One step at a time

My father died in a fall last winter.

His demise was frequently on my mind as I picked my way across 90 miles of trail through the Bob Marshall Wilderness earlier this month with two friends.

I didn’t want to suffer a similar fate and end up at the top of the page.

Not that there was much chance of slipping in the bathroom and hitting my head on the sink like Dad did.

But there was certainly the risk of a fall.

I’m of that age group now where falls are a leading cause of death. So I watched my step and stayed on my feet. Especially when the trail crossed a particularly steep slope and the whole world, it seemed, dropped into the abyss below me.

Outdoors columnist stumbles on wilderness trail, plunges to his death

I only needed rescuing once. Foolishly crossing the White River without a wading staff near the end of a long day, I was having trouble maintaining my balance in the stiff current.

Grandfather swept away in raging torrent, feared dead

Luckily, Ben, who had crossed ahead of me, looked back and saw my plight. He dropped his pack, returned to the river and gave me a hand.

If given a choice, always hike with younger, stronger companions.

Just make sure you keep up.

After losing our way along the base of the spectacular Chinese Wall, I lost sight of Ben and Erik as we searched for the trail. Bushwacking through the sub-alpine terrain, I nearly stumbled into the excavation a grizzly had made digging up ground squirrels.

Montana man falls in hole, eaten by bear

Whistling loudly, I caught up with my companions and kept them close the rest of the trip.

Erik fell once when he stepped on the outside edge of the trail across a sidehill and it gave way. He dropped to the ground with one leg bent beneath him, gathered himself and regained his feet.

Had I taken that fall, I doubt my recovery would have been as smooth as Erik’s.

Former newspaperman crippled after trail accident

Eight days of putting one foot in front of the other, up and down switchbacks, across rivers and over deadfall, through mud and brush, hopping from one rock to another without a single fall.

I tried to pay attention even when I was exhausted, take care when I wanted to hurry and rest when I’d reached the end of my rope.

The pounding took a toll on my joints and I used half a roll of first aid tape on my blisters, but I didn’t become another statistic.

Aging hiker falls off face of the Earth

I survived the wilderness relatively unscathed. Now If I can just remember to watch my step in the bathroom.

Hike left me craving more than basics

I lack for little.
Happily married, well-fed and clothed, I sleep in a comfortable bed, turn up the thermostat when I’m cold and step into the shower when I’m dirty.
If I crave ice cream, beer or fried pork rinds, the grocery’s just down the street. An all-night convenience store a few blocks away conveniently satisfies my hunger for pizza and doughnuts at any hour of the night.
For the past week, however, I’ve been unable to satisfy those cravings. On an extended backpacking trip through the Bob Marshall Wilderness, I’m carrying everything I need on my back.
And everything I need certainly doesn’t include everything I want.
An ice cold bottle of beer would sure taste good about now. So would a bowl of Cherry Garcia ice cream.
Wilderness travel reduces life to the bare essentials. Food becomes little more than fuel, a tiny tent offers shelter from the elements and comfort comes on a long stretch of downhill trail.
A dog-eared paperback takes the place of cable television and instant oatmeal replaces bacon and eggs.
Cold? Throw another log on the fire.
Wet? Get used to it.
Come the end of the trip, there will be cravings to satisfy for sure. Fresh fruit, potato chips, milk shakes, meat.
Years ago I worked for an outfitter in Cooke City. Following weeks living in a tent high in the Beartooth Mountains I would head to the general store to indulge myself as soon as I got back to town.
However, it’s been years now that I’ve spent much time in the wilderness, years that I’ve been able to satisfy even the simplest craving, peppermint patties and bottled water seemingly always at my fingertips.
This time I want to do things differently. After a week of living simply, I hope to be able to show a bit of restraint, continue doing without some of those things I’ve found I don’t actually need.
Like an Indian mystic returning from a vision quest, I would like to come back wiser, kinder, more patient.
But who am I kidding. About now, I’d die for a cheeseburger, sell my soul for a popsicle and trade this backpack and everything in it for one night in a comfortable bed.
For sure, instant oatmeal, jerky and powdered drink mix won’t be on my menu anytime soon. Certainly not once I return to the land of indulgence, where cheese nachos and a Dove bar are seldom more than a few blocks away.
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net

Dreading that second can of bear spray

I recently purchased my first can of bear spray.
Hopefully, it’s my last.
Buying another would mean I had occasion to use it, and although that’s not something I relish, it would offer proof the first can worked.
Upon hearing I was planning a week-long backpacking trip through the Bob Marshall Wilderness, a friend suggested I bring along a sawed-off shotgun.
“Lots of grizzlies up there,” he told me. “Lots of grizzlies.”
“I’m packing bear spray,” I said.
My friend laughed.
So did I.
“Good luck,” he said, shaking his head.
A lot of outdoor folk, hunters and horse packers foremost among them, have little confidence in bear spray. Given a choice, they’d prefer a shotgun or hand cannon.
I’d prefer to run. Not that I can outrun a grizzly, but like the old joke goes, I just have to run faster than you.
Unfortunately I don’t have the wheels I used to and I’m the slowest guy on this trip.
Still, I didn’t actually buy the bear spray. My wife did after telling me I couldn’t go on the trip without it.
Had it been left up to me, I would have skipped the spray and packed more food. That can must weigh as much as four bags of jerky.
And I never considered carrying a firearm on the trip. Unless the weapon was in my hands or on my belt ready for a quick-draw it probably wouldn’t do me much good anyway.
I’ve experienced a number of close encounters of the grizzly kind both armed and unarmed. I ran into a pair of young grizzlies a few years ago while elk hunting. They answered my cow call at close range and the big game rifle in my hands offered little comfort as we all stared at each other from 50 feet.
The tree I climbed to avoid a big boar in Yellowstone Park was considerably more comforting than any rifle.
I spotted the grizzly on a game trail through the snow and he charged as soon as I reached for my camera. I climbed like a monkey 20 feet up the closest tree.
Another bear I surprised on an elk carcass in the sagebrush raced off at my approach, then stopped and watched me slowly back downhill away from him.
Had I been packing bear spray in any of those instances, I doubt my behavior would have been much different. But I’m sure the can would have been in my hand.
I’ve read enough stories about charging bears being turned away by pepper spray to believe the stuff works. I just hope I never have to buy that second can.
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net