They had an ambitious plan of a week long adventure with multiple night stopovers in a few base camps. One goal that caught my attention was to hang in a rarely visited part of Bridger’s 428,000 acre Wilderness. The place (I swore secrecy, but I can be bought) is popular with big wall climbers but not-so-much with the hiking crowd.
Through the years, I’ve discovered backpacking is a sure “Lose Weight! Ask me how!” ordeal. On my last three night trip into Colorado’s Maroon Bell Wilderness, I shed 3-5 pounds.
I reckoned I’d have the girth of 16 ounce can of Imperial IPA if I were in for a week. So I settled for five nights of weight loss.
We met in Pinedale, Wyoming. That evening we all adjourned to the Wind River Brewpub, home of mediocre microbrews. (It’s the only game in town). We commiserated about our ailments and owies, the current never ending political and Constitutional Crisis (in whispered tones) and laughed in between. We set a game plan of a 6 am breakfast followed by a 57 mile commute to the trailhead. We then bid each other goodnight.
The parking lot was awash with vehicles. (I was here with Nelson a decade ago. This wasn’t the case). I parked Barley at an angled spot. A drugstore Cowboy (when your jeans have ironed creases and theirs no horseshit on your shiny boots, you are a drugstore Cowboy) informed me Barley might be in the way of the incoming horse trailers. I moved a few feet and heard, “Blap! Blap! Blap!” OY! I’m no mechanic nor do I pretend to be one on TV, but I know this is No Bueno. I hustled over to Bill and asked for his opinion. We checked the oil level (OK) and looked for leaks or hanging stuff (none). He sagely advised me to take it easy going back to Pinedale with my windows open. Barley was now exhausting noxious gases into my living space. Double OY.
We hit the trail en route to Marm’s Lake. Upon arriving we noticed all the primo campsites were occupied. We settled for a sloped chunk of property above the lake. This would be our home for two nights.
The next morning we all went off in different directions. Bill volunteered to scout the route to our secret Nirvana. Nelson went off to do bonus miles. Me? On Nelson’s suggestion I headed up to Texas Pass to play voyeur into the Cirque of the Towers. (The reason for all the vehicles in the parking lot).
It was a beautiful hike on an atypical weather day. Warm, windless and very blue. The Wind River Range can witness White Death anytime of the year. In the 80’s I woke to an inch in late July. Apparently a massive high pressure system loomed overhead. I wasn’t complaining.
The trail went up to Shadow Lake. It was a crowded camper scene. I spotted a worn down social trail leading uphill along a creek. I passed a guided quorum of backpackers and was then alone.
At Texas Lake, the route went vertical to the pass. There were tight switchbacks consisting of slippery gravel. Yes, I wiped out. No blood, no foul. At the top, there was a sign indicating the border between the Teton and Shoshone National Forests, but no vista of the Cirque. I dropped down a few hundred feet, until I saw what the hubbub was all about. OK, it’s an amazing place.
See for yourself.
I had lunch with a view while watching backpackers come up two by two. I retreated back and discovered all those hikers knew each other. They were a supersized extended family of Ukrainians. Upon learning this, I called out, “ Nostrovia Comrades! Welcome to the new Nation of the US of Kremlinstan!” I didn’t really say that, but I thought about it. I smiled all the way back to camp.
I stopped grinning when I realized my mechanical predicament. My food supply would run out by Saturday. The mechanics in Pinedale cease work on the Jewish Sabbath. I needed to be out by Thursday for a Friday repair. I had one day to do a look into the “Promised Land.”
I’ll make a long blog short. There’s no trail into the mystery valley. That’s why few hikers trod in there. Which leads me to another point. I hate bushwhacking. When I was a grunt for the US Forest Service, my jobs included firefighting, setting up timber sales and doing forest inventory. There were no trails included in my job description. I’d walk, crawl, fall and curse over downed trees. I’d head straight up hillsides without the benefit of switchbacks. I sweated a lot. At the end of the work day, I was bruised and beaten down. I fertilized the forest with my blood. Now, I’m not really a fan of going sans trails.
So... I got lost. Nelson and Bill were somewhere behind me. I waited and realized, I missed a turn. I retreated back to established turf while looking for my screwup. On a hillside, I saw a trace. I followed it up with the thread coming and going. Eventually it opened up to an amazing sight. There were BIGLY wall peaks, domes and ponds. There was no Nelson and Bill in view. I sighed, took a few pix and returned the way I came.
That night I had a swank outfitter camp to myself. On Thursday, I hoofed out ten miles. I spent the night in an overpriced Pinedale hotel. By noon on Friday, I was $740 poorer but a working Barley the Van richer. The Pinedale brewpub’s beer didn’t improve with age.
Final Note to Nelson and Bill: I’m sorry if I caused any duress. Trust me when I say I’d rather have been in the Wilderness than Pinedale, Wyoming...again. My treat for Happy Hour when I see you in the Fall.
From Victor, Idaho ( Yawn! )
Cheers!
Jeff
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