Xmas 2013
“IT WAS A PLEASURE TO BURN.”
When Ray Bradbury used that opener for his novel Fahrenheit 451, he was talking about burning paper (and the temperature at which it spontaneously combusts). He could have also been talking about this last summer in the proverbial soggy Pacific Northwest. Starting in late June we got literally ten weeks of zero precipitation. The last time we had a rainless July, Eisenhower was in office putting the ink on the National Interstate Highway Act. It also explains why my rain meter is showing about 20 inches short (at a mere 44″). So at least for 2013, I’ll consider global climate change my long lost friend (sorry Mr. Gore).
I also found another kind of burn. It’s the type you get at work when you are called into a last minute meeting with your manager and step into the room to find her, a department head, and an HR rep at a table with the seat at the front saved just for you. I kind of lost focus after I heard ’60 Day Notice’ and ‘Feel free to head home for the day to take it all in.’ Of course I decided to stay, and searched the internet for topo maps and trail guides while calculating severance package got 19 years of service. When you are looking at forty weeks off, may as well plan a hike. But alas, it was not to be. I found a lateral position in the company where I am basically doing the same thing for the same people in the same office, only my manager is in Portsmouth, NH. I did a business trip there in June to meet the team; it was a good trip, and I learned if I missed the turn for the hotel the first place for a U-turn was in Maine (which I visited three times). Another state scratched off the life list.
I got into the Subaru Jaclyn is driving the other day and found a low beam blub burned out, the heat shield rattling, and the power steering pump whining. I think when she gets in a car at least half of her physical senses turn off. Of course the stereo probably helps too. State Farm has been waiting for this moment for 16years, because every insurance bundle savings I ever got was the wiped out the day we added her to the policy. On the upside we are very proud of her. She’s a junior this year, taking AP classes, applies herself 100% to everything she takes on, and is committed to the school’s (Raisbeck Aviation HS) robotics program (last year it threw Frisbees and took them to the finals in St Louis). She undertook an internship at Hobart Machined Product over the summer (getting some real world experience at a very young age), and had a hand (or a pinky finger) in bringing one of the last two Lockheed Electra 1OE airplanes (of Amelia Earhart fame) to the Museum of Flight. But she is also a teenager, which means she walks around a trash can a dozen times before taking it to the curb and leaves a debris field of glasses, plates, and silverware thru the house that the Titanic would envy.
If you like big ships, try taking an Alaskan cruise where three laps on the promenade deck equals a mile. That’s what our branch of the entire Wing Family did last August for my parents 50th Anniversary. True, kind of risky putting all of the proverbial eggs in one basket, but so is fifty years with the same person and that seemed to turn out ok for my parents. The ports of call where touristy but provided killer deals on shirts and hats, and it was easy to get off the beaten path and make your own adventure. Toss in a couple of tours, a few totem poles, a touch of Native American art, a horizon of legendary vistas, just a pinch of Russian folk dancers, and it’s amazing how the week flies by. Not to mention the endless food onboard which these vessels are well-known for (I stuck to the fresh sushi – I figured a 130 mil/ion thin Japanese must be onto something). It’s incredible how those ships can move (and there’s a channel on the cabin TV with deck cameras in case you don’t want to go outside and see for yourself). Our vessel pulled 24 knots in heavy chop (which made all of my sisters sea sick the first day out), but then could power down to just thrusters and nudge up to a dock or a couple hundred feet of a glacier sixty miles deep inside Glacier Bay National Park.
But one national park in a year for the Wing family is not enough. So we returned to a classic and spent the last week in August at good old Glacier. It’s been almost thirty years since I worked there in college, and it was hands down a week of incredible weather. Hot and sunny, open skies, hillsides of huckleberries, and miles of trail. And the bears were active, but not overbearing (chuckle). With the kids older now I could show them some of my favorite spots off the beaten path. Jae got to experience steep and secluded Lake Natahki (which takes a little more wind out of the old sails than I remembered). And she joined me on the much coveted Ptarmigan Tunnel to Ahern Pass goat trail – which has a six mile stretch carved in the middle of a 3000′ sheer escarpment, literally pounded into existence by millions of tiny little goat hooves over a dozen centuries. I’ve had my eye on this route for many years, and once we were on it, I am confident not all of those goats made it to the other side. I can honestly say that it was pretty hairy, and that means a lot coming from me. Route finding was problematic, exposure often extreme, travel slow, and Jae had to ‘squint the tears of fear out of her eyes’ to see for safe foot placement. In the end after clearing the worst miles, the day was growing late and the prudent move was to take a bailout return route and save the rest for another trip. But with good friends, ample food, and the grandest of backdrops to share the evening stories, it was indeed a banner day to remember for a long time to come.
And with that I’m at my page limit. Merry Christmas to all and best wishes for the New Year.
The Wing Family
Dave, Nancy, Jaclyn, Mitchell
The Mountain Man Review
The year started (as it always does) with Snow Camp. This was the 18th Annual and we got back to the basics by renting from the USFS the historical American River
Guard Station. Located on the Eastern side of the Cascades along the banks of the American River, this rustic cabin was built by the men of the 932nd Camp Naches CCC crew in 1941for fire and recreation management personnel. For $25 a night you get a shack that sleeps eight, and our low expectations for luxury were met if not greatly exceeded. We had to sled our gear in to reach the two-story structure, with the amazing modern amenities of electrical lights, a wood stove, and the original outhouse. It was “refurbished” in 2004, and after seeing it, I could not possibly tell you what that is supposed to mean. We brought our own wood, and it was a good thing because the wood crib was cleaned out (government cutbacks, you know) and we were mid-winter in a deep cold valley. By cold I mean highs in the 20’s by day and single digit negative at night.
The structure took a long time to heat, but once it did, it was like our own cozy Hansel and Gretel Cottage set in some remote Bavarian wood. We had classic east of the mountains sun, clear skies, open vistas, and fantastic snow that was so dry it didn’t stick to boots or shoes. Nothing is better than a cold day on the trail, the bristly bite of sun and wind burn on your face, a warm hearth shared with friends, and weaving exaggerated yarns while chilling down your whisky with shards of icicle freshly snapped from the roof eaves just outside the door. Well, maybe there is. But I haven’t found it yet.
The February camping outing to Orcas in the San Juan Islands is still happening. The kids and I have been doing this one for over ten years now. Jaclyn’s ever busier schedule has found her otherwise committed the last couple of trips, but Mitch is doing his best to fill her shoes. He’s not too much into the cold, or the wet, or hiking, but immensely enjoys an enormous campfire. So I take enough wood to burn for all four days continuously if needed (and we often do). He is growing up fast and I can tell my time with him is ticking away and I don’t have an understudy to groom. At least I’ve gotten in a lot of good years between the two of them I had an opportunity to share a hike with Jae and her geeky friends from the high school robotics team this summer. In June the group did the eight mile stretch of the Olympic Coast from Third Beach to Goodman Creek. About ten years ago myself and some hardy souls did the entire 50+ mile death march from top to bottom (longest stretch of undeveloped Pacific coastline in the lower 48). It definitely taught me respect for the ocean, watch out for dead carcasses in the surf, and how to read tide charts. With a light pack, comfortable miles, and a rare sunny weekend, there was lots of time for exploring tide pools and appreciating the raw beauty of Washington’s ragged shores. The camp/hiking drama was great. Watching sixteen year olds fumble with gear, gather wood, read a trail, and converse in that irritating socially awkward way makes me wonder how any kid lives past that age (including myself). It was nice to spend some time with Jac, given I barely see her anymore and soon she will be out of the house for college.
For the spring hike we traveled far far away to southeast corner of WA and set up camp in remote Field Springs SP. I had no idea I could drive nine hours and still be in the state. The real draw to this place is they have teepees for rent. Yes, the real thing. It took us a while to figure out how the top flap worked (especially when it started to rain), but you couldn’t ask for a better stage for creating embellished stories of wilderness travel (biking). Also a good place for a warm sleeping bag – I found June at 7000 feet that teepees don’t hold much heat For biking miles we actually crossed into Oregon and trekked up the Wenaha River. This wild band of water cut an amazing serpentine thru the layered cliffs; but you needed to keep one eye on the trail as poison oak was everywhere. We found a nice wild hornets’ nest to throw rocks at and stayed longer that we should have. Men will be boys at any age, especially when rocks are involved.
The fall hike was a little different this year. There was no hiking. It was 3000 mile road trip to the Great American Beer Festival in the Mile High City. I haven’t been back to the Denver area since when I lived there as a kid in the 1970’s. The hiking guys have been talking about the GABF for years, and finally everyone was able to secure the time off to make it happen. The festival itself is a three day event that they sell 50,000 tickets for (which sell out in two hours). Over 600 brewers and 2400 beers for the tasting. We got a hotel room across the street from the convention center where it was held, and I have to say it was an amazing experience. Picture thousands of people with tasting glasses mingling up and down endless rows of booths, with the bag pipers piping and every name brand snack food vendor tlrrowi.ng samples at you (the beef jerky girl was pretty popular). Beers were mapped out by region, and we could try quality crafts from every corner of the country. But as with all great trips, the journey was the real adventure.
The trip there had a stop in Salt Lake UT and Aurora CO. That leg of the expedition yielded walking the Boise Basque district, overlooking massive Shoshone Falls, embracing the San Rafael Swell, Dave backing over a mailbox and denting Joe’s van, sleeping in a winterized greenhouse with tanks of Lilly pads & carp (which apparently make sucking sounds ALL night long), then watching a thin man fold himself into a 24×24 inch transparent plastic box in Boulder’s open air Pearl Street Mall. But the crown jewel: paying homage the home of Mike the Headless Chicken and honoring his memory by buying t-shirts and can cozies. The walkabout home included stops at Tongue River Reservoir and Missoula. It bestowed upon us Register Cliff (where hundreds of emigrant names were carved as they traveled west, dating back almost 200 years), an awe inspiring sunrise over the Tongue River Reservoir on a well below freezing morning, a thirty foot statue of a Jackalope, wagon wheel ruts cut three feet deep into solid rock on the Oregon Trail, Dave almost stepping on a rattlesnake, the largest freestanding masonry smoke stack in the world (at some point in time), trying to make sense of the beer and liquor laws of different states, Custer’s last stand (close to the government shutdown naturally), and the wonderful hospitality of Dr. Emily Heid who not only fed us and offered libations but gave Joe a gratis medical exam with treatment advice. Could I make this stuff up? Sure. But it would not be near as good.
The MMR is a little short this Xmas. My apologies. Next year I hope to get more boot time on the trail and have some real stories of woe and anguish.
In the meantime, keep hiking my friends
-dw
