Climbing Bridal Veil Falls

On Saturday evening I went up to Bridal Veil Falls and found it an icy wonderland. I wasn't the only one there. I also found a small group climbing one of the side falls. Kind of wish I was one of the ones climbing. :)
—Mark

Can you find Waldo

What an incredible wall of  ice

50 Miles—Days 4\5—How it ended

Thursday morning found me feeling pretty good. It was looking like my gamble of feeling up to a day's worth of hiking was going to pay off. With the exception of sore feet, I felt better today than I did on day one. I could only hope that it would hold through the day.

After the guys did an impromptu plumbing repair in our room (you can ask Evan), we finished packing and rallied the boys.

7:15 had us all gathered by out front, everyone was in high spirits ready for the next 11 miles, and the promise of a good meal at parents' night.

 The first couple of hours were not much more than a pleasant stroll. We made good time rising up through the rolling hills and thick aspen groves.

 As the morning wore on, some of the boys found a stray snow patch that was still holding on at this altitude. And so of course a game of snowball had to be tried out.

 Walking sticks make decent bats if you have a good hitter.

 By mid morning we started to notice something was amiss. It seemed to be taking longer to get to trail juncture than expected, and our GPS was telling us that we were drifting from the trail. We pulled out the paper maps, and they seemed to be showing us on track. The trail was easy to follow (a dirt road really) and there was no real chance for us to have made any turns, so the paper maps are what we trusted.

It was later than we thought, but sure enough, the trail junction came up and was clearly marked. And soon the GPS had us back on track.

 The trail was smooth and steady making for a quick and very doable climb.

As we reached the ridgeline we found more snow, much more snow! It was hard packed and made for some fun stretches of hiking.

 
 But for the most part the ridge was clear and smooth. Near twin peaks we stopped for lunch. We had made good time, by now we had put in 8–9 miles. This was good and bad news. I was glad we'd all done so well, I was feeling strong, a marked contrast from Monday. But we'd planned on being well past the ridge by mile 8. We had calculated the trip by the miles the GPS route had predicted, and were just now really appreciating how far different the real trail had been compared to what we'd expected. Still, it was only noon, and as we were talking our boys were currently leaving us in the dust, so we'd keep an eye on them, and how we were doing, and keep on keeping on.

 The views atop the ridge were spectacular. We could see Spanish Fork peak in the distance. It was amazing thinking that on Monday we'd hiked around that peak and by the end of this trip we'd be within a couple of miles of where we started.

As we came to the pass next to Strawberry Peak, we topped out at 9500 ft. 

It would be all down hill from here.

Provo Peak to the north.

Within a mile or so off the ridge, we crossed paths with some men on horseback. They had bush wacked it up the canyon, but estimated that we were still five miles from the pavement, which was right next to where we were planning to spend the night and and meet up with the parents for parents' night. This was going to be a long day, we were now looking at a 16–17 mile day if the guys on horseback were right. If the GPS was right it would be closer to 20 miles. These boys had already pulled out 30+ miles this week and that was with spending yesterday afternoon relaxing at the pool/hotel. Needless to say all the leaders were starting to really consider contingency plans, we were now watching those boys like hawks, watching for signs of anyone really starting to struggle.

As the afternoon wore on we explained the situation to the boys and took stock. The nice thing about backpacking was we had the option to camp wherever we needed and those who had their gear stashed at the planned site (like me) could get their gear driven up to them, a big benefit of using a dirt road for this stretch of the hike. I'd lie if I didn't admit that the news was a blow to moral, but not such a blow as to make them stop. We opted to keep trying for our planned camp, these boys have had enough experience backpacking they knew that on a trip like this the unexpected happens and either you walk out today or you walk out tomorrow. (I think the thought of their parents also helped drive them on)

Around 6 pm those who'd been on the trail since Monday hit their 50 mile mark. 50 miles in four days! We were still a mile or two from camp.

By 7 everyone had made it to camp (the last 3or 4 of us got a ride in a truck the last mile or so).

Parent's night was worth the hike.

We were all glad to send the boys home with their parents.

The one boy who had gotten off the trail on Tuesday and gotten back on with me on Wednesday wanted to finish out 50 miles. So he and one of the other boys opted to stay and hike home on Friday.

Three of the leaders and one of the leader's boys stayed the night.

It was a long and restless night.

 One last morning on the trail .

 This day would be only road walking. By now my feet were complaining something fierce. The old blisters were aching and on the miles of asphalt I was rapidly making new ones.

The Left Hand Fork of Hobble Creek Canyon by now was one ranch after another. By the time we hit the Rotary Park, the two leaders and one of the boys hit 60 miles. (No, their not showing 30. In their right hands, they're showing the ASL sign for 6)

By now my feet hurt with every step. If I stopped, I would hobble/limp for a quarter mile before I could walk semi-straight.

We stopped for lunch inside Mapleton, only three miles to go.

I knew my feet were in bad shape, but I refused to take my shoes off. I could look at them at home, which by now, was the only place any of us wanted to be.

By the time we hit our door steps (yep we literally walked home) the other leaders and one of the boys had done ~65 miles, me and the other boy 50. 

It would take me days before I could walk normal, and I'm glad I waiting on taking off my shoes on that last day. I'm not sure I would have gotten them back on.

I can say I earned those blisters. 

I told the boys that this hike would shape their lives. There is no way to face and meet such challenges without being changed. I think we all learned our mettle was more than we knew. Elaine S. Dalton gave an address where she expressed the need to teach our children that they can do hard things. This week it was I who learned I could do hard things. I also learned, rests are good, but don't let them go on for too long. I can walk for hours on dizzyingly painful feet and gritted teeth. I learned I can see something to the end even when the desire to do so had long since evaporated. Sometimes it's OK to hurt. Accept and recognize the hurt and then keep going, even if it's no more than hobbling. Walking gets easier if you keep going. If you get kicked off the trail figure out how to get back on. Don't quit because of an "insurmountable" obstacle, they don't exist. It's only a mountain. You feel the furthest away when you're in the last stretch. Every journey will come to an end.

 

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]