Forget the Boy Scouts - Channel your inner old man and be prepared
Posted by Zach Johns on Thursday, September 20, 2012 Under: Hiking
The
small of my back felt like it could give-out at any moment. My ankles
were burning, my quads barely able to keep myself upright. And I was
only seven miles into the 2012 Northshore Inline Marathon with 19.2 miles
to go. It wasn’t looking good.
For most outdoor activities, being in good physical shape is important. It’s tough to hike a monster pack up a mountain or portage a canoe and gear when you’re already carrying a Duluth pack-sized gut. Landing a jump on skis is easier when your knees aren’t blown by your body weight and a bike is easier to pedal when you are a little slimmer to cut the wind.
But there I was, inline skating from Two Harbors to Duluth for the seventeenth time - one of only a handful of people who have skated in every marathon since its inception in 1996. It hurt. Badly. For the first time in seventeen years, I was skating in complete and utter misery.
Biting off more than you can chew in the outdoors can add a bit of adventure to any activity. But it can also be dangerous. Not being in proper physical shape is just one way being unprepared can get you into trouble. Another is not doing proper research before heading into the woods.
In July of 1999, a huge storm swept through the BWCA, leveling thousands of trees and burying campsites, portages and trails. One of the most remote trails is the Kekekabic, a 43-mile “rabbit track” that goes right through the heart of the wilderness. Even at its best, the Kekekabic is very hard to follow, a map and compass are a must, if not a GPS and satellite phone. The trail gets basically no attention from the Forest Service and is maintained by the volunteers of the Kekekabic Trail Club.
Just three months after that epic storm a couple of friends and I decided to hike the Kek. “Heck, the trail must be clear by NOW,” we thought.
Even though it would have only taken one simple call to the Forest Service or the Kekekabic Trail Club (whose phone number was written plain as day on the trail guide in my hand) we decided to just march straight in to the belly of the beast. The first day was mostly fine and we hiked a good ten miles even after spending an hour trying to figure out how the trail went around a beaver pond (it went straight through).
Day two, on the other hand, is when we hit the blowdown. The trail was simply one big brush pile stacked twelve feet high. After ten hours of hiking we only gained another two miles. To make matters worse, there was a strange pain down in my groin. The next morning we decided we didn’t have enough food (and vacation time) to last the nearly two weeks it would take to complete the trail. I limped my way out the next two days by climbing over logs backwards (it was easier). We then had to hitchhike back to Ely where we shared the bed of a pickup with a snarling German Shepherd.
If I had just made that call we could have spent the week on a wonderful section of the Superior Hiking Trail - without getting a hernia! Preparing for wilderness trips is not just pouring over maps and guidebooks, we learned - you must also find out the current conditions.
The failure that comes from being unprepared can also be inspiring, especially when you are exposed to someone who *IS* prepared. Twice, I tried to climb King’s Peak, Utah’s highest point, and both times I made mistakes. During my first attempt, most of my mistakes were caused by simply failing to acclimatize. I woke up in Duluth at 600 feet above sea level, flew to Salt Lake City, then immediately drove to the trailhead at 10,000 feet, where I shouldered a huge pack, and light-headedly hit the trail. In my dizzy state, I then found myself following a moose trail for much of two days.
On my second attempt, not only did I not do a very good job of acclimatizing, but forgot the rule of making an early morning alpine start. Starting a summer climb early is essential in the Rockies so you can avoid the daily afternoon thunderstorms. But as my friend and I shouldered our heavy loads up the trail that morning, we met someone who has continued to inspire me for years.
An old, weathered man approached us, literally skipping down the trail. His tanned, wrinkled face sported a white Santa-like beard under a wide-brimmed hat. On his back was a small daypack, no doubt filled with just some food, an extra layer and some water - everything he needed yet nothing he didn’t. His body was trim, although I guessed his age to be in his seventies his lean body had been sculpted by a life in the mountains. We stopped to catch our breath as he trotted by. With a twinkle in his eye he asked if we were headed-up King’s. “Yes,” I managed to sputter,. He replied, “Awesome! I watched the sun rise from the summit this morning!”
Then he was gone.
Truly, he never will be gone, though. His memory and inspiration will be with me forever - even if it sometimes takes a bit of suffering to remember. This man was in his seventh decade and he totally had it all together. He was in shape, he had the right gear, he understood the land in which he was traveling. Most importantly, he was having a great time, unlike me last weekend, trying to get my grossly out of shape butt from Two Harbors to Duluth.
I did finish the race, but it would have been a whole lot more pleasant if I had remembered the lessons of that “old man of the mountains.” Just because I’m getting older doesn’t mean I can let it slide. I need to get it back together.
As I said to my companion after the old man disappeared down the trail, “When I’m old, I want to be THAT guy!”
For most outdoor activities, being in good physical shape is important. It’s tough to hike a monster pack up a mountain or portage a canoe and gear when you’re already carrying a Duluth pack-sized gut. Landing a jump on skis is easier when your knees aren’t blown by your body weight and a bike is easier to pedal when you are a little slimmer to cut the wind.
But there I was, inline skating from Two Harbors to Duluth for the seventeenth time - one of only a handful of people who have skated in every marathon since its inception in 1996. It hurt. Badly. For the first time in seventeen years, I was skating in complete and utter misery.
Biting off more than you can chew in the outdoors can add a bit of adventure to any activity. But it can also be dangerous. Not being in proper physical shape is just one way being unprepared can get you into trouble. Another is not doing proper research before heading into the woods.
In July of 1999, a huge storm swept through the BWCA, leveling thousands of trees and burying campsites, portages and trails. One of the most remote trails is the Kekekabic, a 43-mile “rabbit track” that goes right through the heart of the wilderness. Even at its best, the Kekekabic is very hard to follow, a map and compass are a must, if not a GPS and satellite phone. The trail gets basically no attention from the Forest Service and is maintained by the volunteers of the Kekekabic Trail Club.
Just three months after that epic storm a couple of friends and I decided to hike the Kek. “Heck, the trail must be clear by NOW,” we thought.
Even though it would have only taken one simple call to the Forest Service or the Kekekabic Trail Club (whose phone number was written plain as day on the trail guide in my hand) we decided to just march straight in to the belly of the beast. The first day was mostly fine and we hiked a good ten miles even after spending an hour trying to figure out how the trail went around a beaver pond (it went straight through).
Day two, on the other hand, is when we hit the blowdown. The trail was simply one big brush pile stacked twelve feet high. After ten hours of hiking we only gained another two miles. To make matters worse, there was a strange pain down in my groin. The next morning we decided we didn’t have enough food (and vacation time) to last the nearly two weeks it would take to complete the trail. I limped my way out the next two days by climbing over logs backwards (it was easier). We then had to hitchhike back to Ely where we shared the bed of a pickup with a snarling German Shepherd.
If I had just made that call we could have spent the week on a wonderful section of the Superior Hiking Trail - without getting a hernia! Preparing for wilderness trips is not just pouring over maps and guidebooks, we learned - you must also find out the current conditions.
The failure that comes from being unprepared can also be inspiring, especially when you are exposed to someone who *IS* prepared. Twice, I tried to climb King’s Peak, Utah’s highest point, and both times I made mistakes. During my first attempt, most of my mistakes were caused by simply failing to acclimatize. I woke up in Duluth at 600 feet above sea level, flew to Salt Lake City, then immediately drove to the trailhead at 10,000 feet, where I shouldered a huge pack, and light-headedly hit the trail. In my dizzy state, I then found myself following a moose trail for much of two days.
On my second attempt, not only did I not do a very good job of acclimatizing, but forgot the rule of making an early morning alpine start. Starting a summer climb early is essential in the Rockies so you can avoid the daily afternoon thunderstorms. But as my friend and I shouldered our heavy loads up the trail that morning, we met someone who has continued to inspire me for years.
An old, weathered man approached us, literally skipping down the trail. His tanned, wrinkled face sported a white Santa-like beard under a wide-brimmed hat. On his back was a small daypack, no doubt filled with just some food, an extra layer and some water - everything he needed yet nothing he didn’t. His body was trim, although I guessed his age to be in his seventies his lean body had been sculpted by a life in the mountains. We stopped to catch our breath as he trotted by. With a twinkle in his eye he asked if we were headed-up King’s. “Yes,” I managed to sputter,. He replied, “Awesome! I watched the sun rise from the summit this morning!”
Then he was gone.
Truly, he never will be gone, though. His memory and inspiration will be with me forever - even if it sometimes takes a bit of suffering to remember. This man was in his seventh decade and he totally had it all together. He was in shape, he had the right gear, he understood the land in which he was traveling. Most importantly, he was having a great time, unlike me last weekend, trying to get my grossly out of shape butt from Two Harbors to Duluth.
I did finish the race, but it would have been a whole lot more pleasant if I had remembered the lessons of that “old man of the mountains.” Just because I’m getting older doesn’t mean I can let it slide. I need to get it back together.
As I said to my companion after the old man disappeared down the trail, “When I’m old, I want to be THAT guy!”
In : Hiking
Tags: kekekabic ely bwca northshore gps hike superior trail "king's peak" utah "two harbors"
Zach Johns is an alpine skier, backpacker, paddler and all-around nature lover who lives on Minnesota‘s Iron Range. Originally from Osceola, Wis., Johns attended the University of Minnesota-Duluth so he could ski every day and be close to the trails of his beloved North Shore. There, he earned a degree in Communication and was editor of the student newspaper. However, the real education he gained at UMD was in honing his outdoor skills. He took courses in subjects such as backpacking, winter camping, rock climbing and canoe tripping. By the time he graduated, that was all he wanted to do. In January of 1997, he moved to the Range where he met a group of die-hard skiers dedicated to making turns at Giants Ridge every single day of the winter (when they weren’t out skiing the big mountains of the west.) Throughout the late nineties he built a very impressive ski resume, taking several trips to Utah, Montana, Wyoming, California, British Columbia and Alaska. During the off-season, he took to the hiking trails. In 1997, he hiked the entire Superior Hiking Trail during the single season (what had been completed until that time) and in following years, took trips to Yosemite, Glacier and the Grand Canyon. He also made two attempts to climb King’s Peak, the highest mountain in Utah, but failed to summit both times. In 1999, he attempted the infamous 43-mile Kekekabic Trail through the heart of the BWCA and limped out after only ten miles with a hernia. He did finally complete the Kek in 2005, during one of the hottest weeks on record. Besides hiking, he also continued dabbling with paddling, making several canoe trips to the BWCA and became an enthusiastic (yet very novice) whitewater kayaker. He is now a father of two sons, Nick and Jackson, who accompany their father on nearly all his adventures. Both were skiing fairly soon after they could stand and from 2006-2011, the three hiked in every state park in Minnesota, 195 miles of hiking in 65 parks. Since becoming a dad, Johns has suddenly realized that you can’t just be out there skiing, hiking, paddling, etc. without also working to protect the very things you love. With that in mind, he founded an adventure club at work to get co-workers outside who might not otherwise be inspired to go. The club has gone on hiking, paddling, winter camping and cycling trips and annually go on a trash pick-up hike to celebrate Earth Day. He believes that once you get people out into beautiful wild places, the more likely they will be to protect them. He has also done a lot of volunteer work for the Superior Hiking Trail Association including adopting a backcountry campsite which he and the boys maintain twice a year. It is of extreme importance, he believes, to introduce children to the outdoors early. Not only is it good for them, but they will be the ones protecting these places once we are gone. Future plans? There are a few local goals to check-off including hiking the Border Route Trail in the BWCA and Isle Royale. Mostly, it’s just to take the boys hiking and camping in more of our national parks, skiing the big western mountains, and more of their usual seasonal cycle: Giants Ridge in the winter, Superior’s North Shore in the spring, South Shore in the summer and back to the North Shore in the fall.
