahar. I stumbled off the bus in what can only be described as a daze. I was tired, furious, light headed and just generally unwell. My joints felt rusty, even my eyes hurt. A man was leaning against the back of the bus, looked at us, and said “your luggage on top?” “yes, it is” “ok, 500 rupees Ill get it down for you”. I debated spitting on a bank note and throwing in on the ground versus just strangling him… before I could make up my mind, Ioan started laughing. Somehow, in my state, it was infectious, I honestly cannot remember the last time I laughed that loud with such honesty. We both stood there laughing manically at this man for a solid 20 seconds before the bus driver noticed and shooed him away. It turns out it was a local trying to scam a few dollars, not a shady business practice of the bus company itself. The driver climbed up and handed us our luggage with a smile, free of charge.
I navigated the dark streets in my near delirium to my hotel. The hotel I had booked was on the nicer side at a whopping $30 per night. I wanted to stay somewhere comfortable before starting the hike in hopes a hot shower and good sleep would help my Kathmandu cough. The staff were so friendly and helpful it made me uncomfortable. Clearly this place was too fancy for me. I was so tired, and fed up, actually, under fed. I was starving. For the first time in my life, room service was an option, and I took it. With one quick call, a pizza and French fries were delivered to my door. A fellow could get used to this. I tried to have a hot bath but settled for a lukewarm one. The hotel included complementary slip-on sandals that were comically small on my size 14 feet. Promptly, a photo was posted to social media for a laugh.
Nepali Trucks
The following morning, a good breakfast at the hotel had me feeling a little more human. Though, the bacon was dangerously under cooked… oh how quickly I had acclimatized to my high standard fancy living. My cold felt a little better but I still had the cough and my voice was a bit off. I spoke to my dad on the phone for a bit, it was a weird feeling to talk to my family on my cell phone on the opposite side of the world. It was a long way from my first trip to New Zealand in 2011 where I had to log onto the communal hostel computer to send emails… which was pretty amazing at the time.
Before leaving Kathmandu, the owners at Planet Nomad had informed me that Chame is a better and far more common starting point. Road construction along the trail meant that very few people actually started hiking at Besi Sahar. The French couple met me late in the morning, they had stayed at a local budget hotel and mentioned a run-in with some cockroaches. I was thankful for my splurge. We went to the Jeep booth and booked a ride in a “Jeep” which was actually a Mahindra pickup, a boxy 4 door diesel truck from India. We paid roughly $30 per person, nearly double what the guide book had suggested, but the book was old and the driver had a monopoly. Like buses, the jeep wasn’t leaving until the driver had all seats full. We waited an hour and a half before we found our last rider. The box was also loaded with goods for delivery, our driver, understandably, was making every dime he could.
The drive was rough to say the least. It was a narrow mountain road carved into the side of a cliff. The last time I had seen a road this questionable was in Colombia on a road dubbed “The Trampoline of Death”. The difference is that in Nepal, it was alternating between snow and rain… and more than once Selena scolded our driver for texting. On the five hour drive we made several stops at police checkpoints where they documented our hiking permits. As we passed through the rainy little villages, my spirits began to spiral down. My spine, and top of my head, were getting battered by the road. All the towns looked muddy and muted with their slate stacked buildings and faded painted doors. The livestock stood in muddy corrals, just dull and grey, even the overcast sky. I couldn’t help but worry what our unknown accommodation would look like. Unfortunately for my high anxiety, you don’t book accommodation on the hike, you just show up and they put you somewhere. It was a terrifying thought that I may end up sleeping on the kitchen floor of an overcrowded tea house.
I got lucky, a local with us in the truck had suggested a place called Eagle Eye. It was nice, inside was clean and warm. The room was free, if I agreed to buy both supper and breakfast. Dal Baht for supper and a pancake for breakfast, was my order. In the end, food and accommodation cost me $11 CAD. The room was private with an ensuite. Unfortunately, it was unheated, uninsulated, and it was snowing, raining, and just above freezing outside. The room did have a shower but it was also unheated. There was a hot shower in a room across the courtyard but I didn’t want to have a nice hot shower and then brave the snow and rain back to my cold room in a towel. I just accepted that I may stink during this expedition and that’s just life. We chatted with two other hikers, Linda and Bonnie, in the common area. Linda had a guide, Raju, and had befriended Bonnie on the trail. I went to bed that night in my base layers, sleeping bag, and a heavy quilt over me. All night I laid there in disbelief… me in the Himalayas, somehow it just didn’t feel real. It just didn’t feel like something I was capable of. Despite being there, I still had a hard time believing I had used my own free will to get there alone. In the next few days, it would feel very real, and I would get the chance to prove to myself just how capable I was.
Technical
I had packed with the intention of taking everything with me on the hike. Some people leave some of their travel gear at a hostel, do the hike, and retrieve it after. The plan was to go from Kathmandu to the Annapurna Trailhead, hike to the end, and take a bus to Pokhara. As such, I brought all of my gear. I packed lean with this in mind, that said, there are things I brought on the hike I didn’t need (like my swim shorts and crocs). I traveled to Nepal with my hiking pack, boots, and technical gear. Once in Nepal, I bought some cheap hiking poles, water purification tabs (I also brought a UV light water filter from home), and various snacks for the trip.
The police at the checkpoints were friendly at each stop and just jotted down my TIMS card info. It didn’t fit in this story but by this time I had noticed a lot of police and military all around Nepal and they all had various odd firearms in all kinds of condition. At the airport I spotted what I believe is a Sten Gun, and out on the trail, I had spotted a few Lee Enfields like the one I had recently restored. The difference being, most of the ones I saw were missing small pieces, like the rear sight. I was curious, but I dont think it would have been wise to approach military and police with questions about their firearms and asking for pictures.
As to accommodation, the typical way it is done, is you stay for free at tea houses in exchange for buying meals there, some also charged a room premium, but it was rare and never much. The general layout was a large common/dining area with a wood stove and attached kitchen. The fire is usually lit after dark, and the farther up the trail you get, where you need it the most, they are the most stingy with burning wood as its becomes rare at altitude. The rooms are usually in an out building, or at least accessed from outside and all I experienced were un heated, most uninsulated (and others varying levels of sealed/wind proof). They did provide some bedding, but it was always insufficient and I used my own hiking quilt which is essentially a sleeping bag without the bottom. I had concerns about warmth when bringing this but all tea houses had some form of mattress that provided enough insulation on the bottom. I would lay out my sleeping quilt on top of their bed sheets and put their quilts over top of everything and even on the coldest nights I was still warm. I went early in the season when its still chilly, I found blogs and vlogs of people who went when it was warmer and were just fine with what the tea houses provided for bedding. As mentioned above, there is no booking system, you just show up to a town and look at the different tea houses, pick one that looks good, and go ask about a room and prices. Usually they’re all pretty similar and I never ran into a shortage of space but had heard stories of people not being able to get rooms and having to sleep in the common area or kitchen, which sounds bad, but also, that’s where the heat is so maybe that wouldn’t be too terrible after all.
Lastly, it was advised to me, and is a common tidbit of advice, that when on the trail, do not eat meat. As most food is carried in via porter, meat is a minimum of a few days old and unrefrigerated. There is many a horror story about food poisoning on the trail. I followed this advice.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged adventure, Annapurna, backpacking, hiking, nepal, Outdoors, travelwith 1 comment.
West Coast Road Trip
Since Nepal I have wanted to do a road trip to Vancouver, for no other reason than driving throught he mountains looks like fun. While I was in Guatemala, Natalie, Vanessa, and myself hatched a plan for me to come out and all of us to go on a big hike. With my new job being two weeks on and two weeks off, I was out of excuses not to do it.
I left my house before daylight and headed west, I layered up, zipped my jacket, and taped the vents on my gloves to try and keep the 14C air at bay. I was thankful to have a windshield but the reality was, it was a cold slog in a straight line along highway 16. After what felt like day, I stopped in Edson for breakfast and to thaw out. I remember feeling cold, sick, sad, and a little silly. I wondered if maybe I didn’t have it in me to motorcycle tour. Auto Trader is full of motorcycles for sale by owners who found out the hard way they didn’t care for life on the road. I stalled as long as I could justify, then hopped on my bike and kept rolling. I also switched to a far more upbeat playlist, I had started with sad slow county music, its like I wasn’t even trying to have a good day. I stopped for a light lunch in Hinton and was starting to feel a little more confident as the weather warmed. As soon as I could see the mountains my attitude improved. I felt pretty cool pulling through the park gates on my motorcycle and flashing my park pass tucked into my tank bag. The park staff weren’t as enthusiastic, for some reason. I decided to stop at the hot springs and have a soak, it was well worth the detour and I saw herd of sheep on the road on the way in. I had dinner in town and set up my little tent and got some sleep.
The next day was a bit farther but felt shorter, due to the mountain views, twisty roads, and all the other bikes I crossed paths with. I continued west and south to Kamloops where I treated myself to a very cheap hotel. It was a great ride with amazing scenery, but nothing too exciting happened. In the morning, I oiled my chain (not a metaphor), and hit the road. This was the day I was looking forward to, the final push to Vancouver, but I took the long way through Squamish. I stopped for breakfast at a little café in Lillooet. I took the opportunity to walk around town a little and see their local museum. It was nice, but me being the collector I am, owned a lot of the items they had on display, including a polaroid camera that I had brought with me on the trip! Having let my breakfast digest sufficiently, I hit the road again. The section of road to Squamish is one of the best in Canada for motorcycles… depending on traffic. I got stuck behind a pickup that struggled to maintain consistent speeds through the tight switchbacks which was a frustrating endeavor. I could smell brakes cooking and wondered if it was me or the truck in front. My question was answered when I rounded a corner and saw an F150 with a holiday trailer pulled to the side of the road with smoke rolling up off the drivers side front hub. To my amazement, he pulled out behind me after I passed… I’d have let it cool a bit more, personally. I stopped for lunch in Whistler, but I found it far too crowded and didn’t stay long. As I pulled into Squamish I found I was running a bit later than I would have liked so my only stop was for gas. I then immediately hit a traffic jam. There I was, sitting on a four lane highway, in full, dark, protective gear, straddling a hot bike in the sun. I shut the engine off while I waited, but that did little for the lingering heat of the engine inches from my legs. I saw a few bikes zip up the shoulder to pass the traffic and was tempted to join them, but I try not to break laws when I travel, even if its just another province. Eventually, slowly, we all made it through and I was treated to the sea to sky highway (in my case, sky to sea) that cut its way along the steep, rocky, shore of the pacific. The views were great, but the traffic was heavy and demanded my attention. I arrived at my destination just in time for Natalie and her boyfriend, Cole, to treat me to some sushi… Sushi, aren’t I just worldly?
Natalie’s roommate was out of town and was kind enough to offer me her room. It was nice to sleep in a proper bed after all that riding. My first full day in Van, we picked up Vanessa at the ferry and headed to The Museum of Anthropology. There were no tours that day, but luckily I’m a history buff/nerd and my companions were willing to let me drone on about everything I saw. I dont think they believed me about Fijian Cannibal Forks at first, but I wouldn’t lie about something like that. A trip to a museum is my ideal vacation.
Next day was Natalie’s idea of an ideal vacation, an overnight hike. This one was to a cabin at Elfin Lakes There were seven of us total, all various friend’s of Natalie and Cole, its a weird feeling to hike into the woods with six other people, only one of whom you’ve known for any length of time. Luckily, I doubt my organs are worth much on the black market at this time. It was lightly raining at the trailhead and the first few kms were gentle uphill along a wide gravel path. We hit a day use cabin with a big wood burning stove in the middle, but it was locked out with a chain and padlock, which felt kind of rude to me. We had snacks and got our layers sorted in the shack and pressed on. Soon the gravel ended and we were treated to heavier rain and hard packed deep snow that required ice spikes on our boots. I laughed to myself about coming all the way to the West Coast to hike in the snow. The views were sadly, minimal, as there was a lot of fog in the air. We first did some up hill, then some side hill, then some debating about which trail was the right one. In the end we found the trail behind a large downed log. It was a steep downhill all the way to our cabin. As we got closer, we saw the lake we had been told we could swim in.. it was ice bound save a ring around the edge that didn’t look very deep. Luckily I saved the weight by leaving my swim suit at home.
We got into the cabin and found some empty bunks. My anxiety started to redline a little. There were bunk beds all around, the top being single beds with low rails that gave me visions of tumbling onto the hardwood and the lower bunks were double wide and expected to be shared. I asked Vanessa if she wanted to share a bottom bunk, she politely declined and took a top bunk. I set up on a lower bunk and hoped no strangers showed up last minute to share it with me, luckily, no one did, but it was a concern of mine well into the evening. There was already another large group there, all younger and energetic, at one point they were doing chin ups on the rafters. I appreciate seeing people in their early 20s being rambunctious, gives me hope. After we all got our beds made, we all just kind of laid around and fell into an afternoon nap. It was one of those naps like after a day at the beach, no one announces it, it just happens. Eventually, we all got back up and running and made ourselves a massive dinner of various salads, sausages, and pasta. There were also several expeditions outside to gather snow for water. I didnt help much cooking, but I tried to at least be helpful by washing some of the dishes. We also invented our own rules for Crazy 8s and had a few games well into the evening. I finally got a chance to use the deck of cards I overpaid for in Thailand and carried needlessly on multiple trips since. I don’t know who won, but it definitely wasn’t me. We all went to bed, I dont think my snoring was a problem, but someone’s was because across the cabin, well into the other group, I heard some snoring followed by a very well connected slap that seemed to put an end to it.
In the morning we all had our own breakfasts, I filled out the guest book and thumbed through the other entries, a lot of great doodles in there. We got the other group to get some pictures of us and I took a polaroid photo for them, hopefully it turned out and hopefully they liked it. The hike out was much better weather and the only issue we had was one of the party had a set of ice cleats that were a size too big and kept slipping, binding, hooking, and tripping her. There is nothing worse for a hiker. I once had a set of snowshoes that kept hooking my pant cuffs and spilling me. It breaks your spirit and embarrasses you, then you get frustrated and it gets worse. For the record, every hiker hits these kind of problems and we dont judge, but when its happening to you, it can feel like you’re slowing everyone down. Eventually, one of the links on her cleats broke. I took a look and with my Leatherman put it back together a bit smaller, I then opened the links on the other side and did the same. I THINK it helped by making them less loose and sloppy on her feet. We made it to the trailhead without incident and went to a Mexican restaurant to celebrate.
The morning after the hike, I decided I had best head back ahead of some nasty incoming weather. My original plan was to go back along southern BC but it seemed they were expecting heavy rain and it was moving north. I decided to retrace my route. I didn’t waste much time on the road, I stopped again in Lillooet at the same café and this time had a chat with two other bikers who spotted my Royal Enfield and were curious about it. Its not a very common bike in Canada yet, and it looks a lot like the ones they made in the 1970s so it tends to get a lot of interest from fellow bike riders. As I was leaving I saw their big adventure bikes parked perfectly with some mountains in the background, I snapped a polaroid and brought it back to them in the café. I left before I could see it, so I hope it turned out. I stayed at a slightly nicer hotel in Kamloops and had a dip in the spa tub provided.
The last day was a long one and I didn’t take any photos. I think my travel journal I filled out at the end of the day properly conveys my feelings about it:
- Kamloops to Edmonton, just over 800km ride
- Ride to Jasper was nice, had pizza at Lou Lou’s
- Jasper to Edmonton was long and drawn out
- Hard crosswind made my windshield act like a sail
- 8 hours on a bike is achievable but undesirable
Technical Details/ Footnotes
I used my 2019 Royal Enfield Interceptor 650 equipped with a spitfire windshield, magnetic tank bag, luggage racks, soft sided saddle bags, and my hiking backpack in an airport bag. I wore a small backpack while riding that had a water bladder in it so I could drink without taking my helmet off. I find the convenience of it helps me stay hydrated which makes everything run smoother on a long day. I also brought a 1L fuel can but never needed it, it strapped nicely on my rear rack and wasn’t too expensive, to my surprise, it never leaked. I brought some basic tools and chain lube for my bike, and glass cleaner for my visor. One thing I debated was a clear or tinted visor and I was glad I went with tinted, my helmet has a drop down tinted lenses as well as the traditional visor and even with both tinted I found things a bit bright at times. I did bring clear safety glasses in the event that I did have to drive the bike at night.
Much like my Guatemala motorcycle trip, I really tried to focus on the concept of “I am ending my day there”, not “I am driving there”. This shift in attitudes really helps me slow down and enjoy the trip more. I take more time to eat, I stop at roadside attractions, and even take in museums. I am also a little proud of myself for socializing with people. It sounds strange considering the trips I’ve taken, but there was a time in my life were I would not have even considered a hike with 6 other people when I really only know one or two of them. I guess I am growing up and facing my social anxieties.
Posted in Hiking, Motorcycle, Travel and tagged backpacking, hiking, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith 3 comments.
Guatemala Group Trip Part 1: Airport Annoyance and Volcano Hike
There I was, early April with my non-refundable accommodations and airfare to Guatemala and a pink slip from my work. I had, rather abruptly, been laid off. I thought my boss was kidding until he opened his laptop to reveal HR letting me know it was a “business decision” to let me go. I briefly thought “wow, he really committed to this prank”. I was in a bit of a panic as I was now job hunting, worried about finance, and filling in the blanks for this trip. Then suddenly, a job came through. It was a camp job, two weeks on, two weeks off, and as luck would have it, I could work the two weeks before my trip and the two weeks after. I suddenly had a job, but only a few days to get ready for it and my trip. I went to work for two weeks, flew home for a day, flew to Guatemala for two weeks, then home for a day, then back to work…. and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Getting There
I’m not entirely sure how we decided on Guatemala… Natalie and Renata initially wanted to do Patagonia while I wanted to go to a scuba resort in Mexico. They somehow came up with Guatemala and informed me I was coming. Natalie also invited her friend Vanessa along. Getting to Guatemala turned out to be a real trick. I flew from Edmonton to Denver, waited 6 hours, then flew to Houston where my layover was supposed to only be 2 hours. It turns out they had a rain storm that re-routed Vanessa’s flight to New Orleans that morning, then she got sent to Houston in the evening. She ended up on the same flight as me from Houston to Guatemala City. Unfortunately that flight was delayed from 8pm to 1am. I met her for the first time at the airport and we did our best to survive the over-heated and over-crowded airport while over-tired. I did my best to keep spirits up and keep her entertained, but I don’t think she was enjoying my brief history of The Cajun people of the American South as much as I enjoyed talking about it. We landed at about 3am in Guatemala City to find that the airline had lost Vanessa’s bag with all her hiking gear that she would soon need.
We took a 45 minute car ride to our Airbnb in Antigua. I had pre arranged a private ride and the driver was kind enough to wait for our delayed flight. Natalie and Renata had already checked in and gone to bed. They left us the second room which contained a single queen sized bed. We agreed we were both too tired to draw straws about sleeping on the couch. I huddled against the far edge of the bed, doing my best to keep my distance for fear of making this near stranger uncomfortable. I fell asleep almost immediately and was informed in the morning that I do, in fact, snore. I had my suspicions. Renata took us for a walk around town on its old cobbled streets and translated for us so we could get some street food and we took a quick tour of a cathedral that was ruined by an earthquake in the 18th century. I also withdrew some cash and poor Vanessa began her fight with the airline to find her luggage, she was in a rush as we had a hike scheduled for the following day. In the afternoon we went to a coffee plantation and went for a self guided walk that got us somewhat lost, but it ended with pizza so I can’t be too sad. In the evening we went for another walk and saw the famous Arch de Santa Catalina and got some street food from the night market. I had recently started watching Anthony Bourdain’s TV shows online so I was keen to try the local food, it did not disappoint.
Somehow, the stars aligned and the airline was able to find the lost bag, but it wouldn’t be available until 2am. We weren’t exactly excited to take a taxi all the way there and back but luckily, instead, our driver from the previous night was able to pick it up and drop it off for her. It arrived late, but unharmed. We did our best to sleep but the 5 am alarm came in fast and loud.
Acatenango Hike
I pulled myself together and packed my gear. We made it to the shuttle just in time. It was about an hour drive to our guide’s headquarters. We, along with about two dozen other tourists, were treated to a breakfast and given a quick once over of the hike we would be doing. We were also given our own packed lunches to carry up. We were then loaded back into the vans and taken the short drive to the trailhead. We got out and started hiking uphill in a narrow valley, about a lane and a half wide and 8 feet deep, the ground was fine dirt, hundreds of people were walking up and down the hill and the dust was brutal. I didn’t think to put my bandana over my face and thought to myself, surely this is just for the first few hundred feet. I was wrong. The dust lasted for hours, and for a portion we walked between farmers fields up narrow hallways of barbed wire fence, so narrow we had to stop and lean on it to let people pass on their descent.
Slowly the trail started to improve but the sleep deprivation, the dust, and the long fattening winter had already done its work on me. We were now on less dusty trail, finding our way up switchbacks through the forest. We stopped part way up at the park gate and I was given a paper bracelet to show my fee had been paid. As the hike progressed I continued to be slow, dead slow, dead last in our group slow. Renata and Natalie were somewhere near the front and I would occasionally catch Vanessa. Around noon we stopped for a rest and I made the mistake of having a small snack. My stomach immediately tightened. My stomach felt like it was full of rocks and made of knotted rope. As I lagged behind, the guides were asking me repeatedly if I was ok. I repeated “yes, fine, tired” but deep down I was worried, this wasn’t like me to be a slow hiker. Juan De Fuca I was always first to camp, I did Skyline in two days, by accident… I was never slow. Was I maybe getting sick? that happens to me a lot when I travel, I think its the airplanes that make me sick. The last two hours of the hike I continually fought the urge to vomit. It was one of those days where as I walked I was always eyeing the best spot to stop and spew but somehow it never came to that.
I finally stumbled into camp, last in the line, and was told to go to hut 3. The huts were all in a row, attached like townhouses. The labels were odd and I accidentally went into cabin 4 to sit down and decompress. I was tired, frustrated, sick, and embarrassed and shedding a tear or two, which was interrupted by someone coming in, and politely, and awkwardly, explaining that I was in the wrong cabin. I meekly shuffled to the correct cabin and laid down for a few minutes and let my stomach and lungs settle to their appropriate locations and rhythms. Eventually I dragged myself out and into a chair out front. I forced my lunch down, chicken and rice, while taking in the view of the famous Fuego Volcano. It was spewing smoke periodically and we had a front row view. I chatted with the neighbors and eventually started to feel better. The guides came around and said that at 4pm they were guiding people down the valley and up the other side to get a closer look at the volcano. Renata opted to go on this side quest. Natalie and Vanessa weren’t feeling well so they stayed back and napped for a bit. I milled around camp, had some hot chocolate, and chatted with some of the other hikers. We also built a fire. As evening came, the clouds rolled in and we couldn’t see anything. Everyone else was woken up for supper, fried chicken and spaghetti, both good, but an odd combination.
After dinner, someone said they saw lightning and we all turned to look. As we did, the clouds cleared and we got a perfect view of the volcano spitting lava high into the sky. The was also causing an electrical storm above the volcano. We were now seeing eruptions and lightning strikes. Everyone got their phones and cameras out. I tried to get a picture but it was just a small red dot on my black screen which I thought was pretty funny. There were some serious photographers there and they were kind enough to share their photos after the fact.
We took in the show and realized our companions weren’t back yet from the volcano. We could see headlamps in the distance, but it turned out to be other tour groups. We later found out that those poor individuals hiked all the way there to be stuck in the fog, then turned back before it cleared. They still got a good show on the way back, but not the up close and personal look they had hoped for.
Eventually Renata made it back and we agreed it was bed time. Our cabin was a thin foam mattress on the ground, four pillows and four sleeping bags and little room for much else. We piled in and got comfy and if I sat up I could still see the volcano through the big window on the front of our cabin. I did my best to not think about how often that bedding was or wasn’t washed. We stayed up a little late laughing and joking. At some point, due to the thin wall, we could hear a ruckus from our neighbors banging on the wall followed by a heavily accented “sorry, there was an animal in here…… oh no, not animal… uh bug, a bug!” glad they clarified that. Throughout the evening the volcano continued to erupt, occasionally with enough blast that the cabins would shake a little.
At 3am Renata and Vanessa started the sunrise hike. Natalie and I still weren’t feeling well so we stayed back and slept in. I was told, after the fact, that it was a nice hike but very cold. Breakfast was tea and a cereal similar to corn flakes with hot milk and granola. It was quite good. Around 10 am we started our descent, I still felt really rough, but this time I at least had the good sense to put a bandana over my face to try and keep the dust out. About half way down, at the official park gate, there were also a few vendors, I bought a slice of watermelon for 5Q (about $1) and it was amazing.
We made it down, loaded into the vans and headed back to HQ for lunch and to get cleaned up. We were then driven back to the city and walked to our AirBnB, unfortunately we were early and couldn’t get in until the cleaner heard us making noise out front and let us in. Shortly after, a regal woman in a long white dress welcomed us and gave us a quick tour… we must have been quite the sight covered in dust and dirty clothes. Luckily the rental had two showers and we were able to get cleaned up a bit, this unit had four beds which was also a nice luxury. After getting cleaned up, we went for walk around the city and to get some dinner, we also found a patio and each got a cocktail.
I went to bed dog tired, and in the morning, I picked up my motorcycle, but that a story for next week.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged Acatenango, Antigua, backpacking, camping, Fuego Volcano, Guatemala, hiking, travel, Volcanowith no comments yet.
Jacques Lake Snowshoe Trip
I’m not sure how it happened, but my friend Natalie decided to make the trip from Vancouver to Edmonton for a weekend in March. I had met her about a year prior, when I did a solo trip to Nepal and met her at a hostel in Kathmandu. We ended up being good travel buddies and she even talked me into doing a motorcycle trip in Thailand. Once back in Canada she joined The Alpine Club of Canada, which is relevant to this tale. She used her membership to get us two spots in a cabin for one night when she was out.
Natalie flew into Edmonton late Wednesday and on Thursday morning we headed west to The Rockies. We stopped only for gas, groceries, and road snacks… the usual essentials. It was a long drive from highway 16 to the trail head near Moraine Lake. The steep banks were covered with melting snow and there was no shortage of large rocks on the highway. There were avalanche warnings, but the road was still, officially, open. We arrived at the trailhead early in the afternoon and started to gear up. The weather was a balmy 8 degrees Celsius. I put on wool socks and base layers under my thin hiking pants. On top I wore a t shirt, a long sleeve, a fleece hoodie, and a toque. I chuckled to myself that I have definitely worn warmer clothes in July for hiking, I guess I was just tuned into the colder weather. I put extra layers into my pack and strapped my snowshoes on the outside. Natalie, being from a warmer climate, wore ski pants and a proper jacket. She also strapped her snowshoes onto the outside of her pack. I had purchased my snowshoes nearly 10 years ago on my employee discount back when I worked retail during university, and this was the first time I had honesty used them and it felt great. Natalie’s set had been borrowed from my employer (with permission).
We started by crossing a small bridge and then onto the trail. The sun was out and the snow reflected the heat onto us. I had managed to get lucky and dress perfectly for the weather. Natalie didn’t complain but I assumed she was overheating. The trail was initially packed down enough that we just walked in our hiking boots. Almost immediately into the trail I found a large rubber band on the ground. The kind you would find on broccoli at the grocery store. It struck me as odd and I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Throughout the hike I ended up finding half a dozen of these and for the life of me I cannot imagine what people were using them for. Perhaps a gear tie of some sort?
We hit a nice view of the mountains and the trail and I took two photos with my old Polaroid camera to see how it worked. It did not work well. I think it was too cold and too bright for that camera to really shine. Only one of the photos turned out ok. It was a shame, that could have been a fun thing but instead it just kind of tagged along for the ride in my pack.
When the trail opened up at Summit Lakes, the snow was deep enough around the edges that the snowshoes were necessary. Before that, I was worried we wouldn’t need them, and I would have to wait another 10 years to use them. Towards the end of Summit lakes, I pulled some snacks out of my pack, my classic combination of Hawkins Cheezies and beef jerky. It was a hit, no surprise. Fair warning, this delicious combo requires extra water to wash it down, its very salty.
On the far side of Summit Lakes, it turned back into a trail through the trees. We were able to remove our snowshoes again. This time we both opted to just carry them instead of strap them back onto our packs. At one point Natalie was leading and stepped over a downed log on the trail. I went to follow suit, but stepped to close to the edge and as I put all my weight on my left foot to lift my right over the log, I fell through the snow. I came down hard with the inside of my right thigh, slamming into the downed tree and I fell backward onto my pack, twisting my knee. The sharp edges of my snowshoes bashed into my left hand as they bounced off the log. I laid there laughing and Natalie turned around to see what the commotion was. After a moment of reflection, I pulled myself up and out and then she realized I had gone through and not just slipped. I did a quick once over on my limbs and nothing was too badly hurt, aside from my pride. My hand was ringing with pain, but had little more than a scratch on it. We carried on, me having learned a lesson, stay centered on the trail when possible.
We arrived at the summer campsite which I had stayed at many years before and I noticed it had changed a bit. They installed bear boxes for food storage to replace the bear poles and they had gotten rid of two picnic tables. Just beyond the campsite the trail led us to a rather rough looking bridge. I opted to cross first, if it could support me, Natalie would be fine. On the far side of the bridge we ducked under a few tree limbs and made it to the edge of the clearing the cabin was in. There were a few people on the porch and they gave us a friendly wave.
It turns out the Cabin could hold 8. It had 2 big bunk beds and each bunk could accommodate two people. Of the 8 spots, 6 were taken by one group. It was a man and his friend, and his daughter and her friend… and then two people they had befriended through the club… I think. It was only really explained to me once. They were very friendly and because they got there before us, they had already had snow melted for water and the cabins propane furnace was already running.
We unpacked while we made everyone’s acquaintance and then Natalie made mac and cheese while I made a salad (I had carried in an easy to make bag salad). Washing dishes was an interesting endeavor. It required three basins: a wash, a rinse, and a disinfect. It was a smart system, though it did require a lot of counter space. The remainder of the evening was spent with Natalie and I talking to each other about upcoming trips, and hikes we had already done. She also took the opportunity to chat with our fellow guests, one of whom was big into sailing and she was even able to recommend a sailing school in Vancouver for Natalie. I was quite tired from the drive and the hike so I wasn’t as social as I should have been.
Eventually the night wound down and I had no trouble falling asleep and staying that way. In the morning, two of the guests were up early as they had to ski out and then drive home to somewhere far away in BC that day. The rest if us had a slower start, our end destination for the day was a hotel in Jasper and the other guests were spending another night. For breakfast we had cereal, one of my favorites. It’s just granola, freeze dried fruit, chocolate chips (optional, but I have a sweet tooth), and powdered milk. I make it at home in a zip-loc bag and on the trial, just add water. We slowly put our gear on, overnight my socks went from soaked to barely damp which was a big relief… until I stepped into the rubber mat under the sink. It was all the water that had been poured down the sink during food prep, and brushing teeth. It usually goes into a 5 gallon pail, but some found its way onto the rubber mat and that found its way onto my right sock. I suppressed my gag reflex and did what I could to squeeze the water out of my sock. I soon realized it didn’t matter, my boots, overnight, went from sopping dripping wet to just waterlogged so my socks were wet immediately. I guess the waterproofing on my boots needed a refresh.
We strapped our snowshoes on and said our goodbyes. We decided to head back along the lake, it felt fairly safe since there were fresh ski tracks on it. I did have brief, morbid and comical, thought of following the ski tracks right up to a hole in the ice. After a few hundred yards it felt a lot less safe when we saw that springs had been pumping water onto the ice near the shore and created open patches. I unbuckled my pack, in case I went through, and we went wide around them. At the south tip of Jaques Lake we followed some ski tracks through the trees along a river that connected to the other lakes. There were a few questionable maneuvers here crossing ice that clearly had a stream running below. Luckily none of it was overly fast or deep so going through would have meant cold legs rather than risk of life and limb. All the same, I wanted to stay out of the water this time of year. Overall, it was a much nicer trail than the one in the trees we had taken the day before and it made the snowshoes feel a little more necessary, which was, after all, part of the fun. Eventually we made it back to Summit Lakes and followed our old tracks out without incident. Once at the trailhead I changed into fresh, less sweaty and smelly shirts and celebrated with a root beer, because deep down, for me, hiking is all about good snacks… and I guess good company never hurts.
Technical/gear
I’ve had people on other posts ask about gear and technical information. So I’m tying to add it at the end. For this trip the only special gear we used was the snow shoes. Both of us used MSR brand which I like because the sharp bottoms work well on ice, but they did also cut the lower cuff of my pants. That said, this was my first use of snowshoes so I am far from an authority on them. I wore my regular summer hiking gear and some base layers. My regular old hiking boots strapped into the snow shoes. Natalie wore her ski gear to be extra warm. The Jacques lake hike is a great starter hike because its only about 12km each way with minimal elevation gain and great views. This also makes it great for snowshoeing and the use of the Alpine Club of Canada’s cabin meant that we didn’t have to bring cooking gear, a tent, or even a sleep mat so our packs were quite light. Sleeping in a heated cabin is also a nice touch. The people we met at the cabin had skied in and all agreed that snow shoes probably would have been better as some of the trails were a little tight and winding, that said, along the lakes when we hiked out skis would have been faster. You probably cant go wrong with either and current snow conditions were also likely a big factor.
Posted in Hiking and tagged Alberta, backcountry, backpacking, hiking, Outdoors, snowshoeingwith 1 comment.
Juan De Fuca Marine Trail
I first learned of the Juan De Fuca Marine Trail immediately after hiking the West Coast Trail I had just finished the hike and was walking into a Part Renfrew restaurant for food and I saw the sign for it and asked one of my fellow hikers what it was. They explained it was a less-known hike that continued where the West Coast Trail left off. Fast forward to this year, for a lot of reasons I’ve been in a mood to do something silly and had to take a shift off of work for a friend’s wedding and ended up with about 10 days to do something, so I flew myself to victoria, got a hostel for a night, hit the trail for a few days and then spent two more days in Victoria before flying home. One of those days was spent on a little honda scooter doing a lap around the city along the coastline, but that’s another tale for another time.
Day 1: Victoria to Port Renfrew to Botanical to Little Kuitshe Creek Campsite
Day one was a little rough, I had to be up nice and early to catch the bus from downtown Victoria to Port Renfrew which took somewhere around 3 hours, by the time the dust settled. From where the bus dropped me, and a few others off, it was about a 2.5km walk along a paved road to get to the trailhead, Botanical Beach. Along the way, I made friends with two younger guys who were doing the trail for the first time (but had done the West Coast Trail the year before). They pulled ahead of me at the start of the trek when I stopped to pay my camping fees (they did theirs online before starting). I stopped at Botanical to have a quick breakfast and take a look at the tide pools. This is where I made a big mistake. It didn’t seem that impressive or exciting to me so I didn’t hang around long. Turns out I should have waited for low tide. I later learned that it’s one of the best sites/beaches on the island when the tide is fully out. Lesson learned for next time. The trail from the beach was initially a nice forest walk through some nice big trees, eventually, the trees tightened in on the trail which turned into ugly roots and mud. Lots of mud. Before the trail got too bad I took a detour to Providence Cove where I met back up with the two young men I had somewhat befriended, as well as a pair of girls hiking. The guys and I intended to stay at Little Kuitshe while the two girls intended to stay at Sombrio beach so they could make a push the next day to avoid Chin Beach which they were told had no food cache boxes. From the cove to the campsite was a rough ugly hike, with ankle-deep mud, and slippery ankle buster roots. I overtook the two guys, one of whom said he was having problems with his knee. The girls were miles ahead and I didn’t see them again that day. Little Kuitshe campsite was fairly unimpressive, which is what I had read about it previously. It’s just a patch of land high above the water with space for tents. Hours after my arrival the two guys came into camp, one limping. His knee had really gotten bad so he was going to hike out in the morning and catch a ride back to town.
Day 2: Little Kuitshe to Chin Beach
Day 2 of hiking was far better than day 1. Way less mud and a lot more technical. It was still a lot of hiking in the trees with the occasional view of the ocean. Somewhere along the way was Sombrio beach which was a welcome relief from walking in the forest, it’s a coastal hike, let’s hike along the water! Sombrio was pretty busy since it’s a nice beach and easily accessible by car. I passed the two girls from the previous day, they were both fast asleep on the beach. I later learned from other hikers one of them had hurt her ankle and they had to quit. On the far east end was an unmarked stream with a trail that led to a waterfall. It’s called a secret waterfall, but it’s not that big of a secret based on how many people wandered in and out. Also, I asked someone about it and they pointed me right to it. After Sombrio it was time for one of the harder portions of the hike. I found it actually easier than day one because instead of a boggy mudhole, it was just elevation gain and loss. Fortunately, there was also a 2km ish stretch of a nice maintained gravel path. I got to Chin Beach and found the bear cache was actually there, but was under a very large tree and had been crushed flat. I dug some rope out of my pack and hung my food up near the outhouses. Later someone informed me there was a proper cache farther up the trail so I went to retrieve my food and move it. I found someone had set their tent up right underneath my food and right beside the bathroom. They had an entire beach they could camp on yet somehow they felt that under a stranger’s food and in the stench of an outhouse was the best spot. I wondered if they knew something I didn’t but settled on the more likely scenario that they just didn’t know a lot. I made friendly conversation with a couple, Chris and AJ, sun tanning on the beach and drinking wine, they seemed like my kind of people. They invited me to come by later for a campfire. While chatting with them, a couple came by and the girl announced she had lost a boot to the ocean. I wish I had asked how that happened, Chris, jumped up and shouted that he had found a single flip-flop sandal in their campsite when they arrived. Wouldnt you know it, it was the right foot and close to the right size. Luckily a highway runs parallel to the trail so there are a lot of opportunities to hike out when things like this happen. Later when I went back for a campfire, a few more people had shown up and it was quite a communal event. There were 3 more people there, one of whom was taking her friend on her first hike, that friend was exhausted and slept from about 5 pm until sometime the next day when I saw them again.
Day 3: Chin to Bear Beach
Day 3 was more challenging than day 2 overall, it was about the same level of difficulty, there was just more distance at that difficulty. At some point, I took a wrong turn and ended up going too far to turn back. I had to slog through calf-deep mud and climb a ladder made of tree roots to get back on the trail, all in view of the nice bridge I should have used to cross the little Valley. Later I found a steel bridge that had been destroyed by a large tree falling on it, I’m seeing a pattern here of trees wrecking things. I was told I could climb down, cross the shallow creek and then climb up… but there’s no sense of adventure there so instead I slid down the bridge, climbed onto the log, and then jumped to the other side. It sounds exciting but this was all about eight feet above the creek. Bear Beach was by far my favorite campsite. I was able to set up my little tent just above the high water mark on the shoreline and have a small fire in front of my tent. Also all the people I had met the evening before camped in the same area. The two newer hikers camped beside me again and I saw why they were so tired, their bags were nearly double the necessary size and set for someone a foot taller than them. I adjusted their bags as much as I could for proper fit and the following day I was told it helped a lot, hopefully, that’s true and they weren’t just being polite.
Day 4: Bear Beach to Mystic Beach to China Beach to Victoria
Day 4 was going to be an easy lazy day. I had 9km of “moderate” hiking and the bus was scheduled to pick me up at the trailhead at 6:30 pm. In the morning I got lucky and had my tent packed just before it started to lightly rain. The rain only lasted about an hour and was the only rain of my hike, a rare stroke of luck for a hike along the coast. The trail out was gentle and had a few ladders and bridges. The previous day I had damaged my water filter while showing someone how great it is. I use a Sawyer squeeze filter, basically, you fill a bladder with water (like a platypus bag) screw on the filter, and squeeze it into your water bottle… well I split the bag so I couldn’t squeeze. Luckily for me, I also had water purifying tables because the creeks run from roads and inhabited land. I filled my bottles with the cleanest stream water I could find and tossed two tablets in to be extra safe. After an hour of them doing their thing, I took a swig of what tasted like jacuzzi water. At least I know I won’t catch anything from the water. In my poor research phase, I had thought that the trail ended at China beach, but it actually ends at Mystic beach which shares a trailhead with China beach, hence my confusion. I got to mystic around noon. I wandered around and relaxed for a few hours and even managed to find some beach glass and a small cove on the west end. From there I walked the extra few km to China beach and waded in the cool water then sat back, relaxed, and listened to some music while I waited for the bus to come. Once back in Victoria I hit the first pizza place I could find for two slices and an ice cold rootbeer. I checked into the hostel, had a quick shower, and hurried to the attached bar for a beer.
Posted in Hiking, Travelwith 1 comment.
Waterton Flop
Life’s barely long enough to get good at one thing. So be careful what you get good at.
Rust Cohle
My original intention was to drive to Waterton, spend the night in town, then a night at Twin Lakes followed by a night at Goat Lake with fishing at both. I arrived at Waterton to find its changed a lot in the nearly 7 years since I’d been there last. The quiet little town was full to the brim, standing room only. It was nice to see it getting the attention it deserved, but I was sad to see my memory’s version of it as a sleepy mountain town no longer exists.
When I got to the visitor center to pick up my backcountry permit I was informed that both of those trails were completely “snowbound” and fishing season didn’t open for another week. It was my own fault for not looking closer at the regulations and checking the trail reports. I’m still learning how to do this all myself and sometimes simple things fall through the cracks. I was offered instead, a 2-night permit for Alderson lake or one night at Alderson and one night at Bertha Lake. 2-days at Alderson sounded rather dull so I went with the two separate hikes.
The next morning I hiked into Alderson Lake. I was at my camp sight before noon. The trail itself was somewhat uneventful. The most interesting part was the waterfall at the trailhead. Alderson Lake, in its defense, is a nice-looking lake, but it’s the tail end of a much longer hike that starts at Cameron Lake. Unfortunately due to the large amounts of remaining snow, I could not press further down the trail to sightsee. I was penciled in to spend the next 20 or so hours, alone, beside a cold windy lake that I couldn’t even fish in.
I decided to have a nap in my little tent, it was interrupted by yelling and a banging coming from near the outhouse. I got my boots on and grabbed my bear spray and ran to investigate. I found two young men with day packs and fishing rods attacking the outhouse. I asked what was going on and they explained there was “a huge groundhog in the outhouse” I poked my head in and saw the unmistakable grizzly-like silver-tipped brown hair of a marmot. I told them what it was and to be careful, they have a little more claw than a groundhog. Their tactic of standing in the doorway and throwing things and poking it clearly wasn’t working, I suggested baiting it out and giving it space. They were already there illegally fishing, may as well feed the wildlife too, seemed less wrong that harassing the wildlife. They tossed it some cheese crackers and gave it some space, I went back to my tent to resume my half-hearted nap.
When 5 pm rolled around I got up and visited the outhouse, to my relief it was vacant. I then made myself some dinner of sausage, rice, and beans… it was terrible. I was trying something new and it didn’t work. It sat in my stomach like a cannonball. I walked around the campsite and enjoyed the view of the lake now that the wind had somewhat died down. I then lay down and read a few chapters in my book. As the wind gusts hammered my little tent, and my stomach went from a cannonball to molten lead, I realized I wasn’t having a good time… and tomorrow it was supposed to rain.
As I read, I contemplated my options and considered hiking out that night, I decided to finish my page in my book and make a decision. The last line of the page, in Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, was “The only Zen you find on the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there. Let’s get out of here.”
I can’t even imagine a more serendipitous and appropriate thing to read at that moment. I was feeling sad and alone on the side of a mountain having brought no zen with me. I snapped the book shut and checked my watch, 8:30 pm. Sunset was 9:44 pm and I had 7km of well-marked trail to my car. To hell with it, I’m leaving. I packed with fervor and within a matter of minutes, I was on the trail making my way out.
The entire hike out I had to keep asking myself, did I not like hiking, or did I not like THIS hike? Maybe I don’t like hiking, I just liked the people I used to hike with. The entire way out I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched or followed, nothing sinister, just that feeling you get sometimes. I kept looking back expecting to see something like maybe a deer on the trail looking at me. I arrived at the trailhead around 10 pm and pointed my car home. Apologies to Bertha Lake, I’m sure it’s lovely but I wasn’t in the mood. I arrived back home at 430 am with little more than a yawn on the road.
It also crossed my mind that if I don’t like hiking, that means I’ve spent the last 10 years getting good at something I don’t like. It would make this blog an even more foolish endeavor. I have a big hike planned for a little over a week from now. I intend to go and give this some serious consideration while hiking the Juan De Fuca Marine Trail. This post may very well be my swan song. A story ending with me being chased off a mountain by my imagination. I write this post at 5 am after driving through the night. It feels like an appropriate end since my first story started with me writing in a fever at 3 am 10 years ago, almost to the day. In that time my blog has accumulated about 1 follower per year, several of whom I know have since passed away. A smart man would end it here, but I’ve always been a fool, so I guess we will see.
Posted in Hikingwith 1 comment.
A Cutthroat Hike
This is a story I had published in Hooked Magazine (Volume 14 Issue 1 of 2021). My original was about three times the length and they asked me to trim it down so it would fit in the magazine, I think they were correct in asking me to do that
“As I stripped line in, I saw a flash and cut through the water, I yelled to Erin ‘wait, I think I may have actually caught something here.’
Abraham Lakes
Amidst the chaos of Covid lockdowns, my wife and I decided, last minute, that we needed a break. Travel bans had caused our local national parks, Jasper and Banff, to fill. We opted instead to make use of some crown land and alpine lakes near Abraham Lake just southwest of Edmonton. This area, colloquially referred to as Abraham Lakes, was also quite busy but we figured the further we hiked in, the less crowded it would get.
Landslide Lake
We did our best to get organized and after a few pitstops my wife, my dog, and myself were at the trail head at 730pm. Luckily, we were on vacation and weren’t beholden to a clock. We hiked in until about 930, set up camp, and had dinner beside a small fire. In the morning we would hike the rest of the way to our destination, Landslide Lake.
On the second day, the trail was mostly treed with a few steep inclines, some bridges, and a few great vantage points with mountain views. Just before the lake, the trail skirted a huge boulder field, likely the lake’s namesake. The lake itself was a real beauty, larger than I expected. We set up camp, Erin relaxed with Jasper, our dog, and I assembled my fly rod. I was really dragging my heels for fear of failure. It had been years since I last fly-fished. I was in that terrible mindset of “If I don’t try, I can’t fail.” I think Erin could tell and spurred me along. I headed for a bay we spotted on the way in, it had a nice boulder sticking out that looked like a good place to fish from.
The Fishing
Unsure of what to use, I opted to try a dry fly that imitates a mosquito. I got up on my rock and surveyed. It appeared it was the right time and place, the fish were rising. I made a few shaky false casts and my line piled up in front of me, it was ugly. A few more casting attempts later and things were looking a little closer to a proper cast. Finally, I managed a proper presentation. I watched a small blue-green fish approach and inspect before biting and diving, I pulled up and set the hook. I kept the tension and brought the small fish in, I pulled the line up out of the water, the fish wiggled and wriggled… and was gone… with my hook. I guess my knot tying wasn’t up to snuff. Luckily my fly box, much like my fishing spot, was well stocked with mosquitos. I tied a fresh one on and went back to it. I quickly landed three more small cutthroat trout, my first ever.
Eventually one of my wild back-casts caught a small shrub behind me. I went and started untangling my hook from the branches. A minute into it, I broke out laughing as I realized I was untangling a Parachute Adams some other fisherman left behind. I got it, some line, and my own hook out of the tree, and resumed. We took a break to have dinner. Afterward, I went back alone but didn’t have any luck.
Lake of the Falls
Day 3 we headed to Lake of the Falls. The hike down from Landslide Lake wasn’t too bad, but the hike up to Lake of the Falls was an absolute slog. After what felt like a week of uphill, we were rewarded with a nice flat walk along an oxbow stream. As we got up to the lake itself, we passed a little bay, this one was shallow and clear, we could actually see fish in it, suspend motionless, with the occasional gentle rise and grab of a bug. We found a campsite along the shore that looked like a good fishing spot and staked our claim.
Personal Best
I assembled my fly rod and Erin went for a glacial swim, the water was so cold I could barely dip my feet in. I had other priorities anyway. No fish were rising, but I recalled one of my first fly fishing experiences an old man told me the bigger fish tend to eat bigger bugs sinking down. I tied on a woolly bugger and hoped. I cast a bit and had a few bites, but no fish wanted to commit. I asked Erin if she wanted to try, she had never fly fished before but she’s a quick learner. Within minutes she landed the first fish of the day. With a satisfied smile, she handed me the rod and said “try to catch up.” It didn’t take long, I managed to land a nice little trout or two. Then while fishing a drop-off, I connected again, this time with something bigger. As I stripped line in, I saw a flash and cut through the water, I yelled to Erin “wait, I think I may have actually caught something here.” A minute of angling later, I had landed a very respectable cutthroat, the largest trout I had ever caught. Keep in mind I’m pretty inexperienced. We got a few pictures and released it. Tragically, around dinnertime, my woolly bugger managed to get snagged on something underwater and broke off… I was tempted to go in after it, it was the only one I had packed. I opted instead to replace it with a bloodworm. I cast the line out a few times but only connected on one more fish.
Bull Trout
The next morning, while Erin made her coffee, I snuck ahead and wiggled my way through the trees, rod in hand, to the little bay we had seen the day before. My bloodworm and I, gave it the old college try. A few casts and fewer nibbles later, I had one on the line, a real scrapper. It appeared to be a brook trout, a personal best one too. I snapped a photo and sent it on its way. I didn’t bring my net so I was grabbing with wet hands and getting them back into the water as fast as possible. Unfortunately, in my haste, I made a mistake, it was actually a rare bull trout. Something Reddit pointed out to me. Had I the presence of mind, or the time, I could have easily checked the dorsal fin (a lack of black dots on its dorsal fin is an indication that it’s a bull trout).
Pack Out
Shortly after my catch, Erin arrived and we headed out, we had a long hike ahead of us. It turned out that that terrible uphill slog, although worth it for the fishing, is quite dangerous to go down with a dog tied to your pack. Jasper is a runner, so we keep him leashed. While descending a steep hill, he sometimes pulls, causing me to slide, which scares him, causing him to pull harder. Overall, though, he did very well. At the end of the hike, all three of us were hot, tired, and thirsty. Erin opted to cool off in Abraham Lake. I only got my feet wet, but I dipped Jasper in against his will. We stopped in Rocky Mountain House for pizza and Jasper slept like a log the entire drive home. The next day at work my feet hurt, but I was too busy showing off my fishing pictures to even think about that.
Posted in Fishing, Hiking, Published Workwith 2 comments.