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Meeting people in the backcountry

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Postby Shawn » Wed Apr 04, 2007 8:22 pm

Hey Harry, great stories - especially number 3!

Indeed it is a small world. You just never know who you'll run into in the mountains. Speaking of which, while I may not run into you in the mountains anytime soon I do expect to see your name in a certain summit register later this summer. ;)



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Postby langenbacher » Wed Apr 11, 2007 7:37 pm

Hi Shawn - yes, I hope to get on an SC trip to Brewer/ N Guard Aug 5. If not, let me know when you want to try it again.
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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby markskor » Sat Apr 12, 2008 1:05 pm

The Mickster: 4/12/2008

The backpacking season looms, Topo maps beckon, and my Chili-red Shasta increasingly cries out, dreadfully needing fresh sustenance, the remedy …something only found miles deep within our Sierra. This being said, I will resurrect this rambling thread … again… relate some timely info, as well as tell you all about a long-lost friend, a true Sierra character…Mick.

I had become acquainted with Mick in Palm Springs, both of us working in one of the many private Country Clubs there…the uber rich and affluent…polished oak…free rounds of golf…and frequent clandestine breaks smoking fatties in the cart barn. One of the best things about Palm Springs…the entire Coachella Valley area in fact, besides the great climate 9 months a year, is that most of the valley boards up the shutters in the summer months, all due to the onset of triple digit temperatures. As a rule of thumb, five days after it hits 100 degrees regularly, 75% of the ($$$) population packs up and heads back to Chicago, Canada, or wherever …effectively closing down all the service-related industry…temporary lay-offs abound…unemployment checks…Always with a firm promise of a re-hire come next October. Spending those scorching months in Palm Springs means either sweltering in poverty, or taking one’s summers elsewhere. I always opted for the second option, the cooler and higher climes of our beloved Sierra.

Employment in the service industry is relatively easy to obtain all along the Eastern Sierra…jobs go begging for the qualified…a short but heady season at best. Some places to look…Virginia Lake…Saddlebag…June Lake…(so many more)…and then specifically, there is the town of Bridgeport. FYI, most local resorts entice short-term, skilled employees with offers of free rooms… (Trailers mostly), meal allowances, and opportunities to make fantastic tips - there are other perks too, days off midweek, free boat rentals, after-shift drinks, etc…a camaraderie of free-minded spirits Yes, there is abundant work summers in the Sierra…if you are free this May/June, give it a shot.

Mono Village is a privately owned campground complex about 14 miles west of Bridgeport, located at the end of the highway at Twin Lakes. Bridgeport, on highway 395, is basically a cow country…flat, barren, ugly…lots of high chaparral…not much to look at…most just keep on driving through…perhaps that is why they put Bodie, the Ghost town there…(well, maybe it was because of the silver…whatever.) Anyway, Bridgeport sucks but, amazingly, just over the hill, Twin Lakes does not. If ever you have the extra time while passing through Bridgeport, (BTW, watch out for the speed traps.)…take a brief turn off there and be prepared for a grand Sierra surprise. About eight/nine miles from town, you come around a bend, and BLAM!…there is the first lake. Matterhorn Peak dominates a “Heidi-like” vista…blue waters, white peaks, and an Alpine panorama…God’s country.

Mona Village…(Getting back to the story…well, not just yet)…the complex holds a campground – a crowded RV dustbowl, a respectable boat and tackle shop – mostly the good stuff and well stocked, a small hotel, a general store, and a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant – the infamous “Café Cocktail”. I, personally, was working away in this Café toiling as a waiter…lunch and dinner mostly… (I refuse to do toast)…serving (slinging?) respectable hot turkey sandwiches, meatloaf, fried chicken, and fresh-daily, homemade pies. Mono Village, by its remoteness, is a geographic monopoly…a three/four hour shift usually produced $150 a night in tips… a free meal…a few cocktails…and all the pie I could take home…”Good Eats”. Conveniently, my wife and I rented a small, nearby house on the upper lake for the summer…magic…eagles nesting in the Pines high above our deck, a glass picture window staring up at Matterhorn Peak, a large carpeted fire pit, and one fuzzy channel on the local TV.

Since this was “cow country”, beef was cheap, but toilet paper was not…requiring a two-hour drive to Carson City or perhaps Mammoth once a month just for the dry necessities; even the post office, located in town, was 14 miles away. Anyway, June came, and there, at a now weekly visit to the post office, I found a short note from Mick…asking about any jobs available…he desperately wanted to get out of Palm Springs too. On a side note here, I really had not spent any real time around Mick previously…except for the many but brief visits to the cart barn, but I knew he was generally a trusted individual and I liked him, so I readily looked into any employment possibilities . This is where the Sierra part of the story finally starts.

(OK, it hasn’t started yet…just a little more background first.) Have you ever seen the David Spade movie Joe Dirt…the saga of a good-natured, mullet-wearing, loner who drives along life’s highway in a Hemi? This was Mick, but, without the mullet…he had his own philosophy on life – free-spirited, brutally honest, but always a bit off kilter….Oh, Mick also drove a Hemi Charger to boot. Some called him Doc, others Mike, I knew him as Mick… (I also think a few husbands called him things that I cannot repeat here.)

Unfortunately, there were no more waiter jobs available but there was an immediate opening at the Café for a cook…I dropped a dime, and Mick eagerly snapped the offer up…even though he could barely boil water. The next afternoon found Mick at our door…big smiles all around…and a few pounds of some very good herb stashed in his car trunk, (hidden under the obligatory cases of oil)…this summer was going to be great. After a few days getting his bearings and living in our basement, Mick somehow purloined the doublewide, “cooks” trailer up the hill at Mono Village…gratis, and we all settled in comfortably for our Sierra Summer adventures.

As aforementioned, one of the freebies offered with employment was free use of the many boats at the Upper Twin, Mono Village marina…gas cost only…(Well, not the good ones, but they did allow you free use of the two or three beaters). The fishing up at Upper Twin can be phenomenal, or not, depending on time, moon, etc, (all the regular fishing variables.) I should have mentioned earlier that Mick had little if any experience with anything outdoors related…a city boy…no backpack/ hiking gear…no rod…nothing, but he was the sort always willing to try anything…and always with an engaging smile…just the sort you want to hang with. We hooked him up with a spare rod, gave him a few casting lessons, and took him out on the lake…he loved it. From then on, daily, you could always find him out on the water, trying anything to catch that first trout…unfortunately, it never happened.

Even when the DFG tanker truck came in with the weekly load of silver stockers, and kids from all over were pulling in lunkers right off shore…Mick always got skunked. For some strange reason, Mick could not catch a fish…nary a nibble - ever. To his credit, he never gave up…always trying, and, while all the others in his boat usually got ample hits….Mick’s line never produced a damn thing…very strange. It got to be a local joke that whenever Mick was missing from the kitchen… (All too often), he was out on the lake, under a ubiquitous cloud of smoke…doing his best fishing imitation…always with the same result.

Eventually, everybody in the complex found out about him (and his marked inability to catch fish), and came around his trailer to give free advice… (Alternatively, maybe to get high)…both guaranteed. He tried everything, worms, Powerbait, spinners, spoons, crickets, cheese, fly-and-bubble, trolling…you name it…he tried it. Mick ultimately settled on a Carolina, split-shot, mojo rig with a Texas twist tied onto a drop shot rig with a jig head worm. A bit farther up he tied on… a soft jerkbait …with a flipping jig on a swivel coupled to a double fluke setup to which he added a dropper line and another treble hook loaded with cheese and powerbait. Finally, he added a weighted modified bottom finder on a three-way swivel on a braided leader…lots a split shot…a few more odds and ends…”just for color,” he said…and some night crawlers. It looked like a fricking chandelier.

While Mick could not attract a trout to save his soul, he could attract women …fine women…striking. He had that unfathomable charm about him that defied logic…as I said before…off kilter. Every year, Bridgeport stages it own version of Sturgis…a “ride in”, Harley Davidson, close-off-the-streets, 5-day festival…always in mid summer. Cars - not allowed to park on the main road, all you can see are thousands of exotic motorcycles lining both sides, and even strung out all down the center divider. If you have ever attended one of these extravaganzas, you know it is not for the faint of heart…Bikers are a different breed…almost anything goes…and the town readily accepts it all. In the middle of this entire Biker week extravaganza, Mick, for some reason, decided to pull out his well worn but snazzy Tuxedo… (Why he had it with him, who knows), hit town, and do the festival in his own unique style. When my wife and I spotted him among the leather-clad throngs, late Saturday night, he had erected an ersatz “valet” sign in front of a local bar…had two gorgeous women on his arm, and was holding court right in the middle of the main drag. FYI, there might have been some alcohol involved here too.

Getting back to the story, as this is purportedly supposed to be a backpacking thread, and there is the most important aspect about Mick still to relate. It was now late July, and both of us put in requests to take a 5-day trip up to Peeler Lake…Mick’s first backpacking adventure. Gear for him was easy to assemble/borrow/beg…as all employees up there became close; he did have to buy boots, all else was donated by the general cast of fellow Mono employees. (If you have ever worked in a restaurant, you should know the importance of always taking care of the cook.)

First night out we stopped at Barney, incidentally home of one of the worst designed trails in the entire Sierra…a ½-mile switchback that gains maybe 30 feet elevation. After setting up camp, I decided to do my usual - to fish, and Mick, the realist, just kicked back, rolled a few, and explored on his own. Here is the kicker about Mick…he was extremely lucky, or maybe just charmed. While out on the far shore, I did happen to snag dinner - three or four good “Bows, Mick contented himself by wandering about the lake searching for hidden treasures. Sure enough, much to my initial amazement, he somehow discovered a hundred dollar bill floating among the weeds. It turns out that Mick had a constant knack for finding expensive items that so many others must have often walked by and just not seen.

The next day we packed up and did the steep switchbacks up to Peeler, located on the YNP boarder. Once again, after arriving and setting up our evening camp, I did my usual fishing thing, some good hits, a few misses, but ultimately another fine evening of watching the alpenglow dance and flirt across the rising purple boils; Mick, bolstered by his last night’s good fortune, decided once again to go treasure hunting…he said he felt lucky. Once again, he outdid me… we met up later at camp…me with a decent string for dinner but him with a half-carat diamond ring…do not ask me how he did it, but he did…honest.

The summer came and went… Mono Village always provided us ample resources and enough general camaraderie to sustain us all quite comfortably, thank you. Towards the end, Mick even developed the ability to cook…though how he kept his job while learning how all those months is still a mystery. We ultimately decided to do one last backpacking trip before heading back to the desert, this time over towards Mammoth…to an intentionally un-named river area. This finale was intentionally planned to coincide with the last grocery run for the season…Mammoth prices are higher than Carson City’s, but 30 minutes closer…we somehow managed to wangle 4 days till we had to get back.

After reading about Mick’s luck, you might think that it had run its course, but no, the best part of this tale still awaits telling. As we hiked along a meandering “Rainbow” trail, Mick stopped by the river’s edge, bent down, and picked up something shiny…it looked like a good-sized stone. When I asked what he had found now, he just looked up beaming…with a fist-sized nugget…gold.

Mick never made it back to Palm Springs that season, and I never saw him again. The last time we ever spoke together, he had some cute little fuzzy-butt cheerleader type with him, sitting next to him close in his Hemi…I think she was the counter girl from the local Dairy Queen, and he said they were heading for Texas. He also told me that someone had offered him $7800 for the nugget, but I do not know if he ever sold it. It is in these spring days, planning for another Sierra season, that I think about what once was…I always miss the Sierra…and I remember the Mickster.

Another solo hiking adventure…by markskor
Mountainman who swims with trout
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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby giantbrookie » Sun Apr 13, 2008 4:48 pm

Great story as always and I couldn't help noticing this:

markskor wrote:First night out we stopped at Barney, incidentally home of one of the worst designed trails in the entire Sierra…a ½-mile switchback that gains maybe 30 feet elevation.


I am in TOTAL agreement there.
Since my fishing (etc.) website is still down, you can be distracted by geology stuff at: http://www.fresnostate.edu/csm/ees/facu ... ayshi.html
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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby markskor » Sun Apr 13, 2008 6:22 pm

'Brookie,
Been there too huh...terrible trail design.
BTW, I stole your "RV Dustbowl" comment on Mono Village for my latest story...just seemed to fit fine. Hope you don't mind.
thanks,
mark
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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby giantbrookie » Sun Apr 13, 2008 8:07 pm

markskor wrote:'Brookie,
Been there too huh...terrible trail design.
BTW, I stole your "RV Dustbowl" comment on Mono Village for my latest story...just seemed to fit fine. Hope you don't mind.
thanks,
mark

No problem with the dustbowl. I had in fact forgotten that I had written that. I always wondered why one would "want to get away from it all" to a place that is extremely dusty, noisy, and has the population density of low-income-ex-military-barrack housing projects. It would seem to me that a nice room in Bridgeport would be infinitely better (as would a tent campsite in a real campground).
Since my fishing (etc.) website is still down, you can be distracted by geology stuff at: http://www.fresnostate.edu/csm/ees/facu ... ayshi.html
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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby markskor » Sun Jun 13, 2010 7:13 pm

The Hiking Season has Started - 6/13/2010

Due to the recent high water runoff, the late snows, and the recent 85º heat wave in Yosemite, all Valley waters are now swollen, spilling and splashing merrily, bubbling over their usual summer banks…white and green cascades abound like impromptu stadium staircases, temporarily adorning otherwise normally arid granite walls - roaring and pulsating from every conceivable corner. These are the falls that become alive just momentarily, existing a few days and only in the spring.

There is ample evidence of the many, heavy, wet snows that accumulated late this season…lots of treetops snapped off jagged and unsightly…pines mostly…downed branches strewn everywhere, much like a perverted game of pick-up-sticks. Obviously this was indeed a harsh winter as compared to many recent ones. On a side note, there should be ample backcountry firewood this season, always a bonus after a dynamic winter...

The backpacker camp (BP) is not the best kept secret in all of Yosemite Valley camping, but it is close. Tucked away isolated in the armpit of the Valley - no cars – nobody to bother, they, the Powers-that-Be of Yosemite stuck us all in one nice place. Occasionally horse led strings of stock animals staggering noisily through, maybe families with bicycles following the asphalt trails, and of course, there are the backpackers. They sift through constantly, a safe haven found, all are welcome, and amazingly, everyone arriving always seems to find a place, no matter the time of day. You find a hole and set up your tent…no sites. FYI, it states: One night only, Wilderness Permit required, $5 per night. I love the Valley BP camp.

Somebody in Yosemite should be lauded about their enlightened philosophy concerning this particular campsite. Lax is the norm here, at least this early in the season…allowances are made daily for any and all unseen contingencies. Even the Rangers here seem to understand. I stayed here twice this week and never saw one confrontation; even those missing that “necessary” Wilderness Permit were not asked to leave…maybe it is just early in the season but unless your intent is to stay past two days, or you are completely an idiot, nobody with the “right” Yosemite mentality is ever refused sanctuary here.

Around 7:00 PM the nightly Ranger passes by… tonight a young Rangerette maybe 20 years old; she visited all comers, big smile, and nary a hint of attitude. (BTW, she completely ignored the bong blatantly sitting out on the picnic table). Instead, she listened to/ was more concerned about the number of up-to-date stories concerning hikers being turned back by high waters at Merced lake, or post-holing tales at Upper Cathedral, or the snow stories of a few attempting Clouds Rest, but even when she invariably found those few sans Permits, she just let it go….Like I said – enlightened.

It is the long-distance bike riders that seemed to have it the worst for a campsite. They cannot ask for Wilderness Permits as they never get four miles off any road. They travel slow, pedal hard, and are at the complete mercy of the ubiquitous, insane, Yosemite, spellbound drivers. With their uncertain biking schedule, subject to the weather, they have no way to plan ahead and pre-register anything. This trip I met a dozen or so ensconced there at the BP camp, this particular group coming from San Francisco and intent on going to Washington DC…a rolling 4-month Jamboree. Coincidently, most are carrying the same exact gear as we backpack with…the same tents, stoves, filters, and sleeping bags…only they are using panniers instead of backpacks. I gladly shared my site, drinking together, sharing all as old friends do…BP style.

This year also finds a gaggle of 15 -20 young college kids ensconced in the far left, Ahwahnee corner of the BP camp, living large out of family-sized, REI tents…calling themselves census takers, almost unpaid but fed well…college freshmen hired from universities in Ohio and Indiana. They look very young. One I talked with at length told me that they made a staggering $50 a week, but always had enough to eat… and he intended to stay all summer…hopefully.

Thursday morning last, Yosemite Valley backpacker camp, it was sometime in the early morning gray that this particular tale starts to unfold. It seemed important to set the stage beforehand, making it clear the existing subtleties making up the demographics here at the Valley BP complex. Even though this is purported to be a backpacker camp, most here – at least the majority that day, were not, in any way, true backpackers.

I was on the second day (well, second morning actually) of a 2-day, scheduled Yosemite art class trip where I had beforehand, months earlier, mailed off and procured a wilderness permit but with no intent of ever using it…(In truth, I obtained it just so I could stay over here cheaply and semi-legally.) Where else should I stay? I could have reserved a regular campsite, thought about it too, but since I was a single – solo as usual – I thought it less selfish to just stay over where I knew the rules well, and most of all, would not take up an entire site meant for a larger group.

As usual the Yosemite Valley BP site was completely packed this AM…tents and bodies everywhere…The late-arriving stragglers having filled in the holes. It was just that time when the early-morning risers, the actual backpackers, begin thinking about their day’s journey just ahead. Cowboy camping myself, I heard a noise, only to discover a bear just an arms distance away playing with my Bearikade, (much like a trained seal). He was lying on his back, all four legs in the air, my Bearikade being somehow balanced on his nose…comical.

I got up, yelled out “Bear!”… (You all have heard this before)…others/everybody immediately arose and came on over – a similar scene played out probably every night somewhere in Yosemite Valley. This bear here was small to mid-sized…maybe 150 - 200 pounds, and, unfortunately, already sporting a numbered collar and an ear tag, indicative of his recent past being somewhat jaded, a problematic denizen. He was obviously unafraid of man and more than accustom to the usual banging of pots, yelling, etc….(this bear, unless it soon developed some fear, he was destined for a quick demise).

Walking over, I began searching for a few granite chunks – persuaders...something to bounce off the bear’s rear end but, just as soon as I found a supply of good-sized ammo, my intended aim was thwarted by the now fast-arriving curious masses; all the Valley BPers now up. Amazingly most arrived toting along their cell phone cameras, now situated between me and the bear. The many camera users (frickin’ technology meets wilderness) actually formed a close circle around the bear, taking pictures, and because of this crowding/ lack of view, the bike riders (about 10 - 15 Germans camping over, riding from SF to NYC), unable to watch the bear but nonetheless still intrigued, decided to climb up on their bicycles and form another outer circle around the bear.

So there we all were: the bear in the center of the BP campground, playing with my Bearikade, a close choreographed circle of cell phone, photo-takers gathered around the bear, an outer ring of bicyclists trying to see the bear, another ring of campers’ content with merely standing far away but still banging their pots …and then there were the backpackers. This was how my morning started, site 12, BP campsite…I honestly thought I was in one of those old Hollywood musicals where they show the overhead shots, like the ones directed by Busby Berkley.

Just when I thought that it couldn’t get any stranger, another bear walked into the picture…the crowd hushed, immediately reacting to this new presence and temporarily parting, allowing the two bears enough room to come together. The first bear took a big (audible) sniff of this new arriving bear. Turns out, this new bear was a female, and the first one a male. How could I tell? Guess? Now it was time for act two.

Yes, my friends, this was a real nature lesson. My still intact bear can now forgotten, he quickly demonstrated what healthy bears also can do in the springtime woods. I had never seen bears mating…just like dogs but with bigger smiles…all happening in the center of the Valley campground. Everybody started hooping and laughing, the camera folk momentarily paused then took even more pictures, the bike riders, they started singing, and the pot-bangers…well they finallly did stop banging their pots…thank God.

After a good 20 minute show, replete with bear-moanings, they separated. The crowd started to applaud…a standing ovation…(he was impressive). The sun up and the day starting, everyone went back to their own holes, getting ready for whatever the Sierra day offered.

Interesting the varying reactions heard among the populous there afterwards. The college kids didn’t want anyone to report the bear’s ear-tag number, afraid that if reported, the Rangers would surely put the bear down. The bikers, a drunken breed among themselves, went back to their drinking and more fiddling with their bikes. The cell-phone tourists ambled away to the Curry cafeteria. Only the few remaining backpackers seemed to put it in perspective. I overheard one say aloud, “I do not have time for this foolishness; the hiking season has started.”

Another solo backpacking adventure…by markskor
Mountainman who swims with trout
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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby ERIC » Sun Jun 13, 2010 7:51 pm

Another classic!!
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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby Cross Country » Sun Jun 13, 2010 9:39 pm

I love entertaining true outdoors stories and this is surly a good one.
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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby Mike M. » Sun Jun 13, 2010 9:46 pm

Markskor, that is a great story!! And well told. I hope you post a few photos . . .

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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby Ozark Flip » Mon Jun 14, 2010 12:06 pm

Nice story Mark! I know there are no pictures but maybe a water coloring of what exactly you saw??

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Re: Meeting people in the backcountry

Postby rlown » Mon Jun 14, 2010 2:25 pm

Great. now we'll host watercolor bear p*rn. :D Mark, I would like to see some pics of your watercolors you did on your jaunt with the artist, and maybe, Flip, if you had any pics of your fatefull boat ride..
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