Bears! and the PCT bagging method

My middle school Scouts want to go backpacking over Memorial Day weekend.  They were supposed to go a few weeks ago but we had an unfortunate limb-breakage that precluded us from saddling up (so-to-speak).  Consolation prize is a trip over the last long weekend in the school year.  But it's going to be hot.  They're thinkers though and have decided that we'll go somewhere with springs to cool off in.  Okay by me, but now we're looking at getting into bear country--since there are no places in South East or West Florida that satisfy their requirements for backpacking AND springs.  North/Central Florida does fit the bill.

I won't lie.  Bears make me nervous.  Nervous for myself, but mostly nervous for other people's children.  Maybe I'm irrational.  I've never even seen a bear in my life.  I do find that sort of surprising considering I spent lots of time traipsing through the woods as a kid, and there were probably plenty of bears out there.  There are firsts for everything--for instance, I was never stung by a bee until last summer.  I was sitting in my living room watching TV when one ambled right up and rudely jabbed me in my elbow.  I was just minding my own business, the NERVE.

That's just me though.  These kids are tough and are remarkably calm.  They've handled torrential downpours and freezing overnights (literally, in FLORIDA!), they've come face to face with a roving gator and didn't even pee their pants (though I nearly did).  

Mostly one just has to be a bit more vigilant while in bear country.  The Scouts already know how to hang food bags--they've spent tons of time in raccoon-land--but bear bags require a bit more thoughtfulness.   Some folks even take it to the next level by cooking dinner along the trail a mile or so before making camp and hanging anything that smells (which always includes toothpaste and other toiletries).  I'm not sure if that's totally necessary in the dense wilderness of Florida, but it couldn't hurt.

Fig 2. There are no bears on the beach

Fig. 1 Horses don't steal food

On my first East coast backpacking trip I made the critical mistake (no, not EVERY backpacking story features a critical mistake...just the interesting ones) of forgetting a rope.  I figured that we'd be okay without the rope--there's no bears on Cumberland Island anyway.  Just wild horses.  I've always been careful to hang my food because of bears, so for some reason I never considered the possibility that other animals may also eat food--like raccoons.  Of course, when we got out to the island the ranger reminded us to hang our food and I felt pretty dumb.  We had a couple extra straps and managed to rig up a really pathetic hanging system.  It lasted two nights, but on the third and final night the raccoons stopped feeling sorry for us and raided the stash.  Cumberland Island is a popular place and the campsite we were at was fairly crowded.  It was one of the most embarrassing things that's ever happened to me in the woods--or, rather one of the more embarrassing things that I'll ADMIT to having happened--stooping around picking up plastic and food wrappers sheepishly.  Luckily there was only breakfast in the bag--a couple cliff bars and left over oatmeal packets.  Lesson learned:  it's not just bears that eat food.

I found this really awesome video on the Youtube of the PCT Bear Bagging method which I'll make the Scouts practice before we head out.

Trail Tales Thursday, Dingle #3

Dingle Way, Day 3
4 July 2010

Fourth of July, which meant nothing since we were camped out in a kind stranger's back yard in Ireland, began in a cloud and settled on spitting mist heavy enough to rattle the fly on my tent.  I would have liked to lie in and let the moist Irish morning burn off, but that wasn't really an option.  We were in the rose garden, the cows were leaving the barn and clomping down the road and we didn't want to overstay our welcome.  Also:  one shouldn't pee in a stranger's backyard.  So we got up, packed our tents up wet and huddled next to the shipping container that served as the backyard shed to half-heartedly make breakfast.

Maybe we were trying to look miserable.  I didn't have to try too hard.  The rain was starting up harder, it was blowing in my face, and I'd made a critical mistake with my fuel pump.  See, I wanted to strap the fuel bottle to the outside of my pack.  That makes sense because it reduced the risk of spilling gasoline inside my pack--on my clothes or my food or my dishes.  I unscrewed the plastic fuel pump and figured that because it was fragile it needed to be protected, so I naively tucked it into my bowl--There! That'll keep it from getting smashed.  And it did.  My fuel pump was not smashed, but it leaked into my bowl.  Petroleum distillates besides being disgusting are dangerous.  Wind and rain in my face, every layer of clothes I owned, huddled up next to a rusty corrugated box, staring longingly into my fuel-flavored instant coffee I must have looked a sight and tugged the heart strings of the nice Irish lady doing her dishes at the kitchen sink.

The woman came out and told us that we were welcome to come inside and have breakfast and use her bathroom.  I waved my hunk of soda bread at her and tried to convince her that we were really okay.  She wasn't having it and told us to get inside.  Twice was enough.  We threw our packs in the shed and shed our outer layers at the door and padded into her kitchen.

We tried to have a conversation about Obama (they like him) and rashers (she was sorry there weren't any, she forgot to take them out of the freezer last night!) and the Dingle Way while the woman gave us tea and toast and honey and cookies (for breakfast!).  She spoke Irish at our request and tried to explain how to pronounce the various dotted letters.  I think her name was some variation of Katherine, but I had a very hard time understanding her accent.  I did understand that she often offers her backyard to Dingle Way hikers, but we were the first she'd had that year.  The economy, she figured.

 Her kitchen reminded me of every farm house I've ever been in back home--warm and distinctly utilitarian despite the floral pattern of the dishes or the faded wooden plaque above the sink with Irish proverbs in pastel.  We were at the table, the social hub next to the back door where folks come in and out, stamping their feet, removing their hats and looking towards the stove to see what's on after being out working hard on the tractor/bringing cows up/taking hay down.

After we'd had a few pieces of toast and I'd slurped down two cups of tea that didn't contain gasoline we headed out into the rain and down the trail.

The trail lead through a narrow gap between two hedgerows for about a half a mile.  I was glad to have my gaiters.  From there, we headed up a hill on a short road walk before turning north and traveling around the shoulder of Mount Eagle.  This was the best walk of the whole trip.  We walked through pastures along some wickedly steep inclines.  Great Blasket Island and Dunmore Head grew in front of us and there were archeological ruins all around--the clochans, beehive huts and old stone walls were still being used in some places.

The rain had burnt off and the hills were greener than anything I'd ever seen against the turquoise ocean.


After a few miles skirting Mount Eagle we came down steeply onto a road at Slea Head and stopped at a cafe there for coffee.  After we finished our coffee the Dingle Way took us along a gravel road for maybe another mile before we crossed a stream and headed back uphill towards the Great Blasket Centre outside of Dunquin.

It was warming up but we were still a big wet from the morning.  We dropped our packs beside a stone wall and headed into the Museum.  I think the admission was around 4 Euros, which is also what we were paying for a pint of Guinness, so it seemed reasonable.  Great Blasket Island (An Blascaod Mór in Irish) was inhabited by a small community of fishers and farmers and an inordinate amount of artists and writers until it was forcibly evacuated by the government in 1953 following a period of hardship.  Now it's a ghost town of ruined cottages that can be accessed by ferry and explored on foot in the summer.  Fred and I skipped the ferry ride over, but I wish we had gone.

We decided to do a big day to the base of Mt. Brandon on the following day so  Dunquin was the end of the line for us on 4th of July.  We were too early to check into youth hostel so we walked down into the small village of Dunquin to see if we could get a Guinness.  The pub, with a plaque of James Joyce by the door, was closed so we hobbled a bit further up the road to kill some time first in the cemetery and then, tiring of that, with our feet in a small cold stream in someone's back yard.

The youth hostel was fine, it had books and games and a telephone that I managed to call home from but lacked internet.  In the kitchen, we met a group of tough looking guys from Belgium.   They weren't terribly friendly and we didn't chat or linger in the kitchen too long.  I made my dinner and set my pot next to the sink while I went out into the dining room to eat.  Within 2 minutes the lady of the house tracked me down to tell me to Get in there and cleanup after yourself!  I humphed and did her bidding.  I didn't so much appreciate the bossing but Fred and I DID get a whole 10-bed room to ourselves which almost made up for that.   We stayed up late looking at old pictures on the iPad.  It was still light out at 11 when I went to sleep.

What's The Matter with Jane?

In 1920 an editorial “The Matter with Jane” appeared in the New York Times. Jane had problems—oh boy did she ever—Jane was a teenager. We now call this Adolescence and recognize it as a distinct developmental stage—though, at the time was still a relatively new idea, being coined only 16 years earlier.  Thanks to child labor laws and public schooling, kids were finally able to enjoy a longer period of dependence between childhood and adulthood.  Surliness was also invented around this time.

Like all things we do not understand, it was a problem. Adolescence is, of course, impossible to understand by anyone who has survived it thanks to our human nature to repress traumatic memories.


The concerns that parents had for their girls in 1920 are the same as today, with a quaint Victorian twist. Instead of monitoring the dangers of the internet, Jane’s father is worried that his daughter is spending too much time at the movies or reading romance novels. Jane’s mother wrings her hands that her daughter is becoming “self-conscious and vain”. Problems by definition have solutions.

The solution to the problem of Solitary Jane the Adolescent—in whom the biblical battle of good vs. evil rages—is Girl Scouts.  There, Jane would learn outdoor skills through hiking, camping, swimming and woodcraft.  The Girl Scouts would teach her that “her young body is to be used instead of decorated” or “The kindergarten in the great school of citizenship through service”.

The writer lamented that 4,000 girls a month were being turned away from membership because of lack of volunteers; being turned away from the one organization that could save them from their ‘problem’.
In 2010 there was still a problem with Jane—though this time it is high school drop out rates, teen pregnancy.  The modern solution is Girl Scouts, still, but this time around Girl Scouts is rebranding itself as the trendy “Gamma Sigma” to get away from the ‘old-fashioned’ program of hiking, camping and crafts.  “Traditional badges are out.  Gamma Sigma will have speakers, workshops and experiences intended to bolster girls’ self-esteem and decision-making”.

Juliette Gordon Low first brought girls outdoors to help them learn to trust themselves as independent, powerful, resourceful citizens. Girl Scouts has never been intended as only a training ground for park rangers or river guides. Taking girls into the outdoors was also never meant to simply remove the girls from the problem (modern society). Outdoor education removes the problem (self-consciousness, vanity, lack of courage) from the girl. The lessons learned through pioneering and camping were meant to inspire in the girls a sense of comeradere and teamwork—a Can Do attitude. Camping teaches girls that they are powerful and influential human beings, despite being adolescent.

The solution to the problem with Jane is still outdoor education.  The solution is still to give Jane the tools to control her own destiny, even if it is only for one weekend in the woods, so that she will have the confidence to face any challenge in her life with determination.

Wow...

There's an article about Andrew Skurka  in the March issue of the National Geographic Adventure magazine.

Here's a guy who actually walks the walk.  He traveled around the state of Alaska in 176 days.  He says it makes him feel alive.  And that makes sense.  When your only occupation is attending to your basic needs, and moving from point A to point B, it makes sense to be in tune with your existence.  Sometimes the existence is called into question and I think that's when you REALLY get to the core of what it means to exist.

 

We are, for large part, a nation of bystanders when it comes to venturing into nature's realm. Oh, there are day trips, weekend campouts, and occasionally multi-day trips for some of us. But to step entirely out of our comfort zone to head out into the wild for days on end, well, that's why there are the Andrew Skurkas of the world whom we can live vicariously through. 

Today I spent some time sweating at the Sony Ericsson Open.  I work right down the street and the opportunity to play hooky presented itself.  I took it.  Not quite the same as circumnavigating the state of Alaska solo, but it felt pretty hard.

Sam Gardner and the All-in Trek

I ran across this guy over at whiteblaze  He is getting a bit of attention over there.

He set up this website.  He made some big claims.  In one year, starting 1 January 2011, he was going to hike the North Country Trail--4600 miles from New York to North Dakota--then, hop on a plane and start the Pacific Crest Trail --2650 miles from Mexico to Canada along the west coast-- headed north, no doubt to thaw his bones out after a few months snow shoeing.  Again, a plane hop over to the northern terminus of the Continental Divide Trail --3100 miles from Canada to Mexico through Montana (skirting Idaho), Wyoming, Colorado and New Mexico.  I assume by here he'd be hitting his stride.  Three trails down and only the shortest trail on his list--the Appalachian Trail-- still to go.  I guess it was to be his victory lap.  By my calculations that would put him at around November to come off the CDT and Again! hop on a plane and hit the northern terminus of the AT.  I'm not sure how he planned to do this one--Baxter State Park closes to overnight camping on October 15th.

I know that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, but 12,525 miles in 360 days (- travel between trail heads) = 34.8 miles per day.  That seems a bit unrealistic to me.

Sam had to come off the trail in early March due to a hip injury.  He's planning to start again next January 1.   Best of luck to him.

Fontana Dam

According to my virtual-dream-hike schedule I have here, today would be a zero-day at Fontana Dam.  My fantasy-hike was slow going through the Georgia mountains.

I'm thinking about weather tonight---the skies over Miami are solid red on the radar screen.  There's warnings for nickel sized hail and tornados.  And so the cats have decided to grace us with their presence tonight.  Lizard hunting is no good in a downpour, I guess.  They're inside fighting and the dogs are hiding under the bed, from the thunder or the cats. 

Up at Fontana Dam the forecast for the week is rain and temperatures between 55 and 35. There's a frost advisory tonight. Burr. 

Fontana Dam was built in the early 1940's by the Tennessee Valley Authority and is (somewhat morbidly, I think) named for the town it inundated.  It's 480 feet high and about a half a mile long.  It's the tallest dam in the eastern US.

From a hiker's perspective, though, the dam represents 166 odd miles in the bag and the gateway to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  I hear there's a pretty sweet shelter on the other side of the dam (as you go north).  So nice, in fact, that it's nicknamed "The Fontana Hilton".

I guess it wouldn't be so bad to sit through a rainy zero day at a place that nice.  Taking zero days in the woods is economical--no where to spend money.  I hear resupply is expensive in Fontana Village--which is the remnant/descendant of the town they built to house the folks working on the dam int he 40s--but there is a post office there.  I'm thinking it might be wise to send a box ahead to pick up there.  One could call a shuttle from the visitor center at the dam, or hobble down to the post office under their own steam (it's 1.8 miles from the dam).

Well, here's to imagining foul weather camping while enduring lung-draining-tropical-humidity and nickel sized hail...

Notes on Camp

There is an episode of This American Life about Camp, and how special it is to be one of 100 screaming kids in the woods, and how strong the group dynamic is that persists year after year, even when we're away. Camps, after all, survive on repeat customers.


Here's the link to that show, you should listen to it.