Fall Weather Collection

Every year about this time, the weather starts to go all wild and wacky in the Sacramento Valley. Last week the temps tickled the 100 degree mark; today we are struggling to make the low 70s and rain is on the near term horizon.

But Sacramento is not the only place where weather can be unsettled this time of year. Recalling the many other places I've lived, whether the southeast, north central, east, or southwest, changing weather patterns are on the weather menu all over the country. In North Dakota, they say if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. And it's still hurricane season until the end of November.

Just for fun, here's a short collection of weather rhymes to kick things off for fall. Maybe one or more will ring familiar wherever you are. Enjoy.

"Fog"

When I look outside my window,
And fog is all around,
There’s nothing I can see at all,
From tree tops to the ground.

"Rain"

Drip. Drip. Patter, pit.
Little drops of rain that hit
My umbrella. Under it,
I’m a perfect fit.

"Wind" (Haiku)

I can hear the sound
Of a soulful wind outside,
Blowing in the trees.

"Snow"

Crystal flakes go swirling by,
Falling from a cloud-filled sky.
Will they leave us like a sigh,
Or drift in snow piles ten feet high?

"Hail"

What’s that on my window pane,
Tapping with a Rat-A-Tat?
Cold has quickly frozen rain
Hail is falling, just like that!

In Remembrance of 9/11

There has been much said in recent days about 9/11/2001 being a day anyone old enough will remember where they were and what they were doing---another JFK assassination moment. However, I must admit the details have been strangely fuzzy for me, to the point I have had to reconstruct the circumstances of the day. Certainly there is much I do recall. But some of the most obvious details have eluded me as I reflect on that day ten years ago.

For example, which day of the week was it? Where exactly was I when I heard the news? How did I first find out about it? What was my life context on that day? Why aren't such bits and pieces seared into my memory?

It was a Tuesday. I know this because I have one of those circular 40-year calendars to tell me the day of the week for any date from 1995-2034. A little over a month before, I had started a new job as a manager in a research and evaluation unit in the Department of Social Services. My new office---and I actually had an office---was in downtown Sacramento, CA in the northwest corner on the 12th floor in one of two buildings widely known by State workers as the "Twin Towers".

The day started like most other work days. I was up early as usual---I like the morning quiet. Then the phone rang. Who could be calling unless it was a family emergency? In fact, it was my wife's mom two hours ahead of us in the Central Time Zone. "Turn on the TV! There's been a horrible air plane accident in New York!"

Still I was not registering the urgency of the call. Plane crashes are usually for the evening news, aren't they? But this wasn't just a crash, mind you. The plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. You've got to be kidding! I remember almost immediately calling my closest high school friends in Dallas to share my disbelief about what we were watching. Secretly I hoped they would tell me this was all just another "War of the Worlds" mass hysteria hoax. It wasn't.

My wife and I sat watching, awestruck and helpless, yet mezmerized by the unfolding events three time zones away. Can't we rewind the movie reel and intercept those planes? How could this have possibly happened? Realizing there was nothing we could do but watch, that's what we did, as both towers fell, the Pentagon was hit and Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania.

At that moment we could hardly imagine how we could possibly leave the growing spectacle on TV. But by 7:00 a.m. our interrupted morning routine was beckoning somewhat impatiently as a full hour had evaporated while we watched the continuing news feed. It was past time to wake our grandson up and take him to school---he had just started First Grade the week before, still full of excitement about being a first grader. And there was a full day of work for my wife and me. She was in the middle of a pre-doctoral internship at Yolo County Mental Health and I had a full day of meetings ahead of me.

After making my way through the usual snarled traffic, the office routine sputtered all morning. Everyone was clearly distracted by the weight of the news, although we were disconnected inside our office spaces from any media sources of information about what was happening on the ground. Every news snippet coming in via phone calls from outside spawned a new round of speculation and shock.

Meetings were cancelled---I know this because my planner has all my meetings crossed out---and all but the most critical business was suddenly on the back burner or off the stove all together. A decision about about a multi-million dollar research contract got lumped together with the report about a broken copier. All was eclipsed by questions about how we would know our children would be safe if disaster struck our building. And all those seemingly mindless practice evacuation drills? They now took on new importance.

Then we wondered if there might not be something---anything---we could do individually or collectively to help. It was as if someone had stuck a stick in a giant ant hill and the entire nation was trying to sort out what to do next. Of course, there was nothing we could do for those so far away except to tighten things up our in own house, to hold those close to us dear, to reach out to distant family and friends and to share, even if only virtually, this common national tragedy.

In the years since the events of that day, we have remembered what it is we were doing and how we felt as individuals and as a nation. Now, ten years later, it is good and right that we once again take time to reflect or to do some particular thing to acknowledge our differences and celebrate the strength of our commonalities.



So, today, my Boy Scout Troop will retire several American flags whose service is done. In this small way, we will share the sacrifices made on our behalf, symbolized by the flags we fly. We do it to establish a clear bond between those who have no recollections of September 11, 2001 and those who saw it and felt it.

Always remember. Never forget.

Day Six On The Pacific Crest Trail---Journey's End

DAY SIX: Thursday, August 4

This is the final installment---the last day of our backpacking trek. Today we will arrive at our end point on Donner Pass Road. While planning the trip, our daily mileage estimates were just that. We looked at topo maps, read recent reports from other hikers and hoped for the best. In actuality, each day took on a life of its own as we experienced gains or losses depending on trail conditions, unexpected detours, actual time underway with packs on, fatigue and the location of suitable stopping points. As the saying goes, all days are good but some days are better than others.

Here's what the record will show:

DAY----PLANNED MILES----ACTUAL MILES

1--------------------14.5--------------------13.1
2--------------------10.5--------------------12.0
3--------------------13.0--------------------11.0
4--------------------13.0--------------------10.5
5--------------------11.5--------------------13.5
6---------------------2.0--------------------6.0

TOTAL------------64.5-------------------66.1

So, today, instead of two miles to hike out, we have about six miles remaining. Although not a lengthy hike compared to our other days, these final six miles will not be without their challenges, hints of which were noted even overnight.

Some time after midnight, a strong wind could be heard in the trees above us and the temps had dropped, to the extent we thought an unexpected Sierra storm might blow in during our last night at camp. This morning, the sky is brilliant blue at sunrise and the wind has moved on with nothing to show for all its bluster last night. But it is still cold enough (low-30s) that all of us have added layers. In fact it's the coolest morning by 15 degrees than we have experienced all week. I suppose camping right next to several tons of snow will have that effect....


Sure enough, by the time we eat breakfast, the sun has partly cleared the trees behind us and the layers start coming off as we break camp for the last time. Given the slightly longer (and now apparently warmer) hike out, we take stock of our water supplies, knowing there will likely not be any water until we meet our ride home at Donner Pass Road. As extra insurance, we melt and boil snow sufficient for breakfast, preserving our remaining water for the trail.

As we busy ourselves with camp chores, on everyone's mind this morning is the impassible snow field between us and where we will find the trail again. The overnight temps have crusted the surface of the snow. What was slushy when we arrived last night is now almost solid with no "give" underfoot. The proverbial "elephant in the room" comes to mind and this one is clearly a white elephant. Almost on cue, we all begin to verbalize our options:

1. Cross the snow field at the level of our camp. It's the shortest distance to the other side. So, conceptually, this is an early favorite. But a quick test shows there is zero footing on the snow surface. Lacking ice picks, visions of a speedy descent to the rocks below quickly make this one is a non-starter.


2. Climb up to dry surface above the snow field and go over the top. That will mean climbing back up through the trees to where we originally ran into the snow on the trail last night, then crawling across the loose rock at the base of the peak just above the snow line. Although this option would provide a dry crossing to the other side, it might also result in the second fastest trip to the bottom. Still on the list but iffy.

3. Hike down past the snow field and across to a distant steep crease leading up to the trail. We can see the path this option would take all the way to the trail. But it by far the longest and the climb back up the crease is clearly the steepest and may not be doable.

4. Climb down well below the snow field, all the way to the tree line and follow the trees to the trail. This option will also take some time but, from our vantage point, the slope up to the trail is drier (no visible snow) and, therefore, manageable.

5. Hike down just below the snow field and cross the loose rock to firmer ground, angling through trees to an open slope on the other side. As with option #4, this would put us on dry ground below the snow, although the loose rock might make for difficult going. Eventually we will be able to angle our way up to the trail although we can't see where we will start back up the other side.

All things considered, we go with the descent aspect of options 3, 4 and 5, looking for the shortest path across to an up-slope once we clear the snow line. We angle through the trees at the closest point until we reach a steep sloping exit to the trail above.


Anticipating two hours to meet the trail, we have managed to zig-zag our way up through heavy sage brush and mule ear in just under an hour. In fact, we are so proud of ourselves---both the decision process and the execution---that we stood in the middle of the trail basking in our success (i.e., no death or injury to the old man) for a good 15 minutes.

Once underway, it is a relatively flat or slightly "down" hike toward Sugar Bowl. The boys charge ahead of us, knowing that cold water, fresh fruit, hot showers and pizza are just a few hours away. However, on reaching the turn in the trail leading across a slope below the highest chair lift, we hit one last large, steep snow field planted right across the trail. Based on our recent experience, our decision is quick and unanimous to climb the steep (and I'm talking STEEP) temporary trail up to the chair lift rather than attempt a snow crossing. In fact, Matthew, Mark and Joseph had made that decision before Ike and I caught up to them.

Lingering a while at the top, admiring the views, we finally strike out on our last 3.5 mile downhill stretch past Mount Judah and on toward Donner Pass Road. The closer we get to the end, the rockier the trail seems to get and we encounter crowds of day hikers coming up the trail. At the bottom, Sandra and Bob Puliz have already collected Matthew, Mark and Joseph who are 20 minutes ahead of Ike and me. What a sight for sore eyes. After cleaning up, I don't think I have ever seen three family-size Roundtable Pizza's disappear so fast.

Day Five On The Pacific Crest Trail

Notes to Readers---Three things:

First, as I write these accounts of each day on the trail, it strikes me that the great advantage of specific events is they give us opportunities to focus our thoughts for a short time on some particular thing so we can record as accurately as possible what occurred. As time goes by, the recollections of the details around the edges of the experience may fuzz up a bit. If any of you have considered capturing your own life experience "on paper", as a good friend has reminded me, there is no time better than now to start.

Second, if any of you are inclined to share a comment about what you read here, feel free to leave it directly on this blog site if you wish. Realizing that may require some type of recognizable identity so "Blogger" will accept your comment, if you prefer not leaving a comment here, that's fine too. But if you already have such an identity (under Google or Yahoo or Blogger or other portal), I would enjoy reading your impressions.


Third, I've spent a fair amount of time describing the trail, including its beauty and its challenges, along with some of what our daily routine has been. But I now realize I haven't provided much detail about what we are eating along the trail or about some of the decision process we used to get beyond obstacles of one sort or another. In the last two installments, I'll try to do a better job of that at least as a point of reference for what we liked or didn't and what seemed to work or didn't for our group.

DAY FIVE: Wednesday, August 3

We are up early this morning, knowing that topping off our water will take a little longer as our access to Whiskey Creek is about 200 meters behind us and off the trail. But the day is glorious once again and we enjoy breakfast of either oatmeal reinforced with GORP (that would be me), freeze dried eggs or of some sort or oatmeal (that would be Matthew and Mark) or a wholely cooked exotic grain (prepared by Ike and Joseph).


The concept is to get down some quick and easy calories (as many as possible) and to stock our easily reachable pockets with high energy snacks to consume on the trail. Some choose power gels, others concentrated fruit bars or jerky. And of course, a cup of hot chocolate (or coffee with a hot chocolate boost in the case of Ike and myself) goes a long way to getting the day started right. And by way of a personal anecdote, Starbucks VIA instant coffee makes a good cup and is a great way to reduce pack weight. After each meal, everyone collects their trash and stores it away in our individual bear cannisters. And as room is made inside the bear cannisters, other items fill the void as a way to manage the bulk inside our packs.


After breaking camp, the boys find a nearby rock the boys to test their cell phone reception. We're in luck and Matthew updates Bob and Sandra Puliz on our anticipated arrival time at Donner tomorrow---not that we are eager for an end to our adventure, mind you. We agree to make contact with Bob and Sandra again this evening after we know how far we are by day's end and how far we will have left to hike out tomorrow. By 8:45 a.m. we are underway from CS1140 on what we know will be a hard "up" from our current elevation of 7,300 feet to over 8,500 feet (then back down to 8,300 feet at way point WACS1143) where the trail will be due east of Granite Chief Peak.

We make a pre-planned stop at what we believe is way point WACS1143 to pump water and refill all bottles and camelbacks. Instead, our stop is at WACS1142---a small error but that means we still have 1/2-mile of "up" ahead of us before we reach our first of two major crests of the day at 8,500 feet. Always in search of a silver lining, on the plus side, except for a couple short climbs, the next nearly three miles on the map and elevation charts are more or less downhill to just beyond way point 1145.


I digress. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, soon after our water stop, we are not at all surprised to see snow patches, just as we had learned from other hikers the day before. So, wouldn't you know it, because we now don't need the snow along the trail, we get it in spades!

We have now learned not to get all giddy on the trail about how well we are doing because you never know what awaits over the next hill. In fact, appearing before us as we look across Squaw Valley is what I can only describe as a vision of death at first glance---at least to someone who isn't a fan of roller coasters, jumping off ledges or slipping and sliding uncontrolably.


For some reason, others in the group see the 100-foot drop from a snow ledge, down a steep embankment to rocks and trees below as a fun diversion. I'm thinking I should have called my life insurance agent before we left....

Struggling somewhat to stabilize our footing at the top of the ledge, the group concludes that although there are several variations of how to get off this ledge, hiking down either with or without packs isn't an option. To get down the slope, basically there are two methods. To paraphrase Mr. Miaggi in Karate Kid: packs on or packs off.


Joseph Krieg is the first to test the packs-off approach. We combine two lengths of para-cord to provide enough rope to lower his pack to the bottom. Then, in a giant leap for the team, Joseph takes the slide for life, maintaining remarkable control all the way down. After unhooking his pack down below, Mark pulls the rope back up to the top to lower the next pack.

Ike Krieg goes down next, using the "packs-on" method with his hiking poles as stabilizers---a successful slide on all accounts. Ike is followed by Matthew Puliz, without pack, in a daring slide with brakes only on one side after losing a pole on the way down. Having seen three variations, I decide if I were going to die, I won't be the last one down the hill.


Lowering my pack, I prepare myself for an uncertain immediate future, although I am empowered by the visual evidence that some control is possible using boots in the somewhat slushy snow. The fact that we haven't lost anyone yet is also quite reassuring. Truthfully, I don't remember much about the trip down. But suddenly at the bottom of the hill my advance is arrested by Ike and Joseph as Matthew captures the slide on video. I haven't seen it yet. But who knows? I suppose it could go "viral" if/when it hits the web.

At last, Mark Matney opts for "packs-on" and flies down the slope in a blur until he is grabbed by Ike and Joseph with all pieces still connected.





Now with wet butts all, we congratulate ourselves on our human tobogan skills and strike out across the next snow field toward a marshy meadow below. Our earlier estimate of a short day has totally evaporated as we search for the trail which we lost in the snow at the top of the ledge. We still have long way to go before reaching way point 1152.



As an observation, there's nothing quite like a level or down pathway before one's feet to take one's mind off the details of where one is going, especially with beautiful vistas all around. Life is good and the trail seems to be acting just as the map suggests it should---or perhaps more accurately, as we want it to act. One "down" slope is as good as another and when small streams appear where you think the map says they will be, what more confirmation does one need about the rightness of the route.

Well, had we been paying closer attention to the map, we might have noticed a key Pacific Crest Trail intersection with the Granite Chief Trail at way point 1144. But, hey, we can hear a creek off to our right and it seems to be exactly where we think way point WACS1143is on the map. So, obviously, we still have a ways to go before passing way point 1144, right? Of course, we also have a little suggestive help from the trail: precisely at the actual Granite Chief Trail split, there is a large patch of snow with a trail marker right in the middle of it.


After studying the trail, the snow and the marker---noting how unfortunate it is that someone relieved the marker post of its triangular, metal PCT badge---we decide the obvious Pacific Crest Trail path before us is straight, then slightly to the right. Oh, sure, there is a scruffy looking trail off to the left, well beyond the snow patch. But the more obvious trail is in front of us. So, off we go, pleased at how well the day is going. Man, are we making good time!

The trail continues down for a while with the sounds of a stream still gurgling off to the right of the trail, further reassuring us of the rightness of our decision. Then, lo and behold, we come to the aforementioned small stream, crossing the trail ahead of us, pretty much where we think it should be. Little do we know this stream is NOT the one at WACS1143 (now behind us) but is instead one of those spontaneous snow melt trickles we have been hoping for---except later in the day.

However, ignorance is indeed bliss as our perception becomes our reality. And after breaking for a leisurely lunch and pumping water, we strike out with confidence that we will be in camp tonight even earlier than expected. Wild visions of even going farther today, thus reducing our hiking distance for tomorrow, start to pepper our conversation and play with our senses.

But, alas, the trail starts changing and the direction takes a dramatic turn to the east. What was a fairly heavy forest canopy above us quite rapidly opens to full sun. And the trail narrows amid large rocks, with heavy scrub brush almost blocking the way. Realizing something is awry, our bushwacking instinct takes over---the real trail must be directly above us. Well, after 30 minutes crawling over rocks and through sage brush, we return to our lunch stop near the stream, tired, sweating and down nearly a liter of water.

About that time, two day hikers who we had met earlier in the day (we'll call them Mary and Doug), arrive at our lunch log and see our obvious exhaustion here on the Granite Chief Trail. That's when they clarify our error and tell us where the trail split is 30 minutes behind us. By the time we regroup and pick up the PCT again, three hours have passed and it is now 3:30 p.m.

Although today is our first experience with feeling the need to be especially conscious as a group about our water supplies, given the availability of snow at several points along the trail this year, our practical risk is quite low. And if push comes to shove and we need water, we could always stop and melt snow. Or there is also the option of a short side trip to Mountain Meadow Lake---either is only a small inconvenience. All this means any available trickle from snow melt that crosses the trail will be gravy instead of a necessity.

Back on track, we resign ourselves to getting as far as we can get by the end of the day, knowing fatigue is already starting to set in as we have added at least three miles and three hours to an already hard day. The exhilaration of the morning slide in the snow is now just a fond memory. Now we have Anderson Peak as our next target.


The climb is long and steady for most of the 1,200 feet of elevation gain and the final 2-1/2 miles are along a ridge line approaching Anderson Peak. Along this stretch, camping spots and water sources are non-existent. We are up high where the trail traces the top of the ridge line with a clear down slope on both sides of the trail. Although we are making good progress due to very little elevation change, time is now working against us at the end of the day. As the sun dips lower in the western sky, it is fast approaching 7:30 p.m.


The wind is picking up, steady at 15 - 20 mph and temps (mostly due to wind chill) are dropping. The trail urges us on and we have now decided way point 1152 is out of the question---it would likely be at least 10:30 by the time we reach that point. So, now, a certain urgency enters the equation as we start looking for any flat spot where we can pitch our tents. We will even settle for a spot big enough to spread out our sleeping bags in a bunch. But there is nothing along the ridge.

Anderson Peak towers ahead of us, leaving us wondering yet hopeful that decent camping spots are waiting for us in the next half-hour, after we girdle the roughly 3/4-mile semi-circle around the peak---or so we thought. Then, rounding an unexpectedly sharp corner in the trail, we run dead on into a huge field of snow under which the trail disappears.

The snow field has to be at least 10 - 15 feet deep and about 100 meters across above the path of the trail. Looking down the expanse of the snow field, the slope drops steeply over 400 feet to where it thins out amid boulders and loose rock far below. There's no way we will cross this snow field---not tonight and probably not tomorrow. One slip and there would be no way to stop.

To our left and below us is a thick stand of tall trees, rocks and underbrush. In the dimming light, the steep slope is showing no signs of giving way to a stopping place. But Joseph Krieg picks his way down the slope ahead of the rest of us and finds a rocky ledge in the trees 100 feet below us. We don't take much convincing to follow him down in hopes there is enough space to camp for the night, even without tents if necessary.


In fact, there is just enough space for three tents, even if on a bit of a slant. Inside 15 minutes, packs are off, tents are up and dinner is underway. I am so tired, all I can manage to do after camp is settled is sit on the ground and breathe. Darkness has now overtaken us and this is the first night we are using our headlamps. It's been a long day---12 hours on the trail and 13.5 miles covered, albeit nearly four miles of which were off-course over some challenging terrain.


A double helping of Mountain House freeze dried beef stew is enough to take me close to comatose status---right after securing our bear cannisters away from the tents. I must admit, it's hard to imagine a bear going to the trouble of retracing our steps to our landing spot on this night. By 10:00 p.m. lights are out and we are in our tents---but not before marveling at the starry-starry night. Matthew makes one final update call to Bob and Sandra Puliz to revise the estimated miles from two to around six remaining for tomorrow's hike out to Donner. We are already wondering what the morning will bring to block our intended reconnection with the trail.

Day Four On The Pacific Crest Trail

DAY FOUR: Tuesday, August 2


With renewed energy after a relaxing end of the day in camp yesterday, we are pulling out of camp at 8:20 this morning, heading north---or so we believe.


After about 15 minutes and a half-mile into our hike (along steady uphill switch-backs, by the way), we encounter two day hikers, Larry and a friend, on the trail heading toward our departure point.

Exchanging trail news and our intended directions, it doesn't take long to realize we are going the wrong way.

Somehow, in our departure from camp, we jumped on the only clear exit from camp. In retrospect, our entry into camp the day before had followed sharp diagonals across deep snow fields had actually cut across the true trail into camp, which was lost in the snow. It is purely our good fortune to have run across those two hikers so soon after our departure.


Reversing our course, we are now back on track a half-hour later, in the direction of Twin Peaks. If our initial false pathway had been uphill, our corrected route is also uphill (how can that be?) as we zig-zag our way up, eventually hitting deep snow on north facing slopes. Thankfully, the trail flattens out after about two miles or so near the intersection with the Tahoe Rim Trail around way point 1132.


Finally, we are making good time and at 10:30 we reach Twin Peaks four miles into the day. The more or less flat section of the trail continues along a long ridge at about 8,000 feet elevation above and to the west of Lake Tahoe.



The views are spectacular (again) and we are filling our eyes (and taking lots of photos) of the vistas all around. Wild flowers are popping out everywhere along the trail.


On top of it all, cell phone reception is great when we stop for lunch near way point 1134 at around 12:15. Taking advantage of the unexpectedly clear cell service, I surprise mom and dad in Fort Walton Beach, FL with a call.

Blue skies and full sun with a steady breeze at about 10 mph (ergo no mosquitos) make this stop feel like we are on top of the world---"as good as it gets" comes to mind.


At 1:30, the lunch break is over and we are on the trail again, spirits bouyed by the energy boost and a section of trail that makes hiking feel easy. Even a heavy pack doesn't detract from the moment. Can we just call for a helicopter for a pick up? The 3-1/2 hours to way point WACS1138 pass quickly as most of the trail is flat or "down" and at 4:00 p.m. we stop to pump water sufficient to get us to our campsite at way point CS1140 (elevation 7,600 feet).

The continuing easy "down" of about 400 feet gets us to our campsite by 6:00 p.m. As it turns out, there is a fast flowing creek within about 100 meters of our camp. We hadn't counted on having water so close. That will allow us to top off tomorrow morning after breakfast before heading into a long, dry section of the trail. The only relief will be snow melt streamlets in places where they wouldn't normally be this time of the year.


In camp we make our first (and only) fire on the trail---just large enough to smoke out the mosquitos and remind us of what a campfire in the outdoors is like. Tents are up in no time and dinner is underway.


In the midst of it all, David, a British native now living in Canada, stops by for a short break---he is hiking on from whence we came and is planning on making it to WACS1138 by nightfall. So, he only stays for a few minutes for some company and trail talk. He makes particular note of our "pieces of Scout garb" and tells us he figured we were Scouts. I have the sense that his experience is seeing British Scouts in full uniform, even on the trail. So, our BSA hiking shirts and neckerchiefs are sufficient but only partial evidence of our Scout identities.

David is a lone hiker and he says he is making his way toward Kearsarge Pinnacles where he had last left the trail after a full week in deep snow several weeks ago. He is clearly feeling better about his chances now, even with the snow we describe on the trail ahead of him. That optimism is somewhat hard for us to grasp as he will be fighting the uphills in snow. But contending with snow 100 percent of the time for a week must be enough to make anything else seem tame.


Overall, today has been a very good day---challenges early, then we made good time the rest of the day, putting in 10.5 miles by day's end, the last 2.5 miles of which were down. After a filling dinner and replenished water bottles, we are down for the night by 8:30.

The MCL injury seems to be holding steady with the improvised "sock sleeve" and an ace bandage provided by Mark Matney, one of our Eagle Scouts. A couple Advil gels are my insurance for the night. Tomorrow's objective is to reach as close to way point 1152 as possible. But we already know there are two major "ups" in the way not to mention unknown snow barriers. Sleep calls....