The Yeti, Big Foot, and the bears

Every culture has its scary creatures. Usually, there live in the least hospitable area around, whether it's a deep forest or ominous mountains.The most popular are probably the Yeti believed to be wandering in the Himalayas, or its north american version, Big Foot.

Reading Wikipedia, I had a nice sample of some of them, and I hadn't heard of the majority of them, like the Akkarokamui, a gigantic fish-like octopus-like monster supposed to be in the Funka Bay in Japon, or the Brosno Dragon (West Russia), or the Maryland Goatman.

I think one of my favorites has supposedly been seen mostly in the Pyrenees, the mountains separating Spain from France: the Dahu.

There are various species of Dahu, on these pics, there's the Dahu dextrogyre (top) and the Dahu levogyre (bottom). The two uphill legs are shorter than the two downhill legs which means that they can only live on a mountain, and can only walk on it in one direction. The hunters technique is pretty easy: get one person at the bottom of the hill with a bag, send another one surprise the Dahu: the Dahu turns around and ... loses its balance and rolls down the hill, straight into the bag.

I have personally never seen one, despite many days of hiking in the Pyrenees.

But now, I wonder: does it mean anything?

 I read somewhere that there are at least 600 000 black bears in North America, more than 300 000 in the US. I've been living in Montana for almost 4 years - hiking as much as possible in the Bitterroot, went to Glacier, Yellowstone...

But then, I was worried and did not want to see any. 

I am always careful backcountry, hanging my food, not keeping smelly stuff in the tent, etc...

More and more the people I have been hiking with around my home have been telling me that as long as they are not in a National Park, they don't even bother: the bears associate humans to hunters and don't come close.

So when, two weeks ago, I joined friends to visit Yosemite, I thought that this time I would see bears! 

Well it was still not my moment... I loved the place, even though it was a little crowded... 

Unfortunately my friends were not so much into backpacking, so we just did a car-camping tour. Is it why the bears were still hiding from me?

We also went to Sequioa National Park (were the temperatures were much much higher - good thing the trees kept us in the shade - and again everywhere we could see warnings about bear and mountain lion sightings. 

After wandering on the Congress Trail, where I could not take a picture of an entire tree with my camera, we decided to go see the "jewel of the Sierras" (dixit John Muir): the Crescent Meadow. It looks like the perfect place for a bear, doesn't it?

I didn't see any. 

After we walked around the meadow, a woman jumped at us: "did you see it? did you see it?"

She was very excited. "No. I mean, I don't know. What are you talking about?"

"The bear cub! with his mum, just on the side of the trail you just took!"

My friends saw a black bear just outside of New York. My boss sees bear almost every time she goes to pick up huckleberries.

But for me, bears are like the Dahu, the Goatman or Bigfoot. Maybe it's not a bad thing after all?

I just like this one...

How it all began (part I)

My last weeks have been a little busy and I haven't found time to go out and play... Instead of talking about this time filled with way to much work, I will travel back in time to the days I blame for my addiction. Where and when it all began. 

Or should I say where and when I realized it had began? I don't think I showed any symptoms of the snow virus at first. I was lucky enough to have parents who loved skiing. Every winter we left the city to enjoy the cold and dry weather of the mountains. Since my parents wanted to ski and not just babysit, my siblings and I were going to the kindergarten-ski school all day. I don't remember particularly enjoying these times. I remember being cold and tired, not wanting to carry my skis that were too heavy and would not want to stay together! I did not like the ski instructor because she was not taking care of me more than of the other kids. I did not like having lunch there, because they were serving spinach and broccoli... 

Well I guess I learned how to ski... And started dreaming of being the next world champion. But you have talent or you don't, and champions need talent. I never became one... but little by little my obsession with mountains, speed and snow settled in my mind. I was still the occasional skier, enjoying groomed slopes and hard and heavy skis - the longer, the faster, the better - when I decided that winter was not enough and I could go skiing on glaciers in the summer too. The first trip was planned, August 1996, French Alps. A friend was supposed to come along. However, as the departure day approached, my friend started talking about weird stuff, like hiking up the mountain instead of taking a lift, walking on glacier or snow... Walking in the snow!!!! Why would someone do that! Take your skis and ski down! If it's not downhill, it's not worth it!

Somehow, though, I ended up agreeing to try that kind of stuff that summer instead of going skiing... So, August 1996, French Alps, still, but instead of l'Alpe d'Huez (you might have heard of the place if you follow the Tour de France), it was Chamonix, Argentiere and the Mont Blanc range. 

The scenery was one of the most spectacular I have seen so far. 

[I did not take any of the pictures published in this post - I uploaded them from internet but could not find author info]

The villages are clustered at the deep bottom of the valley, surrounded by giants of rock and ice. There was even a little touch of creepiness perfect for someone in her late teenage years. 

There I was taught how to use an ice axe and crampons, how to tie knots and belay, and how tiring this whole deal is.

I was never an athlete, and not exactly what you would call fit at that time. I was telling my teachers that I did not have breakfast in the morning not to have to run at school and my exercise was limited to horseback riding and swimming every once in a while. I suffered a lot during that week, just trying to keep up with the group. Just getting to the glacier was exhausting. But once on it, it was like discovering a new world. I turned out to be OK at doing this stuff and really liked it. And then, there was this:

This is the Little Aiguille Verte, 11522ft (3512m) and my first contact with the real stuff. The climb was easy (well yes, I was tired and always behind, but it was not technical) and even better, the first part was in a cable car. But I could not describe the satisfaction I felt that day. I thought that if I worked for it, I could probably do ANYTHING and go ANYWHERE one day.

Going down was just fantastic, from the moraine to the bed of the glacier along scary ledges... 

The week ended with a 2 day trip in the mountain (the Tete Blanche was the name of our summit goal), with a night in the refuge Albert Ier. 

This is what the Lonely Planet guide says about the place:

"Precariously perched atop a scraggy crag at an impressive altitude of 2706m, this cliffhanger of a mountain refuge - or rather the stunning veiws it sports - cannot fail to impress".

This was the first of many trips to a hut, the first night in a 24-person bedroom, with the smells and noises it involves, the first time I got up at 4am to go climb a mountain, the first time I walked in the snow with only my headlamp to show me where to step, and the first time I saw the sun rise on a mineral desert, the pink shade painting peak after peak. That day I knew something changed in me and that it would shape the rest of my life. 

Moisturized

Last week end I left the dry air of Montana to meet a friend in Oregon. I had not seen her for maybe 4 years - I guess that's since I moved here. Since she and her husband pretty much introduced me to backpacking, our plan was to meet friday night in Portland, have a nice gourmet dinner, and then head towards the Columbia River. Saturday was going to be a hike to Wahtum lake (starting from Eagle Creek Fish Hatchery Recreation Area, after the Bonneville dam) and hike out on Sunday. According to my friend it should be 14 mile roundtrip.

Well of course things don't always go according to plans.

The first problem was just making it on time friday. I had to run out of work to drive up to Missoula. It's about an hour from here, but I forgot about 1) the construction work on the highway, 2) the fact that half of the population in Montana tends to need to drive always exactly at the same time as me, and I noticed that they are never in a hurry when I am. 

Anyway I was at the airport 5 minutes before the check in time limit, just to see that the plane was going to be 1:30 hour late. No big deal... besides the fact that my friend does not have a cell phone so there was no way I could let her know about the delay. Then another delay in Seattle, where the airport was blocked because of a security breach. I'll never know what happened. But I have to say it was a weird thing to see all these people not moving, just waiting until someone tells them to start moving again.

The bottom line was I never made it for a gourmet dinner (arghhhh), we could just grab appetizers and a beer before leaving Portland.

The second problem was that the hike was not 14 miles roundtrip. It was 14 miles to the lake. Little difference. Of course we saw that at the trailhead, so we could have decided to go somewhere else, but neither of us knew the area so we figured we might as well hike up as far as possible, camp and then hike out the next day whether or not we saw the lake.

For someone who has essentially been hiking in Montana over the last years, Eagle Creek's popularity was quite overwhelming. I was ready to turn around when we entered the parking lot already packed at 9 am. We were not really by ourselves on a trail that could definitely fit strollers. It was nice and wide, more like a promenade than like a pack trail. The day was beautiful though, and the scenery fantastic. As the trail took us slowly uphill (3600 ft over 14 miles...), it became narrower and sometimes was just a ledge on the side of the mountain. 

Here the trails goes under the falls. Refreshing and a little scary:

We kept hiking up the trail, sometimes crossing creeks, sometimes stopping to enjoy the scenery. 

It took us 7 hours (I'm including the lunch break), but we finally made it!

Wahtum lake, elevation somewhere around 3700 ft. I took a quick dip before dinner - miso soup and pasta. A little piece of chocolate before snoring deedles. Sunday was going to be a long day.

And good thing we took pictures of the lake when we arrived, because when I got out of the tent the next day it was another story:

Definitely a rare weather for Montana, but I bet not that rare in Oregon. We could barely see the lake and we were camping on its shore!

Everything was wet. The tent in and out, the backpacks, the ground, the trees, and anything we encountered on our way down. I really don't know much about North American flora so I will not even try to name the plants. 

These ones had huge leaves and little thorns very irritating on the way down.

We didn't waste much time on the way down. We were on a tight schedule. And since the trail was almost flat, we knew we might not be much faster going downhill. We left the camp and walked for 4 hours non stop before our lunch break. It was kind of raining and most of the trail was in the forest with no open space for stopping, ferns and huge plants everywhere. The saturated atmosphere had some sort of mold smell, and that's when I realized that moss was everywhere, on the trees, on the cliffs, everywhere...

A last stop to look at falls

and then back to the trailhead - 6 hours after starting. I just had time to change my clothes, jump in the car and my friend dropped me at the airport. 

The trip back was eventless, my legs very sore, but thanks to Horizon I could sip a Sling Shot along the way, looking at Mt Hood, St Helens and Rainier sticking out of a thick layer of clouds.

I'll have to go there someday. 

Chillin' out

Well it seems that doing nothing is not a good thing for me. I can't remember the last week end I had without a hike, a trip or even a race. Oh I know I really needed it. But I hate it! I feel like I'm just wasting time... I could have exhausted myself again, riding up that hill or hiking up that mountain. But instead I followed today's "plan": crawled out of bed around 10am, did a (very) few things around the house, tried to convince myself I actually did something by going to work for a couple of hours and here I am now, pacing at home. So instead of beginning a sickening cycle of grabbing food in the fridge, laying on the couch in front of the TV, falling asleep, getting up and back in the kitchen, I am going to start that blog I've been thinking about for a while, and that my neighbor has been encouraging. Not sure what I'll talk about though... probably mountain, snow, hikes and ski... maybe other things too, we'll see. And we'll see what feedback I get if I get any.

'ight let's get started. Wish me luck!