High Adventure #3

In 1978, the Explorer Post (360) booked a 5-day canoeing and camping trip starting near the old mining town of Bissett Manitoba. Part of the adventure was driving to and from Bisset, in caravan.

I had purchased my first car, a Mazda RX-2, the preceding November. Phil led in his Chevy Blazer, there was a white car driven by another scout, and I brought up the rear in my Mazda. I liked to drive exactly the speed limit, but Phil drove somewhat faster. I remember spending a lot of time driving in the left lane, passing other cars to catch up with the rest of the caravan.  We stayed on 2-lane roads, mostly.

An educational part of the adventure was to visit the state houses in states that we crossed on the way. Our first night, we stayed in a county park south of Pierre SD. That place was memorable because the park was just north of a shooting range. There were lots of reports from guns being fired well into the evening, and I learned to tell by ear the difference between a rifle shot and a shotgun shot.

I think we must have visited the state house the first day, because we stopped for breakfast near I-90 in Bismarck ND. That stop was memorable because I ordered a chocolate waffle for breakfast.  The waffle showed up at the table unadorned, while in the menu it was shown with whipped cream.  So I requested whipped cream.

The waffle was whisked away, and some 5 minutes later it reappeared with whipped cream on it.  I took one bite and made a sour face. Just at the moment I figured out that they had used salt rather than sugar to make the whipped cream, it was whisked away again. After a longer interval, a new waffle showed up, replete with whipped cream -- this time, sweetened with sugar.  Everyone else had long since finished, so I wolfed down the waffle and we were under way once more. I don't recall anything about the statehouse in North Dakota; if we stopped, it must be less memorable than its neighbor to the south.

The second night, I think we camped somewhere near Winnipeg. It was a scout camp of some kind, but with rather spartan accommodations. There were showers but no cabins. I recall cooking spaghetti in a 28oz food tin; I don't recall why we didn't have proper cookware.

The next day, we drove in to Bissett. It's about 150 miles from civilization, northeast along the shore of Lake Winnipeg.  The road going in there was a broad dirt road, going for mile after mile through forest and scrub.  There was no view of the lake (or much of anything), but an occasional right-angle turn that allowed us to mark our progress on the map.

At one of those turns, I downshifted the Mazda to second gear. After speeding back up to 50 or so, I failed to notice I was still in second. Some time later, I noticed that the temperature gauge was very hot: the engine was overheating. I finally noticed my error and shifted into fourth, but the damage had been done. The rotary engine is very sensitive to overheating, so that oversight led to my having to rebuild the engine after we returned to Boulder.

Arrived in Bissett, we continued on to the canoe base on Lake Wallace. It was either the only building in the camp or the only one I recall -- a corrugated steel structure with the general store on one side and the canoe house on the other.

There were just enough scouts to fill up three 17' canoes. Gear for 3 people went behind the center thwart and the passenger in front of that. Of course, each boat had a bow and stern paddler.  Our guide had a smaller boat that he paddled himself. I was usually in the stern of the boat I was in, and not very often a passenger. I had practiced a bit in Boulder, and had developed an efficient J-stroke. I could paddle for a long time on either side and let my bow man switch off as he pleased. When he was in the stern, he would call for a switch every few strokes. So it was clear what was the the most efficient combination. Charles Lamb was the smallest scout in the group, and he was usually in the passenger seat.

I don't remember any details about the first camp, but there were established campsites all along the way. It was easy to pull the boats up on sandy beaches and set up camp for the night. The terrain seemed to be mostly weathered limestone. There were birch and pine trees clinging to the rocks. Here and there, one of the trees that had been blown over showed in its roots just how shallow the soil was. There were blueberry bushes everywhere.

I often (always?) volunteered as cook and took to gathering blueberries and fortifying our meals with them. Blueberries in the coffee cake for dessert, blueberries in pancakes for breakfast, etc. By the time we finished, I didn't want to see another blueberry for an entire year.

We must have portaged into Obukowin Lake, because we ended up canoeing down the Gammon River. Obukowin Lake empties into Carroll Lake.  Our first camp was most likely on one of these.

The second day out, we stopped for lunch at a rocky promontory that separated two lakes. This is where I learned that other boats leave trails in the water that you can follow.  I had noticed that there were lines of bubbles in the water and a kind of ribbon of smoother water around those. When we climbed on the rock and started unpacking lunch, there was evidence that another group had just left there a short time before. I realized that we were just a short distance behind another group of scouts, and that the trails I had seen in the water showed where their boats had been.

Sure enough, we caught up with the other group in the afternoon. We chatted with them long enough to determine that they were taking a shorter loop: we would not be competing with them for campsites.

The guide took us to another rocky shore with a crude dock and a little shack. A man came out and greeted us. He told us he was a trapper and lived up there all by himself.  Charles Lamb asked whose land it was where this guy was staying. He replied, "It's all God's country, boy."

Occasionally, we had to portage between lakes. The actual portage was not a problem, but the mosquitos were. Out on the lake, there were no bugs, but the moment we landed, the mosquitos were all over us. We got into a pretty smooth routine, where two people would jump out of the boat, grab one pack each, and immediately go bashing through the brush. The third would stow the paddles under the thwarts, heft the boat onto his shoulders and start blasting down the trail after the others. The boat would be thrown keel down in the water at the other end, both packs hefted in, all men loaded and out onto the lake -- again within seconds. We all had bug dope, but it was pretty much useless. We tried to set up camp in a location where there was some breeze to carry the bugs away.

The third day we stopped for lunch at a grassy bank along the Gammon River.  I stepped ashore to make "rest stop", and discovered that it wasn't actually a shore.  The grassy bank was just a mat of vegetation that had grown out into the river over the years. Under my weight, it sank until the water was lapping over the tops of my boots. The floating biome supported a variety of grasses and wildflowers. I hopped back in the boat and we chose another place to land.

At about 5pm, we came down to the mouth of the Gammon River where it empties into Aikens Lake. We were on the eastern shore and had to cross to the west. However, there was a pretty strong wind from the west and 3' waves crashing on the shore. The guide decided to wait for the evening calm before trying to cross. We had dinner early, and some of us went swimming in a large pool right where the waters joined.

When we continued, the waves were still about 1 1/2' high.  It took some skillful canoeing to slice the waves without getting water in the boat. It was still pretty thrilling for the bow paddler, getting hit with spray from the bow. The passenger got pretty wet, too. It's best to hit the waves perpendicularly, but doing so meant we had to veer off south of our destination.  After we got about halfway across the lake, the waves went down and we were able to alter course to reach the next campsite.

My boat had gotten ahead of the others, so we paused mid-lake to let them catch up.  In this lake, there was a submerged ridge that came up just below the water's surface. We set our passenger out on a rock that was barely awash, and I backed up to take a picture of him "walking on water".

That night or the following one, there was an electrical storm.  It is a bit unnerving lying in a tent with aluminum verticals, wondering whether the next lightening strike will prefer the tent pole to a nearby fir tree. But eventually the storm moved on and I slept easily after that.

Our camp on the western shore of Aikens Lake must have been Wednesday -- our third day out. From there, we portaged into the Leaf Lake drainage. The upper reaches of the creek leading down to the lake had barely a trickle. In many places, we all stepped out of the boat onto the bank and dragged the canoe across until it was floating again. We were all very happy to see the marshes at the head of Leaf Lake, since it meant we were paddling on open water again.

Phil had made us leave our watches behind but brought his along. (Hmmm.) At one point, someone asked the time. I looked up the sky, gauged the position of the sun, and using my built-in compass announced, "It's about 2pm." Phil chimed in with, "It's 2:10." Nailed it!

Leaf Lake drains into the Broadleaf River. I remember this as one of the most picturesque parts of the trip.  The lake is long and narrow, and rounding each point exposed vista slightly different from before. The stands of trees changed and the shorline came in close or curved far away. As the lake narrowed into the river, our views became more intimate with tall stands of birch and pines on either side. As evening drew nigh, a pair of wood ducks flew overhead, following the course of the river. That image is the perfect Canadian wilderness cameo.

The next morning, we turned into another river (the Wanipigow) where we were paddling upstream.  There were rapids, and the current was so strong that we had to get out of the canoe and drag it upstream. At the second or third of these, my bow man lost his grip and the canoe started to swing out into the current. I stepped forward to grab it, but discovered that below water line the rock was completely covered in moss. I slid right under the bow and found myself floating (barely) in the middle of the river.

It was very hard to swim. But then, I realized that I still had the paddle in my right hand. "Oh, yeah. Release paddle," I thought. It tried swimming back to the south shore where the rest of the party stood. But after several seconds, it was clear I was not making progress. The current was pushing me away.  "Okay, then," I thought, "go with the flow." I turned around and made for the opposite shore.

The river at that place was about 25 feet wide, so it did not take long to reach the other bank. But when I was about 5' out from shore, I got caught in an eddy, and could not make further progress.  I swam for about 30 seconds and then noticed that the bottom of the river was only 5' down. I simply stood up and walked out on the bank.

In the mean time, Phil and another scout had gotten back in a canoe, retrieved my boat and paddle and then came around to ferry me back to the south shore. Even though I assured them it was not necessary, they made me strip off my wet clothes and change into my dry outfit.

As we continued on, the Wanipigow River narrowed. Wild rice grew on the bottom of the river 2 to 3 feet down, and brushed our boats as we passed over. There were grassy meadows as we went around the bends of that meandering stream. We came out on the western arm of Wallace Lake, and I began to recognize my surroundings.

At that point, we were pretty well strung out. The strongest scouts were in the lead canoe, followed by Phil and his crew. Next was the guide, paddling solo and lastly us. My bow man also recognized the surroundings. I started to put my shoulder into my stroke and at that unspoken signal, my bow man started to put more power into his stroke. We passed the guide within a few minutes, and passed Phil's boat before they had figured out what was happening. We came up right abeam the lead canoe before they had caught on.  Then, it was a fight to the finish.

It was about a mile from there back to the landing. My bow man switched when he had to and I adjusted. But we found that we were most comfortable with him paddling on the left and me on the right; we spent much longer in that mode. We kept up neck and neck with the other boat -- their bow was always just inches in front of or behind ours. They had a slight advantage because they had the inside track, but no matter. We managed to keep up with them just the same.

Finally about 100' from shore, the scout in the stern of the other boat called for a switch. In the switch, they dropped back about 3'.  They never made it up.  In my boat, we continued in our preferred mode all the way to shore.  The two boats hit the beach a half second apart, but it was clear who'd won.  Ooh, arrgh!

After stowing our boats and loading our gear back into the cars, we headed for home. We stopped for a celebratory dinner at the first decent-looking restaurant along the way. The waitress offered us fresh blueberry cobbler for dessert, which I found I had to decline. I did eventually recover my taste for blueberries.

Alas, there are no pictures to accompany this narrative. I had taken along my trusty Argus C-3 and two rolls of film, and I had attached a 1/4-20 U-bolt to the tripod mount so I could fasten the camera to one of the thwarts to keep it dry. Somewhere along the way, the camera and film fell down into the bottom of the boat and got soaked, so all of the film was ruined. 

High Adventure #1

I was in Explorer Post 360 sponsored by IBM in Niwot Colorado. Our 1976 High Adventure was a backpacking trip along the Collegiate Peaks Range. Phil Smith was the leader and I believe Tom Schneider was the assistant. The trip included an ascent of Mt. Elbert (the highest peak in Colorado). Some of the scouts had climbed Mt. Massive to the north as a shakedown trip two weeks earlier, but I missed that outing.

We started by driving from Boulder up to Twin Lakes.  It must have been a Saturday. I rode with Richard Hufford and Jim Sanford in Richard's 1959 Willys 2WD Utility Wagon.  The adventure was well under way as we headed up I-70 toward the Eisenhower Tunnel.  We kept smelling an odor like "fried chicken" which was probably sulfuric acid that had boiled out of the battery as we drove.
The truck may have broken down eventually, because I recall being deposited with Gretchen Bookman on the mudflats above the Twin Lakes while Phil Smith drove off to tend to some logistical matter. The mosquitos were upon us within seconds, so I set up the two-person tent I'd brought along and we dove in.

Mt. Elbert from Twin Lakes

Some time later, I noticed there was a guy sitting next to a camper nearby cleaning fish.  A breeze had come up in the early evening and the bugs weren't as bad, so I went over and offered to help.  While we cleaned the fish together, he explained that he had seen the Fish and Wildlife truck out earlier in the day, stocking the lake. He figured correctly that it was the ideal place to reel in a few naive trout. He had a dozen -- all just barely over the legal size limit for harvest.
After we finished, he took 3 and offered the rest to me. He explained his wife did not like fish, so they were just for him.  I had no cooking utensils, but that was no problem.  He disappeared into the camper and came out moments later with a skillet, spatula and enough shortening to fry the fish.  Sweet deal.

Back in the tent, I set up my grasshopper stove and cooked the fish.  Cooking inside a nylon tent is not recommended, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time: the mosquitos were still pretty thick.  Gretchen and I ate all we could, and then saved the leftovers for breakfast. When I returned the skillet, the beneficent camper gave me aluminum foil to wrap them up.  A short time later, the rest of the crew arrived and we drove to the restaurant at the east end of the lake for dinner.

Mt. Massive from Mt. Elbert

The plan for the next day was our ascent of Mt. Elbert.  We had wanted to get an early start, but it was about 8:30 when we got on the trail. The trail rises from the lake, going almost due north along the face of the mountain.  At the top of that draw, it turns west and goes up the ridge to the peak.  Above timberline, there wasn't much of a trail anyway.  It was an open slope at about a 45 degree angle -- a continuous heavy climb.  We stopped a couple of times, and had lunch before reaching the summit.

R to L: Phil Smith (standing); Jim Sanford;
Gretchen Bookman; Tom Schneider; Richard
Hufford (in hat); Kiyoshi Akima (with camera);
Mark Chance (in red parka)

Once there, I was enthralled by the view.  For a 180 degree sweep from north through west to the south, there were snow-capped peaks and dark valleys stretching away to the horizon.  Mt. Massive commanded the view to the north.  And between that peak and Mt. Elbert there is a deep valley that curves around the base of Mt. Elbert to the west.  The two peaks are like gatekeepers; past those, there is a broad valley encompassing some 10 square miles. I remember it as a magical place I would like to visit some time.

Looking northwest from Mt. Elbert

The back side of Mt. Elbert is about 25' of a steep rock shelf and then a sheer 1000' drop. I decided that if I ever wanted to "end it all", all I had to do was to climb Mt. Elbert and take a flying leap into oblivion.  But then, on reaching the summit and drinking in such beauty, I could never follow through.
I used my durable Argus C3 to capture some of the view. Though mere photos cannot convey its full grandeur, they still transport me back to that place.

Halfmoon Creek
below Mt. Elbert

The weather was unusually dry and clear.  We were not hurried off the peak by one of the early-afternoon lightning storms that are so common. However, we still wanted to down before dark.  The ascent was 8 miles with a 5000 ft elevation gain.  So we still had to slog another 8 miles and lose all that altitude.  In a way, the descent is tougher than the ascent: All of the energy released going down is dissipated in one's quadriceps. We were all very sore by the time we got back to the Twin Lakes. Going up, it had been hard for me to keep up with the guys all jostling to be in front. On the return, I was the second or third to make it back to camp.

Gretchen did not go on the week-long trip; she had just come up for the Mt. Elbert ascent. Her father came up and collected her after the hike.  That must have been Sunday. Phil's wife Vada did not climb Mt. Elbert, but was along on the rest of the trip.

The next day, we hiked over the pass between Mt. Hope and Quail Mountain.  I remember long climb and especially the long downhill trek. Our camp that third night was in a broad glade near a small pond.  We had not descended all the way to the bottom of the valley.
I don't remember if we attempted Mt. Oxford, but I remember for certain that we climbed Mt. Harvard. That peak left an impression on me since near the summit there was a marmot that I came upon that was licking the lichens off the rock. I offered the marmot a walnut, which I thought would be a real treat. But the marmot refused the walnut and went back to licking lichens.

My impression of that part of the trip was that we stayed close to the top of the ridge.  We camped out above timberline. The next day (which I guess to be Wednesday), we had planned to hike up the west ridge of Mt. Yale. It seemed to be only a short distance away.  But it rained most of the day so we stayed in our tents. A game that we played for a short while involved one person pretending to be an IBM 5100 computer and another giving it commands or programs to execute.  The "computer" didn't do very well in this exercise, so interest waned quickly.

The weather improved the next day, but we skipped Mt. Yale and descended into the valley. We did a lot of hiking along dirt roads and through open forests of lodgepole pine. It was pretty hot and dusty.  That night or the next, we camped about halfway between that valley and the next. There wasn't much of a place to pitch our tents, so we just nestled them among the rocks on the face of the slope where we stopped.

After the last day of hiking, we ended up at the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Pool. It was about an hour before closing. While we were there, some local boys tried to pull off the top of Vada's suit, and she let it be known she was not pleased. The scouts effectively chased the locals out of the pool.
Just before we left, I found a gold ring on the bottom of the pool. It had a square piece of tiger's eye carved in the shape of a head. No one was behind the counter, so I thought it better to leave a note and keep the ring.  Nobody ever claimed it, so I kept it as a memento of the trip. We (the boys, at least) spent the last night camped out in the back yard of Vada's parents' house in Salida.

Driving back through Denver the next day, there were heavy thundershowers that caused some flooding near the junction with I-70. As we drove up on the viaduct near the Broncos stadium, I saw cars below, stalled out in water that was more than a foot deep.

I remember getting back home and not recognizing the kitchen.  We had installed blue fleur-de-lis wallpaper the weekend before my trip, and I hadn't gotten used to it being there. So when I got home, the scene disagreed with my memory.

Recollections from so long ago are just little moments, stitched together using maps and some reasoning about what must have happened when. For one thing, I must have run out of film, because I have lots of pictures from Mt. Elbert but none from the rest of the adventure. 

One disjointed moment was when Jim offered to trade me M&M's for some of the salted soybeans in my trail mix. I didn't really care for them, so I was surprised by the offer. And that's what stuck. I don't recall any of the meals we had on the trail. It was different with the fish since they were an unexpected gift. I don't remember if there was any kind of a view from Mt. Harvard, but the top of Mt. Elbert is truly awe-inspiring. Many people climb it so they can say they climbed the tallest peak in Colorado, but it's worth it just for the view.

High Adventure #2

I was a member of Explorer Post 360, sponsored by IBM and led by Phil Smith. Our 1977 high adventure -- the second in which I participated -- was a hike among the Never Summer Mountains.

Even though I was one of the youngest members of Explorer Post 360, it somehow became my responsibility to plan the trip.  I fulfilled the duty with characteristic economy: I chose a backpacking trip, because it involves a minimum of advance planning. Once packed, you just go there and do the thing. Even so, I did undertake the required planning, including choosing the route and choosing the menus.
I had a large collection of topographic maps from all over Colorado, so I thought it would be rather fun if the starting location and direction of the hiking trip were determined by chance.  A few rolls of the die would establish the starting latitude and longitude within reasonable limits, and few more would choose the direction of travel as a compass heading.
The first few die rolls put us in inhospitable places (of which Colorado has quite a few), but eventually I derived a set of coordinates that plunked us down near Bowen Creek at the eastern entrance of Rocky Mountain National Park.  The next die roll sent us off nearly due north from there. As dictated by fate with a bit of human intervention, our high adventure would be a hike along the Never Summer Range.  A few adjustments were made to accommodate the terrain, like using trails and mountain passes rather than going cross-country, scaling sheer cliffs and the like.  The final route started at the Bowen Creek Trailhead and took us over Bowen pass, Baker Pass and into the valley of the Lower Michigan River. Another unnamed pass took us into the valley of Silver Creek.  The final pass below Mount Richthofen took us into the valley of Agnes Creek and out to the Cameron Pass Road (CO 34).

Never Summer Range and Specimen Mountain
from the head of Forest Canyon

The Never Summer Range is intriguing for many reasons.  Its name alone evokes something unattainable, and this is reinforced by views of the range from Trail Ridge Road.  There they stand, off in the distance to the north and west, often shrouded in clouds and rain and where no road goes.  It is also interesting that the Continental Divide, after running north through the center of Rocky Mountain National Park turns around at the head end of the Kawuneeche valley and head almost due south through the Never Summer Range.  The Never Summer mountains also define the western boundary of the park.

The logistics involved some of us leaving a car at the top of Cameron Pass and then driving a second car around through Randle and Granby to get to the Bowen Creek trailhead. The rest of the group would go directly to the trailhead and wait there.  I rode with Kiyoshi in his maroon Mustang while Charlie drove his white Ford station wagon. The water pump in Kiyoshi's car was leaking, so we had to stop periodically and fill it up with water from a nearby creek (the Cache La Poudre River). We stashed Kiyoshi's Mustang at the north end and then drove south in Charlie's station wagon.  On the trip back through Willow Creek Pass, I drove the station wagon for part of the way. Charlie remarked that he wasn't sure how much longer 2nd gear was going to last in that car. He didn't mind leaving his car at the trailhead unguarded for a week because he figured noone would consider it worth stealing.That much is true, but when we returned at the end of the week, he found that some people had smashed out one of his rear windows. There was also nothing in the car worth stealing, so his theory was that some kids thought the car was abandoned and used it for target practice.

The hike was a tale of attrition from the start.  We set off on the trail with eight people: Phil Smith (leader), Charlie Hart (assistant leader), Mark Chance, Laura Headrick, Kathy Humphreys, Kiyoshi Akima, Phil's nephew and me, but ended up with only three.  A short distance into the hike, Kathy complained of being short of breath and unable to continue. A tent was set up so that she could rest. It was decided after a short time that Mark and Laura would stay with Kathy and then hike out the next day. It had been arranged from the start that Phil and his nephew would hike out on Thursday -- down the Michigan River valley and out to the highway. From there, they would hitchhike back to Granby and recover Phil's Blazer from the Bowen Creek Trailhead His nephew was attending a band competition that Saturday in Colorado Springs. That left just Charlie, Kiyoshi and me for the last two days.

The trailhead was just where the jeep trail at the bottom of Bowen Creek became impassable. The first part took us up the jeep trail. It was a hot day and there wasn't much shade; it's not surprising that Kathy was suffering from exhaustion at least. The bottom of the Kawuneeche Valley is already at 8800 ft. above sea level. We had hiked less than a mile before Kathy was all done.

The Meadow

As the reduced party of five continued, the jeep trail vanished and we found we were hiking cross-country. We came into a beautiful open meadow, filled with wildflowers, and I snapped my first picture of the trip.

The shadows in that picture are rather long, which suggests that we camped the first night close to that spot. The next day, we hiked up over the ridge and into the Bowen Gulch. The next picture shows the vista north toward Bowen Pass. That was the next landmark on our trip.

Bowen Pass

The picture of Bowen Pass is from high up on the west side of Bowen Gulch, near Bowen Lake. I don't remember now whether we actually started hiking up Supply Creek and crossed from there into Bowen Gulch. During the early part of the trip, we were at relatively low altitude. It also seemed that we were going cross-country (i.e. without any discernible trails to follow).
We were in a moderately open pine forest, but there was a lot of deadfall and not many game trails to follow. At one point while straddling a log, I lost my balance and fell over it on the downhill side.  There was a little stub of a branch which caught under my belt, so I ended up hanging upside-down facing away from the log. I was almost completely helpless until two of the guys came over and got me unstuck.
Somewhere in Bowen Gulch, we picked up a trail. We followed that over Bowen Pass and into the next valley.

Charlie Hart at Bowen  Pass

 We didn't get very far below the pass before deciding to camp for the night. It happened that there was a small creek in that spot, with a thick bed of moss growing along it. I chose to roll out my sleeping bag on the moss. It made a nice soft bed, but perhaps a bit moist.

A bed of moss

Looking back at Bowen Pass from the North

One of the ideas for the trip was that on days when we arrived early enough, we could drop our gear and take side trips up one or more of the Never Summer Mountains.

From the pictures, it appears we were hiking toward an unnamed pass below Fairview Mountain. We keep close to the same altitude as we moved around the east end of the valley.
As we crossed a rockfall  close to where this shot back toward Bowen Pass was taken, I saw a flash of yellow. I caught a glimpse of what was either a ferret or a weasel before it dived out of sight among the rocks.  I had never seen a mustelid in the wild, so I thought that was a special treat.

The Illinois River Valley, looking West

The valley we were in at that point is the extreme upper reaqches of the Illinois River Valley. The next photo is a view down the valley toward the west.
Even though we were in the wilderness, the general feeling was that we could -- in an emergency -- just head west and eventually find our way out to civilization.
On the far side of the next pass, we dropped down into Baker Gulch. Our best route through Baker Gulch was again more-or-less following the contour along the west side of the valley. The southernmost peaks of the Never Summer Mountains -- Mount Nimbus, Mount Stratus and Baker Mountain -- dominated the skyline to the east.

Mt. Cumulus, viewed through Baker Pass

 The two cloud peaks have a craggy, sawtooth shape. In contrast, Mount Cumulus has a broad profile (as shown). It was visible and easily distinguishable for much of the hike, so we could tell fairly accurately where we were and how far we had come in the day.
We were still behind schedule when we crossed Baker Pass. The best approach to the summit would have been to ascend the ridge from there and then continue north to the summit. But the timing did not favor that plan and we pressed on.

Nimbus, Stratus and Mount Baker

Near Baker Pass, I paused again to take a photo back the way we had come. The first frame shows Nimbus, Stratus and Mount Baker, looking almost due south.

Bowen and Fairview Mountains

The second frame is a pan right from the first, showing the valley below Baker Pass (Baker Gulch). The triangular promontory between the two is unnamed. (An insignificant 12,250 ft. hill, I guess.) The summit of Fairview Mountain is just visible to the left of the ridge that juts into the right side of the photo. Although almost 300' taller, Bowen Mountain (the rounded, craggy peak in the distance) appears shorter.
We followed the trail down from Baker Pass into the valley of the South Fork of the Michigan River. We hadn't been bothered by mosquitos much up to that point. We had camped at or near timberline, and I suppose there was a steady breeze to blow them away.  In the bottom of the Michigan River Valley, however, they were thick. I remember killing two or three at a time just by closing my hand around them. Somehow, we managed to get dinner and then dive into the safety of our tents.

Ascending the ridge toward Mt. Cirrus

The next day, we ascended the ridge again toward Mount Cirrus. The next photo shows the crew climbing the steep switchbacks. Kiyoshi is in front with Phil's nephew close on his heels. Phil is back down the slope a ways and Charlie is bringing up the rear. We reached the top of the ridge earlier enough that we could take a side trip to the summit of Mt. Cirrus. The two adults waited while the three boys went to the top and back.
It was raining lightly as we ascended the summit. I kept thinking we would need to turn back an any time, but the weather held long enough reach the summit and enjoy the spectacular views.

Trail Ridge and Lake of the Clouds

I took several photos from the top of Mt. Cirrus. They are filled with nostalgia. The first frame is looking almost due east toward Trail Ridge. Part of the route of Trail Ridge Road can be made out, both above and below Milner Pass. In the foreground is the romantically-named Lake of the Clouds, 1300' below Mt. Cirrus but still 2200' above the valley floor.

Long's Peak in the distance

The next photo pans south from there, looking over the arm of Howard Mountain toward Long's Peak, which is partially obscured by the clouds.

Long Draw Reservoir

Then I pointed the camera northeast toward the headwaters of the Cache La Poudre River. My eye was caught by the body of water which I later identified as Long Draw Reservoir. My photo of the Lake of the Clouds just barely shows that there is flume running along the contour far below the lake. The Grand Ditch flume draws water off from the creeks that feed the extreme upper reaches of the Colorado and diverts it through La Poudre Pass to the reservoir.

Lead Mountain Tepee Mountain and Mt. Richthofen

My final picture is looking north toward Mount Richthofen. I noted as I took the shot, that Mt. Richthofen has a false summit some distance to the west of the true summit. This information proved useful later on.

After reassembling, we headed down into the valley of Silver Creek. We camped again at relatively low altitude, near the road that would take Phil and his nephew out to the highway.
The following day, Thursday, Phil and his nephew split off and headed down the valley. The remaining three of us started climbing the bowl toward Tepee Mountain and the lower slopes of Mount Richthofen. We camped above timberline at the bottom of the scree fall below Richthofen.

As we ascended the screefall toward Rainy Pass on Saturday morning, it began to mist. There was a steady drizzle by the time we reached the saddle. At the top of the pass, we considered the situation.  I was in favor of skipping Mount Richthofen (we wouldn't be able to see anything but clouds from the summit), but I was in the minority: In spite of the weather, we would ascend the peak.  We cached our heavy packs and started up the ridge.
There was a brisk wind out of the northwest, and the western ridge below Mt. Richthofen is mostly east-west.  As long as we were exposed on the ridge, the wind from the north kept spraying us and adding wind chill. It wasn't long before my down parka was completely soaked through and useless. I had attended several presentations on hypothermia and new that I was at risk.  At the point that I could not take the exposure any more, I ducked below the ridge, out of the wind on the south side. I found it was much warmer there, so I decided to wait there until my companions returned.
A few minutes later, I heard whooping and hollering above me on the ridge, so I summoned up my energy reserves and pressed on. A couple hundred yards up the ridge I dropped into a small bowl with the other two hikers at the top of the ridge. We had reached the false summit. Recalling the terrain from two days before, I was sure we were not at the true summit. Yet given the conditions it seemed there was not much to be gained by continuing forward.
Whether or not my companions were aware that we had fallen short of the stated goal, I resolved to keep my knowledge of that fact to myself. When we we stood up again we were all facing west, which suited me just fine. By tacit agreement we were heading down. After we got below the pass, the rain lifted and the weather got steadily warmer. It was not raining at all when we got back to Kiyoshi's car.
We drove around again through Willow Creek Pass, so Charlie could recover his station wagon and then we could all head home. There was an exciting moment as we crested one hill on the dirt cutoff between Gould and Rand. It had been raining at the lower elevations as well, so the road was muddy. Going down the steep grade, Kiyoshi lost control momentarily. We slithered all the way across to the edge of the embankment on the other side and then all the way back as he overcorrected. Finally, he recovered control and on we went, much relieved.

I hosted a reunion dinner two weeks later at my apartment, so we could share the stories of our separate adventures. I had gotten the idea because there was a fair amount of food left over after the trip, and I need a way to use it up. Although I bought fresh ingredients for the main part of the dinner, dessert was a peanut butter chocolate cake with maple syrup frosting made entirely from leftovers.

Cadence: Apr 7, 2005 - Jan 8, 2012

Coming Home
I met Cadence at the Eastside Humane Society Shelter about a week before we brought her home on the 7th of April 2005.  We had been talking about getting a dog for some time, and had been visiting the Eastside Shelter to look for suitable dogs.  We needed one that would be calm and gentle enough around our 4 year-old son.
When I stopped at the shelter one day on my way home, Cadence caught my attention because she was the only dog in the large dog kennel who was not throwing herself against the chain-link gate, barking and carrying on.  Cadence just stood there, waiting to be noticed (or not caring, particularly).  I offered my hand through the fencing, ready to pull back in case she snapped.  But she just sniffed it.  So we met.
Cadence was an intimidating dog.  She had the broad chest and the short, triangular muzzle of a Rottweiler.  It was pretty clear she could chomp through bone if she wanted to.  She was mostly black, with brown legs and the brown eyebrows common to German Shepherds and Rottweilers.  The shelter staff had named her Katrina as a nod to her German heritage.  On the placard it said "dominant female": this dog had to be an only dog.

It was a pretty risky idea bringing such a dog into a house with young children, but her calm demeanor won me over.  At least it was worth getting the kids and dog together in the play area to see how they got along.
At the next opportunity, we took the kids to the shelter and introduced them to Katrina.  She sniffed hands all around and rubbed up against everyone in turn.  She seemed to prefer those who were sitting down, coming up to get a little rub behind the ears.  She put on her best "good dog" show, even going so far as to fetch some toys that were tossed across the play area.  She knew the voice commands "sit", "lie down" and "come here".  She had been a family dog some time in the past.  It was also pretty clear that she was calm and gentle enough to be with young children.  So we signed the papers, made arrangements and brought her home.

There ensued a lengthy discussion on what to name the dog.  Her black-and-brown coloring suggested spices, so we went through the spice cabinet and finally settled on Anise.  Eleanor went so far as to sketch a portrait of our new dog, carefully letter Anise on it and stick it to the wall above her bed in the girls' room.
Adair had second thoughts.  She imagined yelling "Anise!" at the dog park and having it mistaken for "anus".  So much for that name.  A new naming contest was held and the winner was Cadence.

Behavior
For the first 6 weeks that we had her, "calm" was only an approximation of her behavior.  She spent a lot of time just lolling about. In contrast to her later behavior, it appears likely that she was depressed.  She had spent 3 months (unclaimed) in a shelter in Yakima before being shipped over to Bellevue; her history before that is unknown.
Aside from the fact that she was already trained, we discovered that she really hated tall men with hats.  Also, if I happened to raise my arm rapidly, she would cower.  We concluded that she had been mistreated by a tall, hat-wearing mystery man.  Given how intelligent we found her to be, we assumed it was she who had ended the relationship.

She was likely depressed because she figured that her new gig was too good to last. (At least, we flatter ourselves.) Once she came out of her funk, she turned out to be quite a handful.  When we went out for walks, the leash was taut from start to finish.  That is, unless she saw a squirrel. In that case, it was time to drop the leash.  I never understood how a 60lb dog could generate 120lbs of tractive effort, but so it was.
She loved to run as well. One time we got to the end of the driveway just as a cyclist passed.  I encouraged her to pursue, and we sprinted up the street at 20 miles per hour (until my legs gave out).
Walks consisted of visiting and sprinkling every tuft of grass, up and down the length of the street.  The Humane Society staff had gotten the "dominant female" part right.  Her play at Luther Burbank was to try to get in front of and turn her chosen ball-fetching dog.  She was often successful in intimidating the other dog to the point that he would just forget about the ball.
Except on rare occasions, Cadence did not fetch balls.  Her favorite game was to chase me around and try to get in front of me and turn me.  She had a really strong herding instinct, so she would growl and nip until I turned aside.  She loved to play this game, but would only do so with me or other dogs.  She was much too gentle to even growl at the kids.  Once, when she nipped and accidentally caught my thigh, she acted thunderstruck.  It took a lot of calming and coaxing to get her back inside.
Another of her traits was that she was naturally very protective.  At Luther Burbank, sometimes a pack of dogs would start harassing another.  When this happened, Cadence would run right between them and break up the fight.  We took Cadence to a Wooden O performance of Macbeth one time, and two of the actors were practicing their swordplay before the performance.  One of the blows struck a spark off the other's sword, whereupon Cadence jumped right up and started barking at the actors to get them to stop.

Once she felt at home, she started to take her job as a herder seriously.  She would challenge passing SUVs and even the school bus.  I had to keep her on a leash for fear that she would really get in front of a vehicle, expecting it to turn, and be disappointed.  Eventually, she decided that SUVs were OK and let them pass.  But the school bus that swallowed up the kids in the morning was a mortal enemy.  Never mind that it burped them back up, unharmed, at the end of the day: the school bus still caught heck as it pulled away.
On hikes, she would run back and forth in the line, making sure that all her "sheep" were still there.
Cadence was also highly intelligent.  It took me only two weeks to train her to come to heel.  I wanted her to be able to cross streets safely while not on a leash.  I did this by filling my pocket with treats before a walk up to QFC.  At each cross-street, I pulled out a treat and held it at nose level, chanting "heel, heel, heel" as we crossed.  After that (and after she had stopped trying to herd cars) we were able to walk anywhere on the Island without a leash.
Her off-leash behavior was the complete opposite of her on-leash behavior.  On-leash, it was the taut-leash scenario: I couldn't possibly walk fast enough to get where she wanted to go, and she would challenge any dog she saw.  Off-leash, she would lag behind.  I often had to wait for her to catch up from walking 30 yards behind me.  She might sniff a dog or human in passing, but otherwise ignored them.

Intelligence
Cadence was a very smart dog. It took me only two weeks to train her to come to heel. I did this by holding a treat at nose level and chanting, "Heel, heel." as we crossed at intersections. After a dozen walks up to QFC, she had it down. I didn't worry about her off-leash behavior because she would return to me when I called.
About a year after we adopted her, we took a family hike up Little Si.  Coming back down, we happened to disturb a wasps' nest near the trail. I saw the angry wasps on her fur and yelled, "Go!" Running down the trail as fast as I could.  Cadence took off after me but by then she had been stung two or three times.  After that, whenever I said "Go!" she took off like a shot. She only needed that lesson once.
One of her special treats was to lick out the inside of butter wrappers. After a few times, she figured out that she could pin the butter wrapper in place with a paw while she licked it clean. This has been my standard doggie IQ test ever since. Most dogs just don't get it.

Dog vs. GPS
One time, Brian and I decided to go for an overnight backpacking trip to Joe Lake in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, taking the dog with us.  The trail became hard to follow about 2 miles from the lake, and my GPS receiver was not much help in finding it.  Cadence had been lagging behind, as if to say, "Yo, dudes! The car is back this way."
After bushwhacking for almost a mile, we still had not found a trail, and the going was not getting easier.  Brian found a tree where a bear had recently sharpened its claws and used that to persuade me to turn around.  It wasn't a long debate.
I dialed in the back-tracking function on the GPS receiver, and was using that to retrace our steps.  Brian was a bit ahead of me and kept looking back for an indication on where to head next.  At this point, I noticed that the dog was dead-center in the trail being mapped out by the GPS (and she had been since we turned around).  I put away my GPS and said, "Follow the dog."  It wasn't long before we found ourselves on the main trail.

Rescue Dog
Cadence was not really a swimmer. At Luther Burbank park, she would wade in chest-deep to get between retrievers and their toys, but she would not voluntarily swim. However, when Sue Small and family came to visit us, we ended up at Twanoh State Park. Brian went into the water and pretended to be drowning. Cadence dutifully swam out and tried to herd him back to shore.
Some time after that, we went camping as a family at Wynoochee Reservoir.  The reservoir has a broad (if rocky) beach and a diving platform anchored about 30 yards from shore. The kids used the same trick -- pretending to drown -- to persuade her to swim out to the platform and climb out onto it.  But as soon as a few kids left, she was happier to go back to shore. Even so, it took some encouragement to get her to leave the platform.

After Eleanor's graduation from High School, we used the last week of school to go camping on Ross Lake. We took Cadence along for bear protection. We didn't see any bears, but we did end up sharing 10 Mile Island with one emaciated deer. Cadence woke us up by barking at the deer as it was grazing outside our tent. But that was all; later sightings of the deer did not excite her.

Stuffed Animal
One of the reasons we got Cadence was as a sleeping companion for Donald.  Donald was a very anxious child and had difficulty falling asleep.  The problem was increased when we moved into the house on West Mercer and every child could have his own bedroom.  (Initially, the girls shared a room.  But after I split the large bedroom downstairs, Eleanor move down there.)
After the routine was established, Cadence would go to Donald's room at bedtime and dutifully hop up on his bed. But she never appeared particularly happy about it. Many times, we would look in on Donald and find that he had Cadence in a hammer lock. This, she tolerated with great calm and infinite patience.

Cadence was easy to train because she believed that she was always starving. She was seriously off her feed if it took her 30s to consume dinner. One time, to celebrate her anniversary I gave her a pound of stew meat which she consumed in 7s flat.
Shortly after she came to us, I was setting out dinner and turned around to find her four-square on top of the dining table, licking the stick of butter.  After only verbal chastisement, she never did that again. But a month or so later I had just set out a stick of butter to thaw. I heard a gagging sound and turned around to find the butter plate empty and a very guilty-looking dog standing there.

Solitary Confinement
We tried to avoid putting Cadence in the kennels for vacations, because she was always depressed for a few weeks when we came back.  We chose outdoor facilities when we could, to avoid reminding her of her long stay with the Humane Society.  One time,we had to leave her at the animal clinic in Factoria.  She was a very unhappy dog when we returned to claim her.  When we had to leave her (e.g. because we were traveling to Canada) we left her at a dog ranch in Marysville.
Her decline in health may or may not be connected with the last trip we took as a family to Half Moon Bay.  We arranged a kennel for Cadence at a dog ranch in the hills above La Honda.  That was the year that I attempted to ride down to California, so I had my bicycle with me.  Mid-week I rode out to the ranch to visit Cadence.  She was not very happy and had a cough.  I took here out for a turn around the place on a leash, but that didn't improve her spirits much.  The kennels were concrete slabs exposed to the weather, so not very hospitable.
In the fall, Cadence would come up short of breath after chasing squirrels.  And by December, she would occasionally stop and glaze over until she came to herself again.
By January, it was obvious that she was having trouble breathing.  She would sometimes get worse and then better.  At last, when she was in a crisis, Brian and I took her to an all-night vet.  They wanted to take an X-ray before administering antibiotics.  This seemed like an added expense so I refused.  The next day, she had not improved, so I took her to the specialist vet in Kirkland.  They checked her in and put her on oxygen right away.  X-rays revealed that she had fluid in both lungs -- one completely filled and the other filling up.
For some reason, antibiotics did not seem to be an appropriate therapy.  The vet wanted to sample the lung fluid and send it to the lab for analysis.  But since it was the weekend, we would not get results for a few days.  Steroids were suggested as a way to ease her breathing.  It is puzzling to me why both were not applied.
Adair and I took shifts staying at the vet.  On Sunday, they let me sit next to the oxygen tank and proffer my hand so Cadence could smell my scent.  About mid-afternoon, one of the technicians took her out while they changed the crystals in the CO2 scrubber.  Whatever strength she had left was used up in that last walk, and she died within the hour.

As she was dying, it was clear that her attention was focused inward.  So it may be self-flattery to think it made a difference to her whether I was at the vet's or not.  Being away from us at some point may have killed her.  It was her instinct to be with her family as its gentle and sincere guardian. Our first pick as a family dog turned out to be a rare one. A smarter, nobler and more handsome animal is rare indeed.