Your First Trip: Write a Report

“I was feeling nostalgic, and thought it'd be cool to go back and write a trip report from one of my first backpacking trips. If you haven't posted a report from your first ever trip, try to remember back and put it all down in words and post it here! I had a lot of fun doing it:

My first real backpacking trip actually took place in college. The University of Florida actually offered “backpacking” as an elective course, and myself and a couple of good friends signed up. At the end of the semester, we were required to backpack 8 miles into the woods and spend at least two nights there. We did so at O’Leno State Park, and while the trip was fun and it stirred interest in backpacking, it wasn’t until I did a solo trip in the Catskills after I had moved to New York that created a burning desire and love for the sport.

I began dayhiking around Harriman State Park a few years after my move, and felt relatively comfortable with being alone several miles into the woods. I knew my experience was very limited, and it was unwise to do a solo trip at that point, but I was determined to do so. Furthermore, I knew the route I was planning to tackle for my trip wasn’t very newbie friendly. I had my sights set on the Wittenberg-Cornell-Slide route, a 14 mile loop that went over some of the highest mountains in the Catskills. The last one, Slide, being the tallest (4180’).

It was mid-October, the year was 2000. I had worked until 3am the night before my trip, and when I got off work, I was geeked with excitement and had trouble sleeping. I ended up leaving around 8am, after nervously double checking that I had packed everything I needed and then some.

I got to the trailhead around 10:30am, and stepped out my car dressed in blue jeans and a cotton t-shirt (at least my socks were made of smartwool). I slung my external frame Dana Designs K2 pack over my shoulders, nearly toppling over with the 60 lbs. worth of weight. I decided to start off hiking very slow, since I knew I wasn’t used to carrying such a monstrous load on my back. I picked up a piece of birch wood, using it as a hiking stick to help myself up and along a trail that had quickly went from steep to steep-as-a-mother-fu**er. By then, the temperature had risen to an unseasonable 78 degrees or so, and my jeans quickly became soaked in sweat, and my t-shirt was drenched. One of the things I did not pack, unfortunately, was a pair of shorts.

Not surprisingly, I took several breaks climbing up Wittenberg. I remember chit-chatting with a group of backpackers during one of my rests who had come from the opposite direction. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time, but my pack, dress, and huffing and puffing after only an hour along the trail screamed “newbie” louder than a Howard Dean campaign speech. The group was friendly and very encouraging after I told them my plans. But in hindsight, I also think they were mildly concerned about my itinerary, judging from the questions they asked. They had also warned me about sections of the trail that required scrambling. I had previously read about and looked forward to those parts, but wondered now if I would have the energy to safely get over them. I figured if worse came to worse, I could always haul up my pack with some rope once I got to the top if I thought a particular section was too difficult to do with the pack on.

About halfway up the mountain, the trail leveled out a bit. It felt great to hike along a classic “forest fairy” trail for a while, and I completely relished its flatness. I remember thinking “now this is cool”, and I enjoyed hiking with little effort for the first time since I had set out.

After a while, I figured I must be near the top. The trail had gotten easier after all. So, the summit had to be next. Right? (insert annoying game show buzzer sound here). I took out my map to confirm my optimism, but saw the trail was about to get really steep. I groaned a bit, and took off my pack to rest and eat before moving on. At that time, a young couple around my age and their dog came along, and they ended up sitting and eating lunch with me. They were dayhikers, and we made small talk about the trail and what a gorgeous day it was.

After lunch, the couple then moved ahead, and I cursed at how easily they bounced up the trail since they were carrying nothing more than fanny packs. I hit a few of those steep sections I had been warned about, and managed to scramble up them without feeling the need to take off my pack. I remember being extremely tired at this point, but also feeling an abundance of energy due to the adrenalin rush I had gotten from the scrambles and also knowing that I was near the top. I remember being in awe of how dense the pine trees were at that elevation. Gone were the oak and birch trees. I was in a new ecosystem that had changed drastically because of the elevation. I had never experienced that before, and it really got me even more stoked. I was simply loving it.

I heard a loud snap, which scared the bejesus out me, and I quickly whirled around to face the noise. A dayhiker stood frozen in his tracks about a dozen feet away from me, staring at me with a slightly concerned look in his eye as if I were about to kick his ass. He quickly laughed though. “It’s alright, I’m not a bear”, he chuckled. The dude read my mind. This was also my first trip into bear country, and I had an irrational and exaggerated fear of these relatively harmless animals. They had been on my mind the whole time, and would continue to be throughout the trip. Not surprisingly, this was about as close to a “bear encounter” I would get. The dayhiker passed me, and once he was safely out of earshot, I uttered curse words at him under my breath.

Not long after that, I saw a break in the trees, and nothing but blue sky peaking over what little rock there was left to climb. It would only take a few more steps to confirm my hopes, I had reached the summit! And man, what a view! I had read that the top of Wittenberg offered some of the best views, if not THE best views, in the Catskills. I had also seen the pictures, but I was simply not prepared one bit for seeing it all before my very eyes, in real time and in person. Layed out before me like some grand painting was a view of lesser mountains, lakes, and lush green land dotted with orange and yellow trees of changing colors that stretched away as far as the eye could see. I sat, rested, and soaked in the view, oblivious to the few other people who were also on the summit, including the couple with the dog that I ate lunch with an hour or so earlier. I didn’t speak one word. Nobody did. There was simply no need to.

The day was ending, and I knew I had to hurry if I was going to reach the col between Cornell and Slide where I had planned on camping for the night, and I still had to climb Cornell. I got underway, feeling refreshed from the rest and the rewarding view I had just soaked in. I was pleasantly surprised at how quick I was able to get up Cornell, and was hit with another awesome view on the other side of the mountain. There, in the distance, loomed Slide. Layed out between it and me was the vast col where I would sleep that night, and as the sun made its way down to the horizon, I did the same down the side of Cornell.

I found a nice designated campsite in the col, and set up my tent. I gathered some fire wood, and after some initial trouble, I finally got my stove put together. I cooked dinner, and then lit the fire, getting it going with only one match. I sat for a while, staring at the fire, but as nightfall descended, I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. The lack of sleep the night before coupled with an exhausting day of hiking had now caught up with me. Out went the fire, and I crawled into my sleeping bag and immediately fell asleep. I remember it was 8 o’clock when I went to bed.

That night, I woke up once during the night. I heard a creature crashing through the bushes, and it was moving towards my camp. A bear?! No, couldn’t be. It doesn’t sound like it’s that big. But I had no idea at the time what else it could have been. In retrospect, it was probably a coon or a porcupine. I yelled “git outta here!” and the unknown creature of the night retreated noisily, and I stirred no more for the rest of the night.

I woke up the next morning, and my watch still read 8 o’clock... only it was followed with an a.m. instead of a p.m. I was shocked I had slept so long. Twelve hours! Then again, it made sense. I then realized a patting sound washing over my tent, quite literally. It was raining. Great. I changed into a pair of ski pants and a nylon pullover jacket that ended up doing a miserable job at repelling the rain (it was all I had at the time, and I didn’t have money at the time to buy real raingear). The pants, however, ended up doing a decent job. The temps were also noticeably cooler. It must be that cold front I had seen on the weather reports the day before my trip.

After breaking camp, I set back on the trail. I ran into an older guy and a younger woman, and exchanged quick hellos. Turns out this guy would make my day later on.

The trail soon went from flat to up, and I was ascending Slide, the tallest peak in the Catskills. During one part, there was a tricky scramble that was made downright treacherous from the slick conditions. It involved side stepping along an outcropping that was only a few inches wide in the middle of a vertical section of cliff. The “ground” was at about a dozen or so feet below, but even then, the land sloped steeply downward several hundred more feet into the trees. Quite simply, a fall here could mean big trouble. My adrenaline pumped, and midway through, I had really wished I had taken off my pack and hauled it up with rope once I reached the top. But it was too late now, and with my heart beating faster than a rocket, I slowly and steadily made my way across, hugging the slick rock face and doing my best to prevent my top-heavy pack from toppling me over backwards to a possible death. I made it though, and vowed if there were any more sections like that, I would not be as foolish and play it safe. There were none though, and soon I reached “the ladder”. It was made of logs and ascended several dozen feet up to the top of a vertical section of the cliff. It was here that I knew there was also a spring. I found it, filtered water into my water bottles, and climbed the ladder with a huge grin on my face. You see, I also knew that the ladder also meant I was near the top of Slide.

I reached the summit, took of my pack, and danced and pumped my fists with excitement. I had done it! I remember thinking that the rest would be cake from here on out. I was also literally inside the rain clouds at this point, and thought that was the coolest thing on earth. After resting a bit and taking some pics, I happily danced down the other side of Slide.

The trail down took longer than I had anticipated, and it didn’t take long before I was back under the rain clouds and continued to get drenched. It was still cool out, not enough to make it very dangerous, but enough to add to the misery. My nylon jacket clearly hadn’t been built for the rain, and I was soaked and very uncomfortable. My moral had taken a tumble.

I finally reached the trailhead at the bottom of Slide, and had several miles to go until my next campsite. To get there, I would have to hike alongside a country road for a few miles. I knew this part would kinda suck... but given my level of exhaustion and the rain, it REALLY sucked. I had no tree cover, and the rain was pounding me even more. Why couldn’t they make the stupid trail stay in the woods?

After several hundred yards, I heard a car slowing behind me. I turned around to see a pickup truck, and the driver rolled down the window. “Want a lift?” he asked. It was the guy I saw on the trail several hours before. “Heck yeah. Do you think you could just take me up to where the trail goes back into the woods?” He cheerfully agreed, and I threw my pack in the back of the truck and we were off. It turns out his name was Joe, and he was from Albany. The younger woman he was with was his daughter, and he was down visiting her (she was in her own car). Joe dropped me off at the next trailhead, I thanked him porously. He had saved me lots of time, and that was a huge plus since my butt was majorly kicked at this point. My moral was now up again though, and off I went.

I reached to the designated campsite where I had planned to camp that night, and looked at my watch. If I kept on going, I could reach my car by nightfall, thanks to the time Joe had saved me from giving me a ride. Plus, the rain was still relentless, and I didn’t feel like staying out in the woods another night if it was going to continue to be like this.

Several hours of semi-steep climbs and a long meandering descending trail later, I whooped with joy when I saw my car through the trees below me. Exhausted, I put my pack in the trunk, turned the ignition, and began the two hour drive home. I was smiling to myself during most of the drive. I had accomplished what I had wanted, even if I did cheat a little by accepting the car ride and hadn’t spent an additional night in the woods. I had proven a lot to myself, and had a blast. In the days ahead, I would look back on the trip with increasing fondness, and craved to do it again. It was official, I was hooked, and my life was changed forever.”

“Cool deal Dude....

I Definitely enjoyed taking a quick break from schoolwork to read your well-written story.

It's a great thing you stuck with it!”

“That's a pretty cool thing there Artex. I know the feelings you wrote about well.”

“Great idea Artex. Unfortunately I was only 5 years old on my first trip, so I don't remember much. So here are some bits and pieces from 20 years ago.

It was either late May or early June. My dad decided to take me on a backpacking / fishing trip to Lost Pond in the Pharaoh Lake Wilderness Area (Adirondack Park, NY). My dad lent me an old canvas boy scout daypack (no hip belt and no frame). The pack was only large enough for me to fit a change of cloths and my fish bag. Dad had a framed pack and carried all of the food, along with a change of close, two sleeping bags, and an old Optimus 8R stove (which I own now and works like new). We didn't have a tent because we were going to stay in a lean-to.

The trail was a whopping 0.75 miles over fairly flat terrain, but for my small legs it felt like 10 miles over the Great Range trail. By the time we got to the pond we had discovered that the lean-to was occupied, so we back tracked back to a campsite that we saw earlier where someone had left a sheet of clear plastic hung over a line. We dropped our gear off at the make shift shelter and fished the rest of the day. I don't remember too much more of the trip except fishing into the night and not catching anything. The next day we found an abandoned bear's den on the other side of the pond. After that we hiked back out.”

“great thread Artex!

I'm glad I have a report written for my grandgirl of her first backpacking trip.

o(=D”

“Thanks all! :-)

lumberzac, that's great! You're lucky to have grown up in such a pristine area.

twiggie, I seem to remember you posting that report. It was very cute, if it's the one I'm remembering right. :-)”

“My first backpacking trip was just in November.... my first camping trip/dayhike was when was like 5 so I don't remember it. I only remember collecting salamanders with my dad and that we went with his friend and his friend's daughter who's also my age. She hated it.”

“(this might sound familiar to some of you...)





"Seems like ten years ago, though today my mind is slow..."

(more like 18, actually)


Well... I was your basic 28-year-old rookie going to Shining Rock Wilderness
for a weekend, up a section of the Art Loeb Trail from Camp Dan'l Boone to
the top of Cold Mtn. (North Carolina). I had an e-frame pack and some boots
from some trips I had taken with a Boy Scont Explorer Troop I'd been in 10
years earlier, but the furthest we'd ever packed in was a couple of hundred
yards.

This trip was one nutty thing after another.

First off, the pack: 60 lbs. of clothes. Three pairs of jeans. Propane stove
(with those large steel cannisters). Hatchet. Air mattresses like pool floats.
Huge uncompressable sleeping bags. Fifteen pound 3-season tent with
fiberglass poles... The Usual.

The hike in: We got to the trailhead at sunset and went up in the dark with
one AA flashlight between the two of us. I had this huge survival knife on
my belt with the sheath tied around my leg just above the knee (like some
kind of gunslinger).

Yeah, Right….

When I stepped over a large tree trunk that had fallen across the trail, the
loop of cord on the sheath slipped BELOW my knee, down around my calf
(my ankle was now effectively tied to my belt) and I nearly catapulted my
sorry butt off the trail and down the mountainside. With the hatchet. And the
propane. And my big ass knife.

The tent site: Our water source was a 1 inch wide trickle. It took 10 min. to
get a cupfull. We pitched the tent on the SIDE of the hill and woke up in a
down-hill corner of the tent with all our crap on top of us. In the morning,
after we managed to dig our way out, we noticed a large creek and a nice
flat campsite... about twenty feet away.

Thank God it didn't rain.

Don't ask about the smokey milk.”

“Nice TR's guys! I didn't know you atrted only a few years ago Artex! Blue Jeans... lmao! Prolly the last time they went on a trip.

Tilt, I think we all carried a big a$$ed knife the first time we went out. I still have mine, my great uncle's survival knife from WW2, the thing still kicks a$$.


I'd been camping my whole life. Luckily, I grew up in an area that was undveloped, so I was in the woods, climbing ledges, builting forts and sleeping in makeshift tents for most of my summers. As for my first real backpacking trip, I was broken in real good.

I had aquired a job as a chain and rod man on a survey crew in Alaska back in 92'. I went with a frat brother, who visited his pops up there every summer. We both worked for this dude named John, a modern day grizzly adams, from the thick beard, to his bushwhacking sprints up steep mountain slopes.

We did several multi-day surveying jobs in the wilderness, but this was the first. Our objective was to pack two days to a benchmark in the middle of nowhere, and somewhere between the coast of Prince William Sound, and the Shoop Glacier. It rained all the time up there, so I bought some old army raingear at the local pawn shop in Valdez. John supplied my buddy and I with the rest of our gear. As we were packing the gear, John asked me if I could handle the tent, along with whatever personal belongings I was bringing. I was like "sure dude", in my confident 20 year old voice. It turns out, the thing was a 60+ pound canvas military teepee type tent. That, combined with my extra clothes, knife, bug spray, and other essentails, brought my pack to prolly 80 some pounds. It was friggin' heavy. My buddy Brett had to carry the equipment (gun, as in survey gun, tripod, sledge hammer, etc. He was loaded down big time. Robert, a local, carried all the food, while John carried food, and all the other supplies. We all had Smith and Wesson 357's along with machete's strapped to our sides.

As we set out into our 6 day journey, it reminded me of a scene from King Kong, when they set out for that hot blonde. The woods were like a rainforest, overgrown with thick alders, prickers, pines and cottonwood trees. Every once in a while, we'd run across vast tundra. Thank God the trail was pretty level, or short ups, and quick downs. We were contouring several slopes, and hiking on plains for the most part. Our mission, once we got to the known benchmark, was to shoot and record 4 other benchmarks in the area. benchmarks are know survey points in which you can plot areas, and record topography. Brett and I were the designated "donkeys, and machetemen", hacking the trail, and navigating with John's compass and dead reckoning.

The first night, we camped among a nice pinestand. We could see Prince William Sound, and viewed glacial ice lazily floating in the water. It was daylight for 20 hours during this time of the year (June), but I'd adjusted, and fell asleep about 10 minutes after the tent was set up. We slept under wool blankets, and no air matresses, but I was young and tired, so it didn't effect me too much, lol!

The next day, I saw a wolverine, which scared the piss out of me. The lil' bastard was FAST! We also ran across caribou, beaver, bald eagles and sea otters. We I don't know how many miles he hiked, but it was quite a few, and even though it was 70 degrees out, I was hot, and had a great time shooing skeeters away.

Made it to basecamp, and set that heavy tent up. John, Robert and Brett all smoked, and I downed a shot of vodka as we ate canned beef stew for dinner. John told a ton of cool stories, which I'll share with anyone who askes at TT outings. I was so damned stoked, I can't put it into words.

The next three days, Brett and I chopped trails, and pounded rebar (which John had packed in two years ago) to set the new benchmarks. John said we may have been the first humans to set foot in some of the areas we were in, which made the experience even more thrilling. We saw northern lights two of the nights, and a full moon that sat on the ocean.

I came back to school that summer in the best shape in my life, and have never carried an 80 lbs. pack again!”

“That sounded cool, BB. You didn't see any bears at all? I guess a Wolverine is enough! I hear those bastards are mean as all get out!”

“I had decided to gear up and begin backpacking as a way to revive myself and reconnect. I spent a considerable amount of time researching gear options etc. If only I had known about this board I could have saved myself some weight. Nonetheless...

My boyfriend at the time said he would go with me on my first weekend trip so I could determine if the gear I had selected was functional. I planned the trip to Nordhouse Dunes on Lake Michigan. As the hike was intended as a gear test, it was only about 8 miles in total length.

After a 4 1/2 hour drive on Friday evening, I giddily lifted a 42 pound pack and started walking. After a few hundred yards we were walking along the sandy shores of Lake Michigan at sunset on a warm Labor Day evening. Ideallic, for a short time. One mile into the 3 mile hike to our first intended campsite the sand was wearing away my heels at a rapid pace. I hiked in agony with no poles and no gaitors the remaining 2 miles. We set up my new tent and cooked dinner on my brand new MSR International stove. It was a beautiful evening all around as we toasted the sunset over the big lake with a bottle of wine.

On the second day I awoke to a beautiful morning and we ate poptarts and oatmeal. I was pleased with the gear but dreaded putting on my hiking shoes. There were literally holes worn into my heels. My boyfriend and I assisted each other with our packs and I could not help but notice the relative lightness of his, estimated at under 30 lbs. "Well, he said, you wanted to test your gear so all I had to pack was a sleeping bag, some clothes, water, snacks and the wine." It seemed only fair to me that we shift some weight due to my lameness, but he refused. In hind sight I should thank him as it helped me get more prepared and determined. But at the time I could barely enjoy the lovely sandy trail and pine forest for the pain I endured hiking with those blisters.

We arrived at a campsite I had chosen overlooking a lake. By that time I was tired, in pain, irritable and downright mean. After some lunch and a nap, we realized that the grumpiness was induced by hunger. The remainder of the day was lovely as we collected and cut firewood built a fire and had dinner and enjoyed the late summer evening. In the morning I packed out with the knowledge that my next hike would be a solo and that I could rely on the choices made with a few updates.

The boyfriend is gone. We really didn't get along all that well. But that first hike led to me getting out several more times that autumn on my own and finding the solitude I had hoped would greet me when I put my house on my back and headed out.

It wasn't until the next spring when I was looking for a group with similar interest. Reformed lurker found me on the other board, and invited me on a trip with the Michigan Trail Talk group. I met only some of them on that trip, Sass, Tarabull, Cow Patty, Reformed Lurker and le subtil. They welcomed me as a friend and were willing to share tips and advice including the suggestion that I check out TrailTalk. I soaked it up like a sponge and made some wonderful friends at the same time.

Maybe this was more than just a trip report about my very first backpacking trip. Pardon my rambling into another subject. Suffice it to say that I wouldn't give up my solo hikes for all the world, nor would I ever turn my back on the friends that I have made hiking.”

“This has been great reading all of these trip reports! So far, they are all very different, and everyone is still doing it!

I have to say, that even though I was in the Army for seven years, and "hiked" all over the island of Oahu and some of the Big Island of Hawaii; did, I think, a dayhike somewhere in West Virginia or Fredricksburg, Maryland (not sure at all), none of that at all compares to backpacking and hiking today. I remember driving from Maryland to Michigan and seeing signs that said Appalachian Trail...again, had no idea what the hail that was. Spent the night in Harpers Ferry, Virginia in a shack and still...no clue. ALAS!!! Twelve years later, and here I am.

My first trip was the 18 mile loop at Jordan River Pathway, near Traverse City, MI. I went with a friend of mine who had everything but the kitchen sink in his pack. It was June, so the bugs were not too bad. All I had in my pack was a sleeping bag, a sleeping pad, clothes, the food and that was it, if I remember right. He had everything and then some. He brought his MSR pocket rocket and TWO full canisters of fuel...(we only went for one night.) My knees were swollen to high heaven after hiking the first 8 miles to the campground. There was a graduation party going on down the way and everyone was wheel-barrelling kegs of beer up from the nearby parking lot ALL NIGHT LONG! Their party went on for most of the night while Tom and I tried to get some sleep.

The next morning, we got up, ate a little breakfast, made some coffee, and started for the 10 mile hike back to his truck. My knees were killing me and his back was hurting him. We actually didn't too bad of a time, though.

All in all, it was a fun time. After this, I went to REI and purchased my first tent, the SD Clipflashlight. I also got rid of the Jansport backpack and bought the Golite Gust. I stopped wearing the Lowa's to hike in and put on the Asolo's. I got rid of the Thermarest 3/4 length and splurged on the Down Exped Air Mattress. I geared myself up and in two weeks, headed up for my first solo trip doing the NCT/Manistee River Loop. I have been hooked ever since.

It was after my solo trip that I posted my first post on Trail Talk, which I just happened up on one day while searching for gear reviews. I'm hooked on TT, too.”

“Don't forget... wolverines are the ferret's big brother, LOL. WWII Ka-Bar? (I've still got that Gerber Mark II... it goes car-camping sometimes, <G>)


Dhutch... you should've clocked that guy with a tree limb! What a dick!”

“Keep'em coming! These are fun to read. :-)”

“I want to hear about the smokey milk.”

“Sure, Bacpac. Whadda-ya-wanna know?

1) Boil water in a pot propped on wood actually IN the fire, so that it's infused with smoke and flecks of ash and bark.
2) Pour into a cup.
3) Stir in heaping teaspoons of Carnation Instant Milk.
4) Drink a big slug of it.
5) Try not to puke.”

“Yum :-)”

“In the Scouts our troop camped (car-camped) every month; and a couple of times each year we hiked, did compass trails and such, but we never carried packs and truly backpacked.

My first time carrying on my back everything needed was when I went to Philmont Scout Ranch in Cimarron New Mexico at about age 14. I rented a pack at the ranch and with about 10 other guys set out for 10 days.

I had my normal rectangle sleeping bag, standard poncho, new boots (broken in) blue jeans and cotton shirts. I had no idea about special fabrics or any of that stuff. We all weighed our packs before we started and thank God for the rangers that inspected our gear before we started.

I do remember how special being in the Rocky Mountains was - these were the first real mountains I'd ever seen. I remember seeing a brown bear, first bear sighting. I remember having a bear cub search out the gear stashed under our dining fly one night and inspecting fresh claw marks on the tree with the bear bag the next morning.

I don't remember the sore feet very much, nor do I remember much how tired I was at the end.

I remember sitting on a ridge with my best friend watching the sun set and standing on an overlook viewing Rocky Mountain lakes in the distance. I remember the distinct feeling of accomplishment upon completeing 70 miles and proudly marking our trail on the map as we went.

Lots of firsts on this trip. First time ducking an electrical storm at elevation. First time having to drink sulphur water (yuck). Probably the most significant experience of my life.

Still think about that trip quite frequently. Knowing what I know now about the sport I'm amazed that any of us made it. Proves that you don't need a bunch of expensive gear to get out and enjoy whatever is out there.

After many years of working and starting a family I finally went out again, without any special gear, just a tent, regular old bag and poncho, cooking gear scrounged from the kitchen - and it was just as good as I'd remembered.”

“Sure, Bacpac. Whadda-ya-wanna know?

Haha, another one”

“My first trip was almost 29 years ago.
I can't remember that far back. ;-)”

“Artex - Great idea for a thread! May be my favorite thread idea, ever! Good job!

Like many on this board, I spent my young years (oh, wait, I'm still young!) camping and hiking. But, my first backpacking trip wasn't until I was in my mid 20s.

We left MI with Glacier Nat'l Park as our destination. In 5 days, we stopped in Shakoppe, MN for a Bob Dylan/Paul Simon concert, Badlands Nat'l Park and Wall Drug, Go-Karting in Rapid City, Hill City in the Black Hills Nat'l Forest (Mt Rushmore, et al), an oil change in Sturgis and finally ended in Browning, MT.

The next morning, we learned that the trail for our first choice was still covered in snow and they weren't allowing hikers. So, we went with our second option, which was a bit shorter and easier. We did a loop of the Quartz Lakes. The days weren't long and I was thrilled since this was my first backpacking trip. I believe we did 6 miles the first day and 4 miles each of the two next days. Most people prolly do this in a two day trip, but, being newbies, we opted for three days.

The trail starts at Bowman Lake Campground. We climbed to the crest of the Cerulean Ridge (about 1700 feet in three miles) and then dropped, rather quickly (about 1000 feet in one mile), into the Quartz Creek Valley. This descent took us through an area that burned in the 1988 North Fork Fire. It was the first time I had seen forest fire damage so close up. It was really amazing to learn that such destruction can be so beneficial to the forest. The lack of large trees afforded us some pretty amazing views, too! We camped, that night, at Quartz Lake which is still my favorite backpacking campsite of all time. We made dinner in the kitchen area, played cards in the tent while it rained, but mostly, hung around the lake. My brother stood knee deep in freezing water to catch a few fish. I guess that lake has a large population of rainbow and cutthroat trout. But, I can't for the life of me remember which he caught. Two other sites were occupied and we met the couple from one of them. I still can't remember where Gail and Bob were from but I recall they had been everywhere. And, the thing I most remember them saying (over and over again) was "We miss Jerry, man." lol! Very nice people who shared some very nice treats with us.

The next day's hike was relatively flat, following the shore of Middle QUartz Lake for a couple miles until it reaches Lower Quartz Lake. The trail follows Lower until it's southern end and camp is at the outlet for QUartz Creek. This camp was pretty full, but reservations guaranteed us a site. We took a site across the river, opposite the "kitchen" area. We met lots of people here. Lots of dayhikers and fisherman, as this was only about 4 miles from the trailhead.

The last day's hike took us up for what seemed like forever, but was really only about 1000 feet in 1.5 miles. We hiked through more of the North Fork Fire area and then dropped back down to the trailhead at Bownman Lake.

The drive back to MI was less eventful than the drive to MT. We stopped in Bozeman for a night and enjoyed the college town atmosphere and some big steaks and beers. The next night, we stopped in Sioux Falls for a night in a hotel. Then, homewared bound.

It was an amazing first trip and I was hooked immediately. I'm glad I started "big." I believe it gave me some confidence I might not have otherwise had for future trips.

Sure wish I had a digital camera back then... From MI to MT

Enjoy!”

“I had grown up camping, even though our family didn't. Early one we camped in the backyard, then in the nearby woods and fields. I had always wanted to backpack, but couldn't until Spring Break, 1973, my senior year of high school. Gary the preachers kid, Tom the West Point wanna be (he made it) and Mark a bodybuilder back then.

We lived in the Maryland DC suburbs and Shenandoah, sections of the AT made sense. 7 days. Parents dropped us off and picked us up. We had a great time and loved every minute. Campfire cooking, rain, early spring flowers and mice in the shelters.”

“Nice Reports/ Stories!

Love the pics tarabull! Awesome trip for a newbie!”

“All, very awsome stories! Makes me pretty nostalgic!

LMAO at Tilt's explanation of smokey milk!

TT Fact - The trip thet Tarabull described in this thread, I stayed at the same campground, on the same night that she and her bf did. I met Tara on my first TT trip, and we talked about the Black Hills. It was pretty bizzare, just like most of you folks here (very much including myself in that statement)!


Thanks Artex, for starting this thread, I'd lost the reason why I even frequented this site.”

“tarabull, your pics really made me feel like getting away to that area just now. sigh....”

“but this blew my mind...

One friday night I had stayed in the shelter at Amicalola Park...something woke me up at about 1 AM and it was this couple from FL pumping up their air mattress. They finally get it pumped and get their stuff set up hop on it and the wire from the platform punches a hole in it. So they start whispering and cussing and fighting. I finally go back to sleep, and wake up to them in the morning. I asked them where they were headed and they said Blood Mountain. Oh really well how long you planning on being out. oh we're just hiking there today and coming back sunday...(ummm hmmm)40 miles huh???...they were like yeah we are both in pretty good shape...i asked them with those packs(about 70 lbs. each) oh yeah....so they pack up and head off before i get back from the visitors center bathroom....i see them later at the top of the falls and they are looking really worried and upset...like they had been arguing...and out of character of me i approached them and asked how it went coming up nearly 1000 ft. in 0.7 mile...oh it was harder than we thought...so i asked them if they wanted some advice...the guy was kinda like...ahhh well thanks but its ok...so i trek off up the trail...and i hear the girl chasing me...so i go back with her and we get their packs back down to their car and sort through some things...mainly the 4 gallons of water they were carrying.... the air mattress with duct tape on the fresh hole...the HUGE pump for it....and the books they had brought to study for classes(ok nerds)....so then i asked them if they thought they would make the 40 miles today...and they said not now...so i told them they could hike with me and we would all stop near springer and catch some sleep and start back in the morning....and i talked off and on with them while waiting to make sure they were still on the trail...all in all i think their trip came out ok thanks to a little courtesy and also curiousity...i never did get thier contact info though...i would like to know if theyre still into Bping”

“just read this in a tail journal thought it was hilarious


My legs were a little sore but it feels great. Pain=pleasure, crazy huh? I am so happy and feel alive out here in the woods. It's really really wonderful. The mice at Springer Shelter weren't bad according to Walt. One did take a bath in his coffee cup though. Me, I am still tenting...And like every other newbee out here am trying to figure how to lessen pack weight. I chucked my microwave along the trail today. And contemplated cutting off body parts I don't use too often. I also decided that MSR makes great stoves but not great water filters. I was pumping for a long, long time to fill up my bottles. Some guy with a PUR cruised by~pumped for a few seconds and filled his bottle way quicker. An eye dropper would work faster than mine. Afterwords I did dismantle it and clean it up...we'll see how it works tomorrow. If it still works like crap I'm flying to Seattle and am gonna throw it thru their window. As the cold night air is settling in so is rigamortis ...”

“Roam Around, my first real BPing trip was to Philmont, too. Four years of BSA campouts, dayhikes, canoe trips and competitive camporees (firebuilding, cooking, first aid, etc.) had laid a pretty good foundation, but no one in our Scout troops had the gear for BPing, let alone leaders who would/could take us. Philmont was the Valhalla in Scouting (this was the mid 60s), a place everyone knew about, but only the lucky or special Scouts got to go there.

Normally, your troop had to come up with a contingent of 10 or so who could commit to a reservation well in advance. Luckily, during 9th grade I was in a troop in Albion, MI, that was part of a council that had decided it was easier to put together a Philmont group from individual Scouts who were in various troops in the area.

So at age 15 in the summer of 1967, after just a couple get-acquainted meetings and hikes, I set off to N.M. with a crew of Scouts I barely knew and the 25-year-old new Scout Executive for the Council. He was a Brown U. grad. and had a key to the Detroit Playboy Club. After driving to Chicago's Union Station, we took the "Zephyr" train to Denver (on which the leader and the boldest guy in our group split the company of 17-year-old twins from Long Island who had never been west of the Hudson before), then a bus south to N.M.

As Roam Around noted, we were not of the "modern" era of backpacking yet. I had about the best pack the Scouts sold, an "L" shaped aluminum frame with canvas shoulder straps and back bands, a fairly large canvas bag with leather straps to close the top flap and three outside pockets, and NO hipbelt.

At Philmont, we saw our first foam pads made for shoulder straps. They were leather rectangles with open cell foam glued on, slotted to slide over the straps. It was the placebo effect -- tell us they helped and we sorta believed they did, so we bought 'em.

After they handed out the group gear -- ax, cast iron skillet, aluminum cook pots, Tetrox powdered dish detergent (capable of inducing the dreaded Tetrox Trots if the pots weren't adequately rinsed) etc. -- and the canvas floorless pup tents we would sleep in, we divied up the load and set off for 10 days in the Sangre de Christo range of the Rockies.

The first couple days, a "ranger" or experienced staff Scout of Eagle rank -- accompanied us to make sure we were capable. The first night he taught some of us how to use an aluminum tent pole to make bear sounds -- the two guys who had bedded down first after the Ranger's bear lecture and accompanying horror stories -- were in Olympic form as they bolted from their tent and hurdled the campfire as they escaped the "bear" grunting at the back of the tent.

Individual days are a bit of a blur. I recall sore shoulders, and my rectangular, cotton-covered sleeping bag on top of a poncho didn't make for the greatest sleeping. My Sears work boots were actually quite comfortable for hiking, though the soles didn't have the best grip.

It rained a fair amount and almost everthing we had was cotton or canvas, so we got soaked even with our heavy ponchos. We were happy one day that we hit the far west border of Philmont because there was a fence down a fire break and the sun came out so we could spread our clothes and sleeping bags to dry for awhile.

A highlight was cresting a mountain top on a Sunday morning, with impromptu services in the clouds, winds and rain that enveloped the peak -- still remember the elevation, 11,711 feet sticks in my mind. That was our big goal for the trip, and wasn't a route popular with many groups, but it was cool that our leader said let's top a mountain rather than go to the "activity"-oriented camp areas.

I had my first cup of coffee on this trip. The leader and I took a side hike to visit a friend from my troop who was working that summer as a ranger at one of the interior camp sites not far off our route. We got caught in a downpour and were thoroughly chilled when we reached the ranger cabin. The only thing hot to drink there was coffee. I think I put about six big lumps of sugar and a bunch of powdered milk in mine to get it down, but it was hot and the caffeine rush was probably a boost to my spirits too. Then we had to hike the 2 1/2 miles back to hook up with our group, which was working on a conservation project while I was galavanting around.

On the "crosses in the backcountry" thread I told about the high meadow camp where the clouds parted in the shape of a perfect cross to let the moon shine through. That was also the backcountry camp where the ranger had a big stash of cigarettes he had BPed in after an R&R trip to Taos. That ranger was making more money off selling cigarettes to jonesing Scouts and leaders than he made from his Philmont pay.

That camp was also where I saw my first nylon, compartmentalized backpack with padded shoulder straps and a waistbelt. A ranger who was hiking his way back to base after getting a group into the backcountry stopped in. We were in awe. It was bright red and just dazzled us. Plus he was clearly carrying a lighter load than any of us were. We had seen the future and at that point it didn't include us peons.

With two days to go, a guy in our group managed to put the ax in the top of his foot while trying to cut a green sapling (gee, that was something covered in our training about axes, firewood and treading lightly in nature --duh). As we were in a semi-deep river gorge coming down a mountain, and the only way to help was to hike out, we had to split up his gear so he could hobble along the trail, which criss-crossed the riverbed on jumbled boulders and logs left by flash flooding the year before. I was the lucky one who drew the cast iron skillet from the dope's pack and had to add it to mine. Hopping boulders with cast iron on your back is not something you recall fondly. We did find a ripped open deer on top of a huge boulder that looked like it had been left there by a mountain lion.

Back at the basecamp, we had our first showers in 10 days and we were the only group in the shower house. We all turned several nozzles on ourselves and used a lot of hot water. We had already picked up our clean uniforms from the camp laundry and we were in pretty darn good shape at that point.

As we were enjoying our accomplishment, some guy came up to us and asked us if we were the group from lower Michigan. We said yes, and he said, did you know Detroit is on fire? It was the summer of the Detroit riots. That was my first real lesson in just how much of an escape BPing can be from the "real" world.

The other interesting element was that while I was at Philmont, my folks were moving up north in the Lower Peninsula. It was the easiest move I ever made. My Philmont group dropped me off where my parents were waiting at an exit on I-94 and I went to my new home all the way up in Big Rapids (which seemed way up north in those days).

The next time I got to go backpacking was after college and being in the work world a while. But over those years, the memories of the Philmont trip kept pulling at me to get back on the trail again.”

“shep, that is HYSTERICAL!!”

“On the last day of school before Christmas vacation, Ed was standing outside the door of our first period class. "I've got something far more educational than anything in your book bag," he said, pulling what looked like a dirty sugar cube out of a battered piece of tin foil...

I was 12 years old. We boarded a train at Tokyo Station bound for Mt. Fuji. At the Fuji station, there were sprawling markets. We bought Fuji poles and caught the bus up to Fuji. After the bus ride, we set out on foot through an old Japanese gate and headed up a winding dusty path surrounded by lava rocks. The views were incredible. As it started getting dark, we stopped into a hut at the 8th station to spend the night. We had a noodle soup with rice cakes, vegatables and eggs for dinner and went to bed early - hoping to awake before dawn and reach the summit for sunrise. The bunks and blankets were designed for short people - and even at 12, I had trouble covering the length of my body. There was an Australian rugby team staying in the same hut. They laughed, drank and gabed until well into the night. Shortly after I fell asleep, I was awakened by the sound of people stirring to get out of the hut. I packed by pack quickly and told my companions I would meet them at the top - they had hardly slept and didn't feel like moving. I headed up op my own, but was so tired after about an hour that I fell asleep when I stopped to reast. I woke up to the sound of a man trying to practice his English on my. I spoke politely and asked him to walk with me since I was trying to summit before sunrise. I left him behind after a while, but I still only reached the ninth station (the top is the tenth) when dawn broke. It was gorgeous looking down on the clouds as the sun broke over them. After taking a few pictures with my Kodak Instamatic, I moved on to the top and wandered over to the craters. I waited along time for the others to show up and soon we were headed down. I was bored by the slow winding downhill and pretty much ran down a lava slide using my pole to stop when I moved to fast. I ended up with a slight ankle strain and wore an ace bandage for the following two weeks.”

“I can't remember the details. It was in 1967. My brother had finished jump school and took me somewhere near Ocala. (We lived in South Florida at the time). I was only 5 but he carried everything. We spend three days walking and talking. He deployed for Vietnam in December of that year. I will cherish that trip forever.”

“cool report pekka, i was about 15 years after you. the rental technology only improved slightly in that time frame. Nylon packbag and tents, but that's about it.

One funny story: On our ranger's last day we were coming into the campsit, about 1/4 mile out and the ranger "fell" in the trail and "had" a twisted ankle. Several of us scrambled around him to perform "first aid". We did eventually manage to immobilize his ankle and we "passed" the little test, but it was embarassing - complete disorganization and a little mild panic. It was a good wake up call to just how much we were gonna have to depend on ourselves.

Later in the trip, with probably three days to go one of our leaders really did screw up his ankle. We got him into the next campsite which happened to be one of the staffed areas and they jeeped him out.”

“This is a great thread, good idea Artex.”

“Yeah Artex, a great thread. Thanx for starting it. I'm enjoying all the stories, and it was fun to think back through my own.”

“Well, if hitchhiking through europe and sleeping on the side of the interstate doesn't count...

I day hiked a lot before, but my very first BACKPACKING trip was actually not that long ago. It was the red river gorge trip with the TT people. back then I realized what it really ment to have on a heavy a$$ backpack. My pack was way too heavy and I felt it too. Not sure how many people realized back then that I thought I am going to die on each hill I had to climb with my pack on. The last hill I had to climb was on our way back to the car. I was behind Tarabull and Le subtle. Do you remember that? Yupp, my very first backpacking trip. LOL

Oh pics: My very first backpacking trip”

“This thread is a great idea! It is awesome to hear everyone's stories.
My 1st backpack was some years ago when I was living in St. George, Utah as a volunteer through SCA. I was pretty soft back in the day, but when my supervisor asked who wanted to go on a bping trip at Zion, I agreed instantly. Didn't have my own pb or anything then, so she let me borrow an extra of hers, along with my non-compressable sleeping bag, etc. The bp was obviously made for someone much larger then myself. As it was the middle of summer, we had to carry all of our water since the springs could be dry. That bp seemed really heavy to me, especially since I couldn't fully tighten the waist belt to fit correctly. We started out at the top of the hike and hiked down, having left a car shuttle down at the bottom. Good thing we weren't hiking the up direction or I probably wouldn't have made it. The views were amazing the whole hike. We were hiking across the plateau and then down along the edge and into the main canyon at Zion. Wow! For the night, we stopped to set up camp at Potato Hollow, where there was water. I cursed a bit under my breath at that point after carrying all that water, but I was really grumpy from hunger. I don't remember what we cooked, but it was the best food I ever ate. This was desert camping, so we spread out a tarp and crawled into our sleeping bags. Around 1 or 2 am, we woke to the feeling of rain on our faces. There were 4 of us and we had no tent, of course. It was the desert. We quickly rolled up in the tarp to keep the rain off. Good thing that tarp was big but we still had to squish together like crazy. It was really hard to breathe, but we finally slept (perhaps passed out from lack of oxygen). In the real morning, we stuffed our wet bags into our packs and kept on hiking. Before dropping down into the main canyon, we stashed our bags and climbed out to Angel's Landing, one of the best overlooks in the park. Portions of this trail involve walking on narrow ledges with 2 steep drops. The kick from that helped me make it the rest of the way once we got back to the packs and had to go down Walter's Wiggles with full packs of gear. At the time, I thought my knees would buckle going down so steeply under such a heavy and ill-fitting pack, but we made it. On the drive to pick up the other car at the top, I couldn't help wishing we were hiking back up. I was hooked. peace.”

“I guess GetaGrip is not a troll of Bacpac's...I don't think Bacpac has had his "first" yet.”

“Well, I've got two "first" backpacking trips, so I'll tell both.

The first was when I was a Scout (surprise) at about oh, 15 or 16 I guess. A group of us Scouts went to Camp Jackson here in North Alabama somewhere, and we were going hike up to the top of some bluff or something like that, and camp up there.

Now, I had no gear of my own, except maybe a sleeping bag, so I had to borrow everything. To this day, I have no idea what kind of backpack I used, I just can't remember that detail at all. I borrowed a tent from a Scout who wasn't going on this trip, which reminds me of one of my favorite "Mom-the-Know-It-All" stories. My Mom drives me over to the guy's house to borrow the tent. (I must have been younger than 16) I go in, get the tent from him, and bring it back. My mom takes one look at it and says, "Go get the rest of the tent". I argue with her for a few minutes, then decide that it's easier to debase myself in front of my friend than to argue with her. I go back up to the house, and talk to my friend.

"That's all the tent, that's the whole thing," he says.

"I know, but I had to come back because my mom made me."

"OK...your mom's nuts you know that, right?"

"Yep. Sorry about that. Thanks for letting me borrow it!"

"You're welcome, have fun."

I go back to the car and give my mom the news.

"That can't possibly be the whole tent. I'm gonna go talk to his parents..."

"Mom, please do not embarrass me any further. Let's just go home."

"OK, but don't blame me when you freeze to death or get wet."

I think to myself, I would gladly freeze to death this very instant if it would get me out of your house.

So anyway, yes, it was the whole tent. My mom had never seen a modern (for the time) nylon one-piece tent with aluminum poles and stakes. It was just a little two-man puptent design, quite nice actually.

So we go to Camp Jackson, fortunately my mother wasn't driving this trip. We start our hike. Two of the guys had the bright idea of packing one pack to the 50 or 60 pound point and sharing it between themselves, one carrying it for awhile and then the other guy carrying it for awhile. It didn't work out too good. They were switching off every five minutes by the end of the hike.

We hiked for a little while on flat ground, then we started to climb. And I mean climb. I was in a lot better shape then because the trail was nearly vertical and I don't remember having any trouble with it. Eventually we got to the top, rewarded by a beautiful view of the countryside. We walked a little way into the woods and set up camp in a clearing. We built a fire and did all sorts of Scout things.

The premier Scouts in this bunch were an Eagle Scout and his younger brother, who I think was Life at this point. They had brought a saw and lashing, and actually built a small table for the two of them to eat at. I can't recall if the cut down saplings or used deadfall, to be honest.

The next morning, we got up, broke camp, and hiked back down to cars. It was fun.”

“1st trip: july, 1999 black forest trail, PA

borrowed my law school roomate's tent, met a buddy from college at the trailhead. being the clueless beginner i was, i packed about 7 CANS of tuna. i learned my lesson quick with the first 1,200 foot ascent.

i still remember reaching the rock outcrop at the top of slate run's gorge and being utterly amazed by the beauty. i couldn't believe it. we continued on to another awesome vista above red run, i was amazed.

tough trail, probably shouldn't have been my first one.

my buddy moved to los angeles, still thinks highly of the BFT and that great weekend.”

“Is everyone here an ex-scout or something? Geee... I feel like the odd one out for sure. I love that they made a table!! The whole idea just cracked me up. peace”

“This was my first real backpacking trip. I had been reading online journals for the AT and gotten bit by the bug real bad. So to train for the trip, I had been hiking with my pack at the state park, and arranging to camp at the campground there overnight.

I had read about the Pinhoti, and the Skyway/Pinhoti/Chinnabee loop, so I decided that would make a good two-night hike for me and my brother. So we planned to meet at Cheaha State Park on a Friday and do this hike.

Well, I get all my stuff packed up, and of course I had too much of everything. This is the infamous hike where I took one of those propane stoves that screw onto the top of those mini propane bottles. Because I didn't know how long one would last, I took two of those things...lol... Plus I had way too much clothing, my heavy NF pack, and my heavy REI 20F polyfill bag.

So I start out on my way, and fortunately I notice that the oil pressure gauge on my truck is acting funny, like pegged to no pressure at all. I stop and check the oil. Full. I drive on for a bit, and it starts to make funny noises, so I stop and call a tow truck and have it towed to the garage I used for getting that vehicle fixed. Prognosis: not good, oil pump gone and I might need a new engine. I explained what happened, and they said, okay, we'll check it and see if there's any funny wear or anything. Turns out they just replaced the oil pump and everthing is cool, and that truck is still running strong.

But now I needed another vehicle. Fortunately, my mother-in-law is visiting us, so I borrow her car and drive down to Cheaha, about 2-3 hours late at this point.

I finally get there, at about 3. We have a couple hours of light at this point, so we decide to go as far as we can and camp whereever we end up. We end up going down the wrong trail, thinking it was the Pinhoti, and end up hiking up to the ridge south of Cheaha, the last of it by flashlight. We get to a flat spot, declare it good enough, and pitch the tent. We cook up dinner on my propane stove, red beans and rice with some kielbasa cut up into it. Yummy. I give my wife a call and end up having to leave a message for her. It's really windy up on the ridge, and we didn't pitch the tent very well, so the wind is making it through the mesh on the tent, but it's okay.

Next morning, we get up, and I start trying to figure out where we are. The maps I downloaded are pretty crappy, but using my compass and the fact that I can see MacDill Point, I do a pretty good job of placing us. We eat breakfast, pack up, and head down the trail, which eventually ties into the Pinhoti.

We start hiking north on the Pinhoti, looking for the intersection of the Chinnabee Silent trail. Somehow, we missed it, and asked for some directions from a passing Scoutmaster. We decide to go ahead north and stay at Blue Mountain shelter that evening, with a side trip to MacDill Point on the way. We go out there, pass by the old wrecked plane, and take some awesome pictures from MacDill Point. Then, we head north on the Pinhoti again.

We get to the road that leads up to the State Park, and since we haven't seen any water at all, and I'm dry, we decide to hoof it up the road to the Park office and tank up there. We fill every water carrier we have, and at this point, my pack must have weighed about 60 pounds. We hike back down the road, get back on the Pinhoti, and almost immediately cross a water supply I could have filtered. We keep going north, and pass another one. The Pinhoti through here is relatively flat, but does have a couple of impressive ups and downs that were hell to traverse with a 60-pound pack on. Finally we make it to the shelter, and I'm absolutely beat. I think we did about 8-10 miles that day, some of it up and down a road, and I was tired. We made mashed potatoes for dinner, and mine came out too thin, but I think I ate them anyway.

We set up our mattresses and bags in the loft of the shelter, and having heard about the mice, I hung our food bag inside the shelter to try and keep them from getting into it. The wind began to blow, and it started to rain that night. I slept alright in my 20F bag with a fleece liner, but was still a little cold. I should have brought a hat, I think. The hood didn't work well enough.

The next morning, it's still raining. We eat breakfast, and get packed up. My brother spent a lot of time taking pics, which irked me a tad, but I got over it. I was a little concerned by the rain. A few spots on the trail were slick and close to dropoffs, and that worried me a little. I had put my poncho on over my jogging suit jacket, and some rain pants on over my legs, and a garbage bag over my pack. We started out.

Fortunately, it was only about two miles back to cars, and having gotten a good rest, I hiked a decent pace back to the cars in the rain. The poncho's hood was tearing about from the rest of the poncho, and I kept getting rain in my face, but it was okay. We got back to the cars, said goodbye, and went our separate ways. I then faced the most frightening part of the trip, the drive through Birmingham on the Interstate in the rain, but I survived that too.”

“Some of us still are Scouts.”

“If you consider a week long paddling trip in upper Quetico backpacking, then here you go.

1994, my first real brush with backpacking. Paddling the pristine lakes of Quetico Provincial Park. This was a college class which when completed gave me the 3 easiest credits I have ever acheived. But it did something else. It lit a fire under me to get outside more often. To explore new area and try new things. This is where my backpacking roots started to grow.

7 days and nights up in the north woods can be extremly fun and frightful at the same time. Mud fights on the portages, mosquitos galore! The call of a loon to settle you to sleep and the taste of a waleye just caught and cooked up.

We also had a bit of excitment. It had been a dry summer and fire bans were in effect. Someone on the other end we were camped on decided to ignore this warning and carlessness let to disaster. We woke up to the smell of burning pine trees and as we emerged from our tents we could see the flames less that 1/4 mile away. The wind that day was faning it toward us. We quickly struck camp and made for our first portage. Just as we emptied our canoes falling embers started up a section of trees 50 feet from us. We had a mile to carry everything and we just made it. As we emerged on the other side, helicopters were sighted carring water to suppress the flames.

How close we actually came has always been a debate between all of the participants. Some have told the story that we should have perished.


This all leads into my first non water backpacking adventure. A year ago this March, I met up with Crazy Mike, and GForce to hike a section of the Hoosier National Forest. 4 miles into the adventure my knees got made at me. I made it to camp that night and thought, oh well, I was just using muscles I never did before. To my surprise, after 2 minutes of hiking the next day, they got even more mad. I lived to tell the tale and hike again.

Since then I have enjoyed the company of people I have never met doing something I love more and more every time. I am looking forward to meeting some new faces and old ones in Flordia in 2 weeks.”

“I can't recall my first backpacking trip, I have seen a few pictures...

I was what... 3 years old, I was with my parents, and carried my own diapers in my pack. I guess it got me hooked, my first canoe trip was when i was 2 years old... so somewhere in there I gained some sort of love for the outdoors and never turned back.”

“Hmmm...1981?

Boy Scouts, of course.

The plan was to follow a compass course across the Navy base we were chartered to and into the city park next to it where we would camp.

No training, no pack check, no buddy system, no clue. We did get trained on how to use a compass the week before...kinda.

It seems the guy who laid out the course did it the right way and took into account declination. The guy who taught us compass use learned the skill while he was a Scout in Floridas panhandle where there is no declination and he didn't know to teach it to us. So the entire way we were at least 3 degrees off from where we should be. Compound that with over 38 bearings over 3 miles and you got problems.

We started off and immediately the lack of skill was apparent. Each group went a different direction. Why the adults didn't give us a refresher I'll never know. Probably because they were morons. Thank god we got rid of them later.

So in a matter of an hour we had 20 Boy Scouts in small groups wandering aimlessly over Mayport Naval Station with hopelessly overloaded backpacks.

When the adults realized what was going on they got up from the bar at the enlisted club and went around the base and herded us back to one location with instructions to wait there. Note I said herded us, not picked us up. Some of the guys were waaaaaaaay across the base.

When gathered together they walked us the rest of the way to the campsite and we got there late in the afternoon. The rest of the evening was spent in the typical boyhood things such as playing manhunt and the younger guys being hazed by the older guys. The adults decined to intervene. The hazing was brought to an abrupt halt by me cold cocking the worst offender with one of those police brutatily sized flashlights and the adults took notice that the Assistant Scoutmasters son was out like a light.

Mr. Efimoff: Dammit kid! What the hell do you think you are doing!
Me: Payback sir.

The kid and I became friends after that.

The next day they road walked us back to the starting point while driving slowly alongside us and telling us to hurry up. We were glad to go home.

Mr. Efimoff, wherever you are. You were the #&%!$t!est Scoutmaster a kid could have. Thank God my dad took over and turned that Troop around.

To paraphrase Monty Python:
It got better.”

“err "declined" to intervene”

“Sounds like learning by example, kinda in reverse.”

“I had a lot of reverse learning by example in scouts too. We head a 4 mile day hike turn into a 12 mile death march one July day because the leaders couldn't read a map. Top that off with only about a litter of water per boy on a day that was somewhere in the high 90's, it was know wonder I ended up with a mild case of heat exhaustion.”

“1972,2d year of high school. I heard you can go"Mt climbing" in
New Hampshire.Borrowed a neighbors
Boy Scout gear and took a bus out of Boston.
I started up from Pinkham notch and knew I made it to Mt. Washing-
ton.There was a sign there and I had no maps. From there I crossed
the Northern Prezzies because they looked great on a sunny day.
I strolled as far as one mile below the Mt. Adams hut. I couldn't take one more step. Set up a tarp just off trail and slept
like a log. Next morning, I ate brekkies walked down to Rte. 2 and
hitched back to Boston. I told my
friends and we started going up there regular. Our sisters made us
change our sneakers and tarps to
Boots and tents. My first pair of
"real" hiking boots were blue suede.(Ultra fking Cool!) Kelty frame pack and optimus stove in the blue metal box.There was an EMS store and Hiltons' tent city
downtown. We were lucky in that respect.”