Fish Creek Trek

Sitting in the restaurant I am certain that our stench is permeating the room. I don’t really care; it’s just something that occurs to me. The people seem unusually noisy, the clamor and rattle of voices and plates is overwhelming. We eat a small portion of the seemingly extra large meals we had ordered, and leave with haste as if the place was on fire. Back into the car for the rest of the journey home, things seem slightly more normal. At least it’s silent again. With no radio, just a little bit of conversation, and the dog still breathing heavily in the back seat. The words we speak center around the past four days, in a sense it keeps us where we wish we still were. Our epic journey, a trek into mountains that most people will never see, began around 2am on Friday, when we awoke from three hours rest and loaded our gear into the car. Two 50 pound packs, an eleven year old dog, and a thermos of strong coffee to get us going.

We thought it a grand undertaking at the start. Normally, a backpacking trip consists of a 7-8 mile hike in, a day of ‘rest’ hiking around without the packs on if there’s time, and then the same mileage out. This time we were to hike in 12 miles, from the trail head in Devil’s Postpile National Monument to Fish Creek Valley and the Iva Bell hot springs. My packing partner took care of the permits, and then found out that the gate that leads down to the Postpile and our trailhead were not going to be opened until the next day. We decided to go, hoping after numerous phone calls that someone would let us in, and deciding that if that wasn’t the case we’d just hike from the gate. Fortune didn’t smile on us that Friday morning; we had a speeding ticket on the drive down, and a locked gate upon arrival at 7am. We just added a minimum of 9 more miles to our trek, assuming we could get a ride up the road on our way out. Don’t worry though, we’re pretty tough. So, onward it was, and by the time we reached our trailhead and had a lunch break, exhaustion was already setting in. We went about 5 more miles before we were losing daylight, and decided that a 14 mile hike in on the first day was probably enough. We set up camp, ate a quick meal, and promptly passed out just as the sun disappeared.

Up at dawn the next day, we knew we had about 7 miles to go and we figured that we’d have plenty of time to set up camp, find the hot springs, soak and relax for a good part of the day. The scenery was amazing, and part of our conversation was extolling awe and respect for people like John Muir and Ansel Adams, for whom the wilderness areas we were in are named, true great mountaineers who lived and breathed this granite wonderland. Giant slabs of rock, wildflowers and waterfalls, the sweetest air I’ve breathed, and always the rhythm of the hike. We didn’t see a soul, and it was easy to think no one else had ever been here, and to wonder how this trail came to be. We walked away the chatter in our minds, we walked until there was nothing but walking and it felt strange not to have the packs on our backs, the sticks in our hands and the cadence of our steps. We missed the trail to our destination that second day, adding two miles to our journey. When we realized the mistake and turned back, we reached our final river crossing with the campsite visible on the other side. Only there was no crossing over the river. It wasn’t deep, just about mid-calf, and the current wasn’t too strong, though to me it looked like class 4 rapids. Having been pulled out of a river once before and knowing what it is to almost drown in one, fear set in for the first and last time on this journey. Toughness faded, I succumbed to fear, and tears cleaned my filthy face. My companion, and one of my closest friends, once again proved to me that he is one of the best people out there. He suggested that he cross it to see how it is, and check the best way, and that he’d bring his pack over just in case. Off with the boots and socks and across the river with both our walking sticks he went. He made it, of course, and returned. I knew I could get across, I knew it wasn’t that bad of a crossing, I just couldn’t shake the panic. So, he took my pack, went a different route, crossed and came back again. He then gave me both sticks, and staying right behind me the whole way, walked me through step by step to the other side, then went back again and brought my dog over. The next morning, with the water even colder, he did the same. I’m pretty sure that there is a medal or something out there which should be given to him, and if I find it, I’ll make sure he gets it. Everyone should have a friend like that, and I’m thankful every day that he is mine. We set up camp that night and were so exhausted that after a scout of the immediate area turned up nothing, we gave up our quest for the hot springs. The next day was another early morning with another long trek ahead of us, so we packed up and left the Fish Creek Valley. On our way out that day, a man passed us, also a backpacker. We stopped and chatted for a bit, found out that he had been at the springs, and that we were basically right there. We told him of our long journey and how we had been too tired the night before to look around for them anymore. Our pride diminished slightly when he told us he had been out for 16 days, and he looked to be about 50-60 years old. The rest of that days hike we spent figuring out what he carried, as his pack was small and much lighter than ours. With much respect for this man, we decided we had better keep practicing so that we could be that good in 30 years. Another night at the same camp as the first night, and a shorter hike out the last day finished our trip. We got a ride up the road from a nice guy with a pick-up, and with around 36 miles under our belts in four days, felt pretty good about the whole adventure. In the end one thing is for certain, and it’s what I already knew; that the mountains hold my soul as sure as my companion holds a chunk of my heart.