Tuesday, January 28, 2003

We had started the day

We had started the day at close to 12,000 feet, on the far side of the pass.  We’d figured to camp somewhere before the meadow and the big sloppy campground, but the first half was way too steep and the second half, too marshy and easy - we’d come so far already and the path was finally smooth and gentle, we didn’t want to stop unless theere was a good dry patch free of skeeters, and there was none, so on we went.  Twenty-four miles with forty pound packs, trekking down to 7,000’ and the campgrounds - where we were stopped on the trail by a few bear in a tree surrounded by concerned geeky rangers.  Adorable little bears, barely able to tear the flesh from my skull.  But they could have done if they had to.  By the time we got past them it was getting dark fast and we were zonked; we couldn’t find our special reserved backpacker’s site so we unfurled our bags on the side of the road and fell asleep instantly and blissfully.  An hour or so later a horse with a non-geeky ranger on it woke us up.  The ranger told us cheerfully that it was worth a costly ticket to be caught there again.  We set off looking for our campsite, dragging our sleeping bags and packs in clumsy, stuporous disbelief.  We paced that damn campground back and forth for an hour, passed the same gleaming Airstreams and Winnebagoes and Jamborees and rolling versions of the Overlook Hotel again and again, but we just couldn’t find our site.  We strategized.  Work lazy, not stupid.  Barry sat down with the bags and baggage near the center of the campground and I went forth unencumbered in search of our space.  I tried hard but I had no luck and was getting mad.  I worked my way back to where I’d left Barry.  He was gone.  But: I could hear him calling to me - from a cinderblock men’s room fifty feet or so away.  He sounded urgent so I stepped over.  He’d gotten all our stuff in the bathroom and was panting for breath.  He told me in aghast gasps that a bear had been checking out his backpack.  The one with all the food in it.  While he’d been wearing it, the sack with the sausages nestled against the back of his neck.  He’d heard a snuffle in his ear and turned to see a black bear, adult and competent, looking at him like he’d look at a truck full of knockwurst.  We slept among the urinals that night, never did find our reserved space and got a ride back to Mammoth the next day.  Four days in the back country, we could handle.  One night in the campgrounds and we were toast.