SHT, 4 day trip by a virgin

“So this is my description of a 4 day, 3 night trip, by me, my girlfriend, and her sister (henceforth I shall refer to them as GF and Sis). This was our first multiple day backpacking experience ever. We went on this trip about 45 days ago or so (before the fall colors were exploding), and after the trip we went on a 30 day road trip from here in grand Minnesota to all arouund the misty haven of the Pacific Northwest. We camped at most of the National Parks out there, including Redwood, Mt. Rainier, Cascades, and Olympic. It was a wonderful trip, but that's another, non-backpacking related story. We were sorely tempted to stop driving and try out the Wonderland Trail in Mt. Rainier, but we were scheduled to stay in a solar-powered dome house on an island in the San Juans in a few days, so we had to keep on trucking in our Ford Escort wagon.

Let me just say backpacking is now my preferred mode of being, except for those rare instances when the exquisite attraction of the dual wonders of a bed and a shower outshine the simple yet vast pleasures of being outside with all your basic neccesities strapped to your back.

Before I get into the meat of the SHT trip, I shall brew a cup of green tea to get some of my synapses firing..”

“Wellll (tapping foot), are they firing yet?”

“But the bigger question is... are you still a virgin... (LOL)....

Waiting to hear your TR! :-)”

“As a VIRGIN on the SHT, expect to be sacrificed here. LOL! ;-P

SE MN here. We just had a trip this past weekend at Yellow River State Forest in NE Iowa.

OHHHH... and watch out for a troll called Snake Eyes!! >8-O”

“I just know the sister part is gonna be good.”

“We left GF’s parent’s home in lush northeast Minnesota by the late afternoon, after huffing and puffing and stuffing our bulging backpacks and extra “after the trip” bags into our venerable red station wagon . With the idea that we would camp that night at either of two state parks situated on Highway 1 drifting lazily in our minds, we began to drive the 4 hours or so up to Duluth, through Two Harbors, and to our destination. Of course I had to pick up some beer in Two Harbors. We also got some wood and food there, and started up 61 as the sun disappeared and the sky turned dark. In the dark we missed the turnoff to Hwy 1, which was poorly marked on the map, and by this time we were tired, I was ragged for some reason (probably hunger), and we just wanted to get to a site and set up camp so that we could get a good nights sleep, by golly. We drove a ways down Hwy 1, wondering if we were even on the right road, and came to state park number one. Totally full, according to what we could make out via headlight. We were starving and sick of the car. So we drove to the next state park. Totally full. Oh yeah, it’s Saturday night at peak vacation season. So after an initial state of panic, and some serious pondering of a Minnesota state gazetteer lit by a ponderous bulb in our overhead light, we decided to go down a secondary highway toward what looked to be a private campground on the map. As we drove back towards this secondary road, we realized we had probably missed it, and we turned around once again and found some road that seemed to be it. Down we went. We had very little hope that there would be an open site at this place, if it even existed, and were gearing up to sleep in the car. Not the best way to start a backpacking trip, we thought, but hell if we were going to spend money at a motel for starched linens and cable TV. Balderdash.

So we arrived at this quaint roadside lakeside cabin & RV park type place, and I all but ran into the office. I asked the kind young lady behind the desk if they had any open sites. She said no. I swore internally. But, she said, we have some land across the road that you could put your tent on. I’ll take it, I said. I asked her about the possibility of having a fire. She said there was a small tennis court we could have a fire on, if we were careful. Alright. We were good for the night. We set up our three-person Kelty tent and warmed canned soup up by the fire for a late dinner. We drank beer, smoked a few cigarettes, and crawled into our sleeping bags (Mine was a new 600 fill down 15 degree bag, which seemed so light compared to my old synthetic 0 degree, but was really protective and warm. I’m a warm sleeper in any case, I probably could make do with a burlap sack.) That night the sky erupted in giant growling thunder and the rain poured as if it had never poured before. I had checked the forecasts and they had predicted cool and drizzly days, with occasional showers. Perfect. The girls disagreed with, said that they had checked the forecast and it was supposed to be warmer and possibly drizzly. In any case, I was awakened intermittently throughout the night by crashing thunder and blinding lighting, and even the rain was loud enough to nudge me out of my usual coma-like slumber. A pox on all y’all’s households, I called silently to the heavens.”

“Ahhh, a wordsmith. This guy will tell longer tales than even **I** do! LOL!”

“Come now. Out with the rest of it.”

“Please get to the sister part !”

“Our plan was to park our little red gas demon at the Hwy 1 parking area and catch the shuttle bus up to Caribou River Wayside, then hike south to the parking area. A north to south route was chosen primarily because we wanted to end up at our car so we could immediately head up to Grand Marias to have a good meal and some brews after our little romp through the woods, and secondarily because the bus heads north in the morning and south in the afternoon and we wanted to start in the morning. We had the SHT book, and it turned out to be my little bible on the trip (I read it like a drooling slack-jawed evangelist.). According to it, the sections we were about to tackle were moderately strenuous and quite varied in scenery. That sounded good to us, and as morning dawned with a gray sky and cool air we got all of our crap packed up and ready, got in the car and drove right past the Hwy 1 parking area. You might think at this point that we, all three, are horrible navigators. Quite possibly you are right, but I refuse to believe it. We finally made it to the parking area, got out of the car and stretched. The shuttle van showed up and the shuttle guy helped us get our gigantic sacks into the back of the van. We were all excited and happy to finally be off on “the trip” proper. I was scared of bears. In fact, I was very nervous about the whole thing. Don’t ask me why, considering I’ve read all sorts of books and articles about backpacking and bears, and I’ve camped all over northern Minnesota, but I was rather alarmed at being at the mercy of my surroundings and my gear for days and nights (especially the nights) on end. Happily, after some time on the trail, and after camping and hiking in grizzly and cougar country, I can assure you that any nervousness about backpacking in northern Minnesota is gone entirely. It was clammy out as we drove up 61, and when we got out at the Caribou River wayside, I was amused to realize that we had just driven the whole length of our journey in a few minutes. A young female backpacker was waiting for the bus, and she looked fresh and happy (no bear maulings evidenced on the pack, starvation induced hollowing of the cheeks, look of wild panic in the eyes, etc), so we took that as a good sign. GF and Sis took several thousand hours adjusting their backpacks (we all had about 35 pounds of stuff), and we all ate some energy bars and drank some water. A few steps up the trail and it dawned on me that this gargantuan sack on my back was going to be there for about four days, and the thought send shivers down my spine.

The scenery was beautiful as we trudged up the hill beside the falls, but I was too busy trying to breathe and avoiding exposed roots to care. The air was a bit cool, but after trudging uphill for about twenty minutes I wanted to rip off all my clothes because I was sweating like a champion. I had taken the lead, and stopping in a little grove of sweet scented pines I looked back and noted with alarm the looks of exhaustion on the faces of my companions. I think we had hiked less then three fourths of a mile by that point. A mile had already become the most feared and desired measurement in my life. We kept at it until we got to the bridge across the river. That in my mind exemplified the beginning of a more backcountry area, as I am sure many weekend warriors and octogenarians take the scenic short paths from parking lots to their summits. We entered a flatter and less rocky area, sprinkled with pines and shrubs. Next trip I take will include as many field guides as I can carry so that I can identify these trees and shrubs, but for this trip, I had no internal or external knowledge of the flora in the area and can only identify the differences between maple, oak, birch, cedar, and pine. And I definitely know my berries.

I was a little disappointed as we walked through this relatively flat terrain, nothing very new or interesting to me, all I knew was the pain growing in my shoulders and back. I never got my backpack well-adjusted throughout the entirety of the trip. And I was breaking in new shoes, which I do not recommend. But this is something I do recommend: new socks. As many new socks as you can buy. I changed into new socks the next day and it was a tasty experience. Kudos to Smartwool and all their brethren. My GF also says her Smartwool long sleeve shirt is her favorite shirt forever, after really giving it a workout on the trail. It’s very good at regulating body temperature, as wool should be, right sheep? So we kept at it, the weather held (me checking the sky every now and then nervously and waiting for the downpour to erupt i.e. Mt. St. Helens), and started to climb. And then we climbed and climbed and climbed. And then, hurray, we started to switchback up a very steep hill. Back and forth like a pendulum in a clock counting down the hours in my life. Through the unhappiness and general malaise haze, I noticed the scenery was changing; more stumpy shrubs, granite rocks were jutting, mosses were covering. The air was smelling sweet and clean. There began to be scenic overlooks, sans tourists. Finally we found what we decided to be the top of the hill and stopped for lunch, gazing out at Lake Superior and the surrounding hills. Salami, cheddar cheese, and onion bagels never tasted so good.”

“Damn, I want more Mr. Frog!

and pictures too”

“sister ? hello !!”

“Good God, man! The drama!”

“Mr. Frog?

Well, I'll write more later. I have to do something productive, and then meet friends for beers.
last edited: 10/27/04 2:00:45 PM”

“I am filled with sadness and disapointment.
Perhaps the beer will loosen your tounge.”

“Trail ho...”

“"backpacking is now my preferred mode of being"
-polarfrog

Very cool.”

“Oh good God, I thru hike the whole damn thing in less time than this trip report is taking, lol.”

“and he hasn't even run into any Norweigan Lutherans yet.”

“Lutefisk, anyone?”

“NPNLs... remember, it's the sect to which I belong. LOL!”

“bit, I still hold the record for longest trip report. Big Bend 2003/4.

Lizs...you move from person to person so quickly, I can hardly keep up. Thanks for remembering me. sheesh!”

“This TR has only gotten to lunch on the first day on the trail. Potentially volumes to come.”

“You're right. I can't wait for the chapter on starting the campfire. What would it be like if he had to report the activities of Beerwench and Lizs? Epic!”