Ambition is a funny cake. It has a pretty straight forward recipe:
1 T Belief in One's Self
A pinch of Loving a Good Challenge
Add some Possible Personal Advancement zest to taste
Set the blender of Property Equipped to puree
Pour the mix into the baking pan of Thrilling Adventure
Bake in the oven of Careful Preparation for 35 mins
When it’s finished, take it out and let stand in the air of Forecasted Glow of Accomplishment for 5 minutes
Then crack open two quarts of Pure Denial and frost the hell out of it.
“Ambition is the last refuge of failure” – Oscar Wilde
It’s ok to be ambitious in our daily, sheltered lives within the safety of our little jobs, the support of our friends and the confines of our comfortable domiciles. However, when ambition is pitted against Mother Nature, it’s damn near hubris. On Memorial Day 2009, the following intrepid souls decided to mount an assault on the Buena Vista Lake loop of the southwestern section of Yosemite National Park:
Kimi Klasser
Laura Smith
Libby Nikkel
Brady Vant Hull
Charlie McDanger
Dan Nikkel
Dave Goodin
Eric Jaffe
The first 7’s bravery should be applauded for following that last fool into a wilderness area that is only lightly traveled due to significant obstacles that are well published. But somehow, I missed the signs…again.
You know what my favorite thing about backpacking (and general traveling) is? Problem solving. The truth about backpacking is that things will go wrong. It’s all part of the fun. The trick is not to get mad about it. One needs to welcome the missteps and find fast patches to get back on track. The next best thing to taking that last stride across the finish line is finding one’s way under, around, over or through the scores of road blocks that come after the start. The experience is not all about the arrival at the destination. Its about the journey.
This is our story…
Day One:
Dan and I worked until 3:30 AM and roused themselves sometime around 4:30 AM. The intent was to beat the traffic. We made it to Gorman in about an hour and ten with Dan at the helm of Libby’s 2003 Honda Civic aptly named “Civy.” That’s where we pulled off for some good old-fashioned Carl’s Jr. breakfast sandwiches and a change of driver. We used the drive-thru because we were too lazy to get out of the car. We eagerly accepted our highly processed grub, Libby took the wheel and off we went. We got a couple hundred yards down the road, when I discovered that we had been royally gypped. Old Junior didn’t include our tater tots with our value meals. Not to be defeated this early in our voyage, Dan phoned the establishment and asked if we were supposed to receive our expected fried potato balls. Junior acknowledged the mistake and Libby spun us back to front door of the restaurant. Dan marched inside and returned within 90 seconds with an air of victory. Dan and I stuffed our faces and that was the last thing that they remember until Fresno.
Fresno afforded us a quick stop at Mimi’s Café for some Austin Power’s quotes and a second stop at REI for me. I realized in Westwood that I left my recently purchased bag of goodies and half of my sleep-deprived mind in my storage cupboard. Libby picked up a book for the trip that she was very excited about and Dan got some light vacation reading as well: The E-Myth. Nice work Dan. Way to get away for a bit.
Off again and closer than we were to natural bliss. We discussed important concepts along the way like: What is the average root depth of a redwood tree? This one stumped us, no pun intended. Upon reaching the Wawona Hotel, we bee-lined for the ranger’s office. The next ten minutes steered us on that fateful course from which we may never fully recover. Though I had already performed all the research necessary to execute a route that would fulfill all of our fantasies, I decided to completely change our trail and head out on a pathway that I had never read about. On the map in the ranger’s station, this new trail looked so much cooler than the one that I had painstakingly planned. So I asked if we could amend the route. The young ranged looked at me with arched brow and said, “Well, you know that you will probably encounter some snow up at this elevation, right?” I looked at Libby, who looked right back at me as if she were posing the question to me again, but her version read more like, “Well, you know that you will probably encounter some snow up at this elevation, right IDIOT!!??!!” So I looked back at the ranger and I said, “Oh sure. Everyone is totally equipped for that.” I’m sure that was reassuring to Dan and Libby who had just asked me two days before if I thought that they should buy new hiking boots because they preferred to just wear their tennis shoes. The ranger said, “Great!” and then proceeded to make the change to our permit in the computer. After printing our new permit he brought out the rules, regs, disclosures and certain death language. Then he said, “Since you are the group leader, you are responsible for everybody. Please sign here.” With pursed lips, I twisted the pen in my grip for three or four pensive moments. And then I signed the dotted line: D-A-N N-I-K-K-E-L. I smiled and handed him back the sheet which he promptly filed. Then he told us about all the bears that we would run into and quizzed us on what we would do if we saw them. Our collective brainpower earned us a 60% score on that exam, but in this country of minimal standards and low expectations, that was a pass! So we grabbed our belongings and confidently strolled out of the rangers sight.
I booked the permit really late. I think I finally ordered one about three weeks before the trip. The year before I had applied in January. As a result of my late booking, I didn’t really have our party organized until just a few days before the trip. As a matter of fact, at the time I got the permit, I thought there was a strong to very strong chance that I would be on a solo trek, but I got 10 permits anyway, just in case. Two weeks prior to departure, Kimi Klasser committed. One week to go and Zak Johnson signed a contract with me that he would definitely go this year. Rapp, Bertsch and I had been inviting this guy on camping trips for about 15 years. Without fail he always says that he will go, but he still hasn’t been once. So when he committed, I was particularly enthused. 6 days to go and Libby and Dan signed on. 5 days to go, Brady cleared his skedge and put his name on the list. 4 days to go and Laura, Goods and McDanger said they were good for the trip and as a surprise, Zak was bringing along another chum from high school, Shawn Webster. We had 10! And Scoby and Cangro were trying to make it happen as well. 2 days to go and Zak and Webster dropped out. Liquidated Damages on Zak’s contract will cost him some highly priced, fermented liquid. So 8 it was.
Since everything was organized late, I wasn’t able to get a campsite for Friday night in the park. So we left Wawona and headed to Fish Camp, a town just south of the park. There’s not a very good reservation service for campgrounds around the area. I was told a few days before that all the campgrounds in the area were booked. We asked the locals for some advice. They told us to go to drive to the campsites to see if there were any spaces open. Lib, Danimal and I hopped into Civy and headed toward Big Sandy Campground with the low fuel light on. The road to Big Sandy is a beautiful, twisting dirt road that is a slow go. 30 minutes later we were 4 miles into the 6 mile uphill drive and concerns began to expand about Civy slurping the bottom of her gas tank. A few minutes later, we arrived at Big Sandy. And there she was, an open, level piece of soil just along the edge of a broad creek with room for several tents and a couple of cars. It even came equipped with a picnic table, a fire pit and an iron grill over the top of it. As a bonus, the enclosed wilderness commode was close enough to walk to without a flashlight, but far enough to not interfere with nature’s piney aromas.
AT&T apparently does not think it is important to cover semi-remote locations like Yosemite and the surrounding communities with customary telecommunication abilities. Dan and Lib were equipped with iphones, thus they were up a creek without a paddle. I, on the other hand, am a Verizon stalwart for just such an occasion and I had reception. Well I did, until the battery went out because I had forgotten to infuse an electrical charge during my frenzied evening of work the night before. So that left us with no way to contact the outside world, which isn’t bad. The problem was that I had yet to check that box on my planning list: organize a meeting point. We found our meeting point, but we had now way of telling our commrades. So we had to find a solution. It was decided that Dan and Lib would travel the dusty road again to Fish Camp, put gas into Civy and see if they could find a phone to call Brady and Kimi who were supposed to meet us that night.
But first thing’s first. Dan and I went to the stream which originated a few miles above us in the hills. It was the melted byproduct of last winter’s snowfall. I would estimate the temperature to be somewhere in the high 30’s to low 40’s. Perfect for chilling booze and keeping our smoked chicken links cool. We constructed a small retention facility using some melon-sized, river-smoothed pieces of granite and tonalite. We plopped in our most valuable possessions into our new fridge, made sure they were unable to escape, and moseyed back to our camp. When you are in the wilderness, it just feels right to mosey from time to time.
Lib and Dan took off and left me with our bags and other equipment. There I was, sitting by myself in the wilderness with no one else around. So I decided to pitch my tent. Since I was by myself, it took me a couple extra minutes of laboring to erect the structure, nonetheless, I completed the mission and felt a warm sense of accomplishment. Next, I decided to tackle a proper packing of my backpack. Packing a backpack is an art form. True mastery takes years of trial and error. Do I tighten these straps? Do I place this round doodad, next to this crooked gizmo? Is that too sharp to put inside? Will this move around too much after several minutes of vigorous movement? If I put this object in this place will it hurt my back? It always amazes me that such a finite pouch can stretch to accommodate so much equipment. Packs come in all sizes. I tend to pack more than the average Joe, so I like a sack that is a bit larger to accommodate. At first, it seems like you can only get 50% to 60% of your gear inside. I recommend pulling your stuff out and starting over again. You might want to loosen up some of the straps and use your hands to stretch the material inside a bit. The sack may have gone unused for a while, and it may have lost some of it elasticity. Put don’t worry, it will come back around. Grab your gear and try it again. Nine times out of ten you’ll get it all in there. But for those of us that can usually only get 70%-80% of our gear inside no matter what we try, the solution is to carry the rest in your hands or somehow attach it just outside the sack. You always wish that you could get it all in, but sometimes it’s just not meant to be.
Having pitched my tent and stuffed my sack, naturally the next step was for me to lay down and have a napsky. After 10 or 15 minutes, I sat up and decided to read a bit. Eventually Dan and Lib made their way back to camp. Dan and I headed up the hill a bit and acquired some dry timber for the evening’s pyrotechnics. Dan was really tired and had a splitting headache. Dan pitched his tent, only he had his wife to help him so it went up much faster. Lucky guy. Dan layed down while Libby visited the refrigerator and grabbed her coveted white wine. It was well chilled. She and I both sipped on Chardonnay and sat down to a highly competitive game of Gin. She’s really a champ at that game and I had a hard time keeping up. The score was 82-61 when Brady and Kimi drove their Toyota 4Runner into our campsite. They had stayed the night near the park the night before at her parent’s home. The decided to enter the park on the eastern side and had enjoyed the 60 mile trip to our location. Along the way there was a gathering of folks at a look-out point. They decided to disembark to see what all the fuss was about. In a pasture, a few hundred yards away, there were two frolicking bears. That’s another thing about being out in nature. Sometimes nature makes you want to frolic. If you haven’t tried it, I recommend it.
We decided it would be a good time to prepare dinner. So I placed the brats on the grate and went about assembling a proper blaze beneath the gridiron. One has to be careful when making a fire. The key to a good fire is not the large logs that provide the outward shape of the campfire. The real key is the smaller sticks, tinder and kindling inserted in strategic locations that really takes the fire from an easily extinguishable flame to a robust, enduring and frenzied conflagration. You have to be in control though. If I built the pyre too large, it would have scorched the wieners. However, if my flame were only half-hearted and resulted in a small, uneven sparker, the meat wouldn’t even heat and we would be left with cold, soggy dogs. That’s no way to do it, so I made sure that the flames were just right. The coals created heat uniformly beneath the brats and the flames were built just high enough to lick the underside of the meat. Dan was served his in his tent where he was still incapacitated. But apparently, we was well enough to scarf a few bites of well prepared brat. Turns out Kimi wasn’t into eating pork-skinned dogs, so she brought frozen chicken breasts. The breasts were placed onto the grill and Brady carefully turned time and time again until they were cooked to perfection. Brady then added some Caribbean jerk sauce on top of her breasts, which apparently she really likes.
Then Kimi brought out a real treat. Graham crackers, Hershey’s chocolate and marshmallows. Libby is the queen of roasting a good shmallow. She went about toasting the treats for us. And we masticated joyously. It was right about that time that my dearth of sleep from the previous evening and a few cups of wine started to close my shades. Everyone was feeling the same way, so we put the fire out. I told Dan and Libby that they didn’t need their rain fly. They would be warm enough and if they didn’t have the rain fly on, they would maintain an unobstructed view of the millions of stars that dazzled across the sky. It would be best to lie down and enjoy those. Which is what I did as I nestled into my sleeping bag…for all of about 6 seconds. And then I was snoring in the sweet mountain air.
