Tales from The Trail: Well Shit

There’s some things I left out of my previous posts.  I started this blog mostly for my PCT trek, but also some of my other hikes as well.  As I continue to write, my style has loosened up a bit.  Less and less I feel like I need to be informative, and I feel more like just writing what I feel like.  There’s been a lack of any human element.  I have a handful of stories about each of my trips this last summer, so we’ll start off with Kings Peak.  I will be doing these in series to kind of break up the posts a bit more.

 

Well Shit

I didn’t sleep much the night before this trip.  I had to make a last minute run to REI to grab a couple small things, and from there I was obsessing over how my backpack was loaded.  I was constantly pulling stuff out to make sure I had everything, but for some reason it didn’t cross my mind to have a checklist.

Before I knew it, it was 1:00 AM and it was probably time to go to bed.  Really, I just sat there and stared at the ceiling for a few hours, my heart pumping in my chest.  It had been a while since I went backpacking last, and moreover I hadn’t really done a solo trip.  Much less a trip to go climb up a 13’er.  New territory all over.  I closed my eyes for a brief moment, opened them, and suddenly it was time to go.

My dad was coming along for the ride and would try to hike in as far as he could, but the plan was he’d probably stop a mile in and camp by one of the many lakes along the route.  I had company for the long drive, which was nice.  I was super pumped to get out there, adrenaline burning in my veins.  Before I knew it I was in Utah, and the drive had started to take its toll.  Once we hit Wyoming I had been driving for 16 hours straight, and could have gone straight to the trailhead, but we decided it was best we stop somewhere for the night.

My dad called around while I drove, and we settled on a cheap little motel in a town near the forest road we had to take.  The owner was super awesome, he said to call him once he got there and he’d drive down to let us check in.

We got our room, I dropped my gear on the floor and fell on the bed.  I didn’t sleep a lot that night, but just laying down revitalized me a bit and I was good to go the following morning.  Or.. so I thought.  Before we left I was going through my bag one last time to make sure I had everything, and I noticed something was missing.  Something so obvious, something so important, was just gone from my bag.

“OH!  Oh.. shit.  Fuck fuck fuck.  Fuck!” I started chanting.

“What?” My dad asked.

I slumped on the bed and just sat there, head hanging.

“I kinda forgot my food..”

I suspected that my manic packing and repacking had pushed my food bag under my bed, and I didn’t realize it was missing from my bag.  I sat there for a while and beat myself up over it.  How could I have been so dumb?!  Who forgets food for a backpacking trip?!  No one does that!

My dad was supportive and got me to laugh it off after a while.  He gave me one of his dehydrated meals, and we commenced “Operation Find a Store in the Middle of Nowhere Wyoming”, which proved to be harder than we expected.  Eventually we found a store and raided their shelves.  Ramen, instant soups, other forms of noodle, etc.  Were bought, and I felt somewhat better.  I’d never used normal food on a trip before and was feeling less than prime about it, but I had food and that’s all that mattered.

We pulled out of the store and started our bumpy drive to the trail.

 

 

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