Trip report a newcomer's take on BPL
Somewhere below is the promised post by Hilary. It's her impressions of our September trip to N. Yosemite Back Country. This was Hilary's first backpacking trip ever. (Ms. H grew up in Manhattan and didn't see a cow until she was ten.)
Note: Ms. H did not sleep at all well either night. It was weeks after the trip that she told me that she was afraid of falling asleep for fear of being frost bitten. Go figure. She also snuck 3 pounds of "extra" clothes in her pack because she thought that the clothes I recommended for her wouldn't be enough to keep her warm. So much for trust in ol' Adventure Alan. The lack of communication and understanding between even loving and happy partners never ceases to amaze me. Nonetheless it was a glorious trip.
-Adventure Alan
___________Hilary's Trip Report_____________________
There are no taxis at 11,000 feet. No subways. No buses. You carry everything you need on your back. Or, depending on your whimpering skill, your mate sighs and lugs it a few hundred feet for you now and then-but this option cannot be exercised too often or there will be dark threats of feeding you to the bears. Ultra-light backpacking is the only way to go, for those of us who are not ridiculously robust (that would be Adventure Alan) although plucky in an undeniably New York sort of way (that would be me, Hilary). Concerned about frostbite, I snuck a few extra pairs of Lycra leggings into the smallish backpack Adventure Alan provided, but other than that followed the ounce by ounce list of necessary supplies. His ultra-ultra-light backpack held an astonishing amount of stuff, including a tent and all our food. I am a novice to any kind of real backpacking, light or not light, but was nonetheless amazed to see just how little two people really needed to get by. Favorite things: the clarity of the air. The brilliant light. The alpenglow (once upon, AA's mother and I got high up enough to see a sunset with her fluffy white Samoyeds, and yes, the dogs turned a radiant pink at sundown) . The patience of the mate (he did indeed proffer a cup of Darjeeling every morning without fail). Un-favorite things: long nights, with no entertainment. No harmonica, not that either of us could play one. No books. I resorted to turning a Thorlo into a sock puppet, which told a story or two like this:
"Once upon a time there was a Very Nice Guy who decided to take his Voluptuous Girlfriend on a backpacking trip. The Very Nice Guy was very, very patient, but the Voluptuous Girlfriend was very, very slow. The Very Nice Guy pointed out that if the Voluptuous Girlfriend kept falling face down in the middle of the trail and whimpering pathetically, they would never get over the Enormous Mountain. The Voluptuous Girlfriend replied that it was not possible to fall face down on a trail going nearly straight up, and that she was merely leaning on a rock and whimpering, an important distinction. But with lots of Encouragement, because the Very Nice Guy knew he was doomed to carry his Voluptuous Girlfriend and her backpack if he wasn't unbelievably nice at all times, they both made it to a Shimmering Lake reflecting a Limitless Sky full of Twinkly Stars and pitched their Teeny-Tiny Tent and went to sleep."
Ha! He slept, motionless in his mummy (which had a net back to save on weight). I did not. But I managed to be cheerful the next day-oh, that mountain air!
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