Four Days Across the Supes (also, software sucks)
After the success of the Turkey In The Superstitions hike last November, in which a bunch of non-backpackers hauled a complete Thanksgiving feast into Reavis Ranch for three days of debauchery, Bruce @ 360 Adventures and I immediately started talking about a more serious backpacking expedition. The TITS hike was my first adult-era backpacking trip and I was totally stoked about doing something more ambitious. Bruce did not fail to deliver.
From Friday through Monday, six hikers and six dogs started at Woodbury Trailhead and ended at First Water Trailhead. I built out the course in my Topo software, and I'm not as impressed with the stats as I had hoped I would be. Despite what felt like a huge beat-down, the course was only (!) 22.2 miles and we only picked up about 3500' total elevation gain. Sure felt like a lot more than that. I think that's my mountain biker background coming out: 22 miles and 3500' is not an "epic" ride, usually. Guess it depends on the course.
Day one, we lost a dog. My dogs, Daisy and Mina, also went missing for about four hours but arrived minutes before sundown, as I was getting ready to head out for a nighttime search-and-rescue operation. They were covered in thorns and looked thoroughly contrite. But the missing dog, Rusty, was nowhere to be seen. His owner, Andy, made it a good ways down the trail in the dark but couldn't find him.
Day two, Andy and Bruce went all the way back to the Woodbury Trailhead to find Rusty waiting for them. The dog was, apparently, totally freaked out. That lost us half a day and the opportunity to really push and make some miles. We ended up camping next to Clover Spring, just three more miles down the trail, before we started running out of light. This was my favorite evening of camping, despite a heavy layer of dew soaking everything we had out. Quiet, beautiful black sky, great food (Bruce is an extraordinary backcountry cook), good friends, good conversation.
Day three started out early and tense. We had to make up a half-day of travel time and this was going to be the toughest terrain we'd faced so far. Things started strong, until Daisy disappeared on me. Literally, one moment she's on the trail and the next she's chasing something down a gully. A couple others in the group saw her disappear down the hillside. I dropped everything and started scouring the hill in search of Daisy -- she was little but also armed with her very own pack, so I was looking for flashes of white-tipped tail or blue bags. Or even a yelp out of her, if she'd gotten herself poked with cactus or hung up on a rock. Nothing. Everyone else went ahead and started making bailout plans, and I hung around on that hill for an hour yelling myself hoarse. Finally the other guys had to continue ahead, so we arranged for me to spend as much time as necessary to track down Daisy. I had food, lots of water, and a Petzl headlamp so I could find my way back to the trail in the dark if necessary. Luckily it wasn't, because not more than 5 minutes after I started trekking back up the trail to the previous campsite the little bitch showed her happy face. I was not pleased.
The rest of day three was tough, really tough. Lots of difficult climbing, long distances, big stretches of unmarked "trail" going down river beds and over boulder fields. The dogs figured out I wasn't screwing around, so they started sticking very close to me. My trekking poles absolutely saved my life on more than one occasion, and certainly saved my knees and ankles.
We ended day three at LaBarge Spring, a really pretty campsite with perfect, clear water pouring out of a pipe hammered into a cliff wall. I took a submerged bath in the icy water in a swimming hole way downstream. The dogs were exhausted, and ate nearly nothing -- worrisome. The partying went a little later than I was able to keep up with, so I turned in and dealt with cramping legs and feet while the dogs cuddled as close as they could get.
Day four, and our group of hikers and dogs were now a well-trained, tightly organized crew. We packed early. We kept a close eye on all the dogs. We ate well, got our act together, and headed out for the final push. I think Bruce could spend weeks at a time out there, but I was ready to go home. I don't think I was alone, because we moved fast.
There was only one tough-ish pass to overcome but otherwise the fourth day of hiking wasn't bad. My feet were pretty much shot, and had started blistering. The dogs were totally fried, but were nearly flawless in heeling with me the entire hike. They say a tired dog is a good dog, and these guys have never been more tired in their entire life.
They say the difference between a disaster and an adventure is the happy ending. We ended the trip injury-free and with all dogs in tow. That's a good adventure.
From Friday through Monday, six hikers and six dogs started at Woodbury Trailhead and ended at First Water Trailhead. I built out the course in my Topo software, and I'm not as impressed with the stats as I had hoped I would be. Despite what felt like a huge beat-down, the course was only (!) 22.2 miles and we only picked up about 3500' total elevation gain. Sure felt like a lot more than that. I think that's my mountain biker background coming out: 22 miles and 3500' is not an "epic" ride, usually. Guess it depends on the course.
Day one, we lost a dog. My dogs, Daisy and Mina, also went missing for about four hours but arrived minutes before sundown, as I was getting ready to head out for a nighttime search-and-rescue operation. They were covered in thorns and looked thoroughly contrite. But the missing dog, Rusty, was nowhere to be seen. His owner, Andy, made it a good ways down the trail in the dark but couldn't find him.
Day two, Andy and Bruce went all the way back to the Woodbury Trailhead to find Rusty waiting for them. The dog was, apparently, totally freaked out. That lost us half a day and the opportunity to really push and make some miles. We ended up camping next to Clover Spring, just three more miles down the trail, before we started running out of light. This was my favorite evening of camping, despite a heavy layer of dew soaking everything we had out. Quiet, beautiful black sky, great food (Bruce is an extraordinary backcountry cook), good friends, good conversation.
Day three started out early and tense. We had to make up a half-day of travel time and this was going to be the toughest terrain we'd faced so far. Things started strong, until Daisy disappeared on me. Literally, one moment she's on the trail and the next she's chasing something down a gully. A couple others in the group saw her disappear down the hillside. I dropped everything and started scouring the hill in search of Daisy -- she was little but also armed with her very own pack, so I was looking for flashes of white-tipped tail or blue bags. Or even a yelp out of her, if she'd gotten herself poked with cactus or hung up on a rock. Nothing. Everyone else went ahead and started making bailout plans, and I hung around on that hill for an hour yelling myself hoarse. Finally the other guys had to continue ahead, so we arranged for me to spend as much time as necessary to track down Daisy. I had food, lots of water, and a Petzl headlamp so I could find my way back to the trail in the dark if necessary. Luckily it wasn't, because not more than 5 minutes after I started trekking back up the trail to the previous campsite the little bitch showed her happy face. I was not pleased.
The rest of day three was tough, really tough. Lots of difficult climbing, long distances, big stretches of unmarked "trail" going down river beds and over boulder fields. The dogs figured out I wasn't screwing around, so they started sticking very close to me. My trekking poles absolutely saved my life on more than one occasion, and certainly saved my knees and ankles.
We ended day three at LaBarge Spring, a really pretty campsite with perfect, clear water pouring out of a pipe hammered into a cliff wall. I took a submerged bath in the icy water in a swimming hole way downstream. The dogs were exhausted, and ate nearly nothing -- worrisome. The partying went a little later than I was able to keep up with, so I turned in and dealt with cramping legs and feet while the dogs cuddled as close as they could get.
Day four, and our group of hikers and dogs were now a well-trained, tightly organized crew. We packed early. We kept a close eye on all the dogs. We ate well, got our act together, and headed out for the final push. I think Bruce could spend weeks at a time out there, but I was ready to go home. I don't think I was alone, because we moved fast.
There was only one tough-ish pass to overcome but otherwise the fourth day of hiking wasn't bad. My feet were pretty much shot, and had started blistering. The dogs were totally fried, but were nearly flawless in heeling with me the entire hike. They say a tired dog is a good dog, and these guys have never been more tired in their entire life.
They say the difference between a disaster and an adventure is the happy ending. We ended the trip injury-free and with all dogs in tow. That's a good adventure.