50 Miles—Day 1

Mark has the backpacking bug - and it's bad. He bought a new backpack and pair of boots this spring so he could go with the scouts on their 50 miler. I asked him to do a synopsis for us...

One hundred and four hours of beauty, bitterness, overcoming, fun, trials, pain, determination and triumph.

I assume that most who will read this will know that I have the privilege of working with our scout troop. Three months ago, they decided that this year for their week long camp they would attempt to do a 50 mile backpacking trip. This is how, for me, summer started at 5:45 am on June 2nd.

 Monday morning was clear and bright as the sun rose, but the narrow fissure of Maple Canyon would not see it for many hours. The trail out of Whiting Campground follows and sometimes is a stream.

 

It was nearly 10am before the sun started to reach the long thin fingers of the aspen.

The beams of light soon were reaching down to lay across the trail.

 When climbing a canyon there is no more beautiful sight then seeing where the trail reaches the ridge-line.

The wildflowers this high up are in full bloom.

Along the ridge we had our first pack failure, a shoulder strap on one of the boys packs ripped and had to be re-sewn.

After climbing the canyon the rolling trail was a welcome sight.

 Spanish Fork Peak rising to the northwest was all the more impressive knowing that we started on the far side.
 

Wildflowers spice the whole trail even along the ridge.

As we drop from the ridge, you can see the next three hours of trail. It would finally cut across that sage green meadow in the far left of the picture. From here things went down hill, both literally and figuratively. Despite the green, this side of the mountain was hot and dry. It was along this stretch of trail I found blisters and the onset of heat exhaustion.

By the time I reached the meadow there was this little grove of trees, the first vegetation that could really be sat under since dropping off the ridge. Here I ditched my boots, dressed some decent sized blisters and drank the last of my water. Luckily I had some very light shoes meant for the canoeing later in the week that I could wear. The boots would no longer chew up my feet but I would feel every rock for the rest of the day.

It wasn't a half mile from the grove that I came across Little Diamond Creek. I was grateful to refill with cold and refreshing water. Though it turned out to be little too late, heat exhaustion was in full force, though I wouldn't recognize it for another 90 minutes or so. Even drinking water was making me sick to my stomach.  For the last several miles I had been falling behind the rest of the group, and by now I was also out of radio contact. Thanks to the large blisters covering the balls of my feet moving fast was not an option for me on this day.

Once leaving the stream the trail would continue on shadeless for the last mile or so down to the main road in Diamond Fork Canyon. It was here that pack failure number two happened. 

Yep, that would be the buckle to my waist belt. But I've learned to always pack a spare. What was most frustrating was that I had just got back into radio contact and knew that the whole group was sitting around waiting for me and they had been for nearly an hour. This was insult to injury.

I finally made it to the group on the edge of one of the campgrounds where we could get water and use the restrooms.

After letting me rest for several minutes we all headed out through the campground and then along the road to get to the site less than a mile down the road where we'd be repelling that evening.

Though the trail was level I found that I quickly fell off the back of the group again and near the other end of the campsite I was stopping to break at the picnic tables and then I surccumbed to the heat exhaustion and bonked. 

I stopped at the restroom at the far side of the campground and took stock. I had some bitter acceptances to make. I had been planning and preparing for this trip for seven months. The boys only decided on this trip a couple of months ago, but the leaders were working it out to make sure it was even feasible since late October last year. And I was out in less than twelve hours. I couldn't keep going and I couldn't ask the group to sacrifice any further for me.This was the taste of bitterness.

I made the call, and an hour later my guardian angels were there to pick me up.

[to be continued]