Val-la-ree
My woman and I did our first backpacking when we were in our early twenties. We decided to go over the continental divide there in Colorado above Twin Lakes and down to the Upper Frying Pan River. ‘Tis glorious in dawning when the roar and ripples of the fast-foaming rapids cross the lake in the gloaming and logs in clear water seem like dragons swift-swimming. But it is wet there just below timberline. The rain never stops except for dews that soak everything. The countryside is soggy and every tree, bush, and blade of grass has its load of water to drop on you. Makes it easy to get cooking water though. Just run your bucket through the grass a few times. No matter how carefully you camp, the water gradually soaks in until everything you touch is wet and cold. The thin blanket of air up there makes for quick temperature changes. When the sun was out the snow melts and you are surrounded by the roar and sparkle of hundreds of little waterfalls. At night, the waterfalls freeze up. As do you and we did.
I was kind of scrawny for that first hike; the heaviest thing I had lifted in a year or two was a pair of watchmaker's tweezers. I was 6’’2” in my stocking feet, but I only weighed 145 pounds, and most of that bone. (When I played football in high school I accomplished nothing but survival, but that was remarkable enough. Most football players wear two numbers. I was only wide enough for a single number and that was a one.)
For the hike I wore some copper-plated antique logging boots that had about 50 eyelets. (I was doubtful about buying them, but once I got them laced up, I was too exhausted to take them off again.) I also had a cop’s double-breasted wool coat. He must have been kind of a big guy. I had to move the buttons to get it to fit and they all ended up in a line on my back below my left shoulder blade; I had to get my woman to help me button up the top ones. Together the boots and the coat probably weighed as much as a whole backpacker’s kit today: pans, tent, stove, I-Ching tiles and all. Still they helped to counterbalance my hair and whiskers. Without the clothes I would have looked like a root beer lollypop. My woman did not use the same approach. She wore green gingham summer dress with a high waist and a low neck and flip-flops. She planned to dispense with much of that after we got up in the hills a little. Not the flip-flops, though. (Ah, youth.). We took along one of those plastic tube tents that capture the moisture in every breath and drop it down your neck. On the other hand, they tear very easily. I was in charge of loading the backpacks and did a pretty good job; though the anvil required a little ingenuity. It took horses about four hours to get over there, so I figured we could do it in two; I was right in a way, only it was two days rather than two hours. We even made it back, though the soles fell off of my boots at one point (We had to stop and tape them back on every few hundred yards.). After a week or two in town we got warmed up again and stopped dreaming about the Donner Party.