My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking

by Carol Wellman

  First Trail Experiences and Transition

  Upper Apartment for Rent, Cheap

  My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking

  By Carol “Brawny” Wellman

  Edited by David “Rainmaker” Mauldin

  Cover photograph: Stepping into Maine, Copyright 2002 by Carol Wellman

  Pen and Ink: Apartment for Rent, Copyright 2000 by Carol Wellman

  My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking, Copyright 2003 by Carol Wellman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book, including photos, patterns or lists may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without the express written permission of the author, Carol Wellman.

  ISBN 0-9728154-0-6

  Library of Congress Control Number 2003090087

  Dedication

  I dedicate this work to women everywhere, in every land, who, like me have struggled, are struggling now, and will continue to struggle for self-determination and respect. And to David “Rainmaker” Mauldin, for his confidence in my journey, and through all my faltering, instilling the courage to press forward.

  Acknowledgments

  To the many friends who have requested a compilation of what I have done, and what I know about ultralight techniques, I extend my sincere gratitude.

  And above all, I wish to thank David Mauldin for his extensive support in all my endeavors, particularly this manuscript. My deepest respect, and admiration for all the skills he possesses, and patiently taught me.

  Disclaimer

  Everything printed herein is true, although many of the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Techniques described are based solely upon my experiences and observations, and no responsibility for their results or the failure thereof are suggested, implied, or accepted. Each person who leaves home, especially venturing into the backcountry, takes their health and well being into their own hands.

  These three subjects normally are placed on separate pages. In the true ultralight spirit, they have been grouped here to save weight.

  Chapter One 5

  First Time Backpacking / River to River Trail 5

  Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho 7

  Transition 9

  Chapter Two 10

  Pacific Crest Trail 2000

  Chapter Three 23

  Pacific Crest Trail 2001 / Soloing and New Designs 23

  Campo to Kennedy Meadows 28

  Kennedy Meadows to Tuolumne 35

  Tuolumne to Echo Lake 42

  Intermission-reflection 45

  Chapter Four 46

  Reunited with Rainmaker 46

  September Eleventh 57

  To the Canadian Border 59

  Chapter Five 63

  Life- Lessons 63

  Preparing for the Appalachian Trail 66

  Chapter Six 72

  Appalachian Trail thru-hike 2002 72

  Power Hiking 87

  Stepping Into Maine / Katahdin 99

  My Resupply Points for the Appalachian Trail 105

  Chapter Seven 110

  Ultralight Tips and Methods 110

  Shelters/Packs/Sleep Systems 124

  Clothing/Footwear/Socks 138

  Cook Systems/Water Capacity and Treatment 143

  Hygiene/Medical and Emergency 153

  Luxury Items 157

  Chapter Eight 160

  Making Your Own/ Sewing Tools 160

  Patterns for 12 Important Gear Items 170

  Ultralight Resupply 184

  Gear List for Winter and Summer 187

  Winter Ultralighting 191

  The Future 193

  Chapter One

  The First Time/ River to River Trail

  It started to rain during the night, a steady drizzle on the tarp. I figured they would be okay, the two of them in a dome tent. Drifting in and out of sleep, I finally became aware of the storm brewing. We had to get packed up soon, and off this bluff before the thunder and lightning rolled.

  It’s amazing what kids can do when they think their lives are in danger. And besides, this was an Adventure, an adventure for all of us. It was our first time ever backpacking.

  I’ll take the blame for all the gear choices. Two years ago, standing at a gas station in Stanley, Idaho I saw this older guy come walking in. Shirtless, tanned to a fine bronze, long and lean, he had a very confident, secure look in those piercing eyes. And he had strength, that aura of personal strength. He came down out of those mountains, alone. I guess he was dirty. Was he? All I can remember is the awe that a man might come down out of those mountains. Alone. He seemed unaware of us Tourists. I was hooked.

  “Get everything in your packs before you come out of your tent, okay guys?” I called over.

  Nothing. “Hey, are you guys awake? We need to get down off this bluff before the thunder rolls.”

  Rumbling in the skies, stirring in that cheap K-mart tent. “Where’s the door? Hey, Mom, where’s the door?” Josh cried sleepily.

  Kids! I crawled out of the bug screen from under my tiny tarp. Wearing a rain poncho, I came to investigate. During the night, between the two of them, they had rolled, tossed and turned, until the dome, not staked down, had worked itself over on its side. Now, they lay on the zippered door. Laughing, I encouraged them both to move over; they inched to one side. I reached under the tent and started to unzip it. They took over. Extracting themselves, we finally got packed up. Breakfast was whatever they could find in their food bag, while the rain dripped down our ponchos that dreary morning.

  Josh led the way. All we had to do was follow the blue rectangular blazes on the River-to-River trail. We headed east, towards Garden of the Gods. It was late March and there were no bugs. That was the reason for coming down from Chicago-land so soon. There was water, and plenty of it. Christine followed her brother. I could see them ahead, as we wound our way through those trees just barely starting to bud. I wanted them to enjoy this. They were the reason I could come at all. It was our home-school field trip. I felt I was suffocating in a church where women had no power so I learned to work the system. Manipulation. I hated that word, but it was the honest truth. If I could convince my husband something was for the kid’s sake, and they wanted to do it, then I had a chance.

  I had two cross-country ski poles for hiking sticks. My hands were getting wet and cold, quite cold. The water started running down my long sleeve thermal underwear top, eventually becoming wet up to my shoulders. I didn’t feel too warm. I looked ahead. They still hiked. Something in their forms scared me though. They seemed to shrink into their ponchos. Those ponchos! It covered their heads with a hood. The back came over their small homemade packs and stopped just above where their sleeping bags were cinched on. They kept their arms tucked inside, but the side vents allowed water to get in, anyway. Every step following them, racking my brain for a solution, fearing the dreaded hypothermia we hear so much about, I wondered just what the outcome would be. What book knowledge would help me now?

  As we crossed streams, I looked into their eyes. They weren’t talking much. Weird. Just plodding onward, eastward. As we approached Garden of the Gods, overhanging rock appeared. “Hey, let’s stop and get out of the rain awhile, get a snack, okay, guys?”

  “Yeah…” that’s all. Yeah. Finding some rocks, we perched and watched the drenching rain continue to fall. Josh did some exploring, but basically we sat and ate one candy bar apiece. Don’t eat them all! Boredom began to creep in, and they were getting colder.

  “So,” I suggested, “let’s hike some more, that should warm us up.”

  Their clothes were damp, thei
r long sleeves wet and their packs soaking up water where it dripped off those ponchos. I can’t believe we took ponchos. That’s what everyone said to take. Everyone I chatted with online in the hiking chat room. Ponchos and hiking poles. Never again.

  We hiked a couple more hours. Finally, we skirted a deep cave with wood piled in the back of it. God bless whoever thought of that. “Hey, lunch time. Time to stop.” We made a roaring white-man’s fire. As the area warmed, we took off layers of clothing, hung them on sticks over the fire and dried out everything. We cooked soup, then ramen noodles and ventured out just long enough to haul in replacement wood. They started laughing, talking. What a relief, the signs of hypothermia were gone.

  The rest of the trip was an adventure, but to this day, that’s the key phrase “Remember the time we found that cave and had a huge fire?”

  It takes a measure of misery to make memories.

  During those three nights and four days, we saw more deer than humans. Hawks and falcons soared overhead. Cries of wild animals filled the night, while raccoons threatened to rob us of our food. We trudged through trenches of mud and clay, while rivers of water ran down the deeply eroded trail. Horses, we learned, were the cause of that. I loved it all, and wanted more.

  The Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho

  I realized then he meant it. There would be no more backpacking, no mountains or alpine lakes. No challenging terrains and adrenalin rushes. I must return to the façade of Christian contentment. Our marriage had been crumbling for many years. To survive emotionally, I had learned the fine art of withdrawal and avoidance.

  After the trip to southern Illinois with two children, backpacking on the River-to-River Trail, all I could think of was another chance to hike into the backcountry. My husband finally agreed to a short backpacking trip in the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho.

  Although I knew it was part of his pacification strategy towards me, I was elated. This time I would do better. Our gear would be more protective from the elements. The itinerary called for parking at the trailhead, hiking 26 miles to Red Fish Resort, then meeting my married daughter and her husband. They would bring their mule, loaded for the journey back along the same trail. This would not be redundant. Coming from the Midwest, all mountains were spectacular, and the alpine reaches a marvel.

  That bright morning the two of us headed out. The flowers were blooming and a cool breeze softened the summer sun’s rays. A sign at the trailhead warned of a mother black bear and her cubs ahead. I had never seen a bear in the wild. This was scary. They kill people, don’t they? We hiked along, not talking much. He apparently was not enjoying it, out of shape and not appreciating the climbs. Somehow, it seemed a weight dragged on my heart. We camped in a lovely spot that night, getting water out of a lake, cooking a simple meal. A recurring thought plagued me, that although not alone, there was no companionship.

  The next day we arrived at the resort and camped along the gravel road. That evening I washed clothes, took a shower, and discarded everything I didn’t use those first two days. My pack still weighed over 30 pounds, with only 2 days of food. My half of the tent was nearly 3 pounds. My sleeping bag was another 3. The cooking system was an archaic system of paraffin and wick, melted together in an empty tuna fish can.

  My husband surprised me by saying that the next day he would load the mule with everything he had been carrying except the camera. If the mule could not take his load or he had to carry anything else besides the camera, he would not hike. Instead, he would just drive our son-in-law's truck around to the pick-up point to meet the rest of us. That confirmed my gut feeling and dread.

  My daughter and her husband arrived as planned the next day with my teenage son. He was packed and ready to carry most of his own gear. The mule was loaded with about 70 pounds of various things. We headed out. My son in law leading the mule, was delayed and took a wrong side trail. My husband’s, daughter and son in law’s gear were on the mule. I carried only half a tent. My son had half his tent and his gear, but no water bottles. His water bottles were on the mule, too. My husband rode the ferry 5 miles across the lake to shorten his journey. He had the camera and met us. The four of us stood there on the trail, realizing two couldn’t hike further because they had no gear. I softly suggested, “Can we continue to the pick-up point, and you all catch up if the mule arrives? If the mule doesn’t get here, you have to return to the resort, right? You could meet us tomorrow by driving the truck around to the trailhead.”

  Reluctantly, permission was granted, my son and I set off. Wow, what freedom! What luxury. I was the master of my experience. Then, the sobering realization that I must take care of my son, there, in bear country, enhanced the thrill of adventure. It was up to me to find acceptable water, navigate, and call a halt for the evening. I had half a tent. He had a part of a smaller tent; the other part was on the mule. Together we would rig something for both of us. Marvelous. I love these challenges.

  Finally the son in law realized his error, backtracked and finally caught up to the others. The three of them caught up to us at a mountain lake where we had stopped to camp for the night. I retrieved the other half of my tent, and set it up properly. Somehow, in some minute way, a fierce determination crept in. Never again would I carry only half a tent. I would never allow myself to depend on anyone again. And, a feeling grew, later to be defined as the disgust at self-imposed weakness.

  We hiked out the next day. Never did see a bear. And then he told me. Not any more. No wife of his was going tramping all over the countryside. He didn’t like to do it, so that was settled. What self-respecting husband would put up with that, he demanded.

  You can’t make anyone like backpacking. But what if you love it? The chasm grew wider in an already unspanable void, two people growing in opposite directions.

  A Lot to Learn

  Those two trips showed me that I had a lot to learn. I was carrying car camping gear on backpacking trips. It was heavy and not really effective nor efficient. I had a small flashlight, changes of clothes, a big freestanding tent, and an inexpensive, heavy sleeping bag. The cooking system mimicked a campfire. It was sooty, messy, heavy, and time consuming. I carried extra paraphernalia that was never even touched.

  I loved thinking about the self-sufficiency; power and adventure of trail life. Sadly the realization struck; I was going nowhere. All the gear I created and sewed would do me no good. My life was shaped by the doctrine of a male dominated, fundamentalist church, locked into a loveless marriage to a man demanding I give up my interests. If you give up your interests and passions, then you give up your identity.

  His decision was final, no more backpacking for me. Obey, or be thrown out. I thought if I quit attending that church and the lock of marriage was broken, the door to a new life would open and I could go free. But that life had been built for 25 years, firmly cemented into a foundation of fear and guilt. It would take over 5,000 trail miles and three years to break down most of them.

  Transition

  My husband issued a list of ultimatums, limiting my freedom and personal choices even more. He planned to sell the car he had given me, and keep the money himself. All the clothes that I wore and all videos I wanted to see would be subject to his approval. I must quit the job I had just found, and have no personal money. I could not go on existing like this. The will to live had drained away, just as my identity had. When I wouldn’t agree to his terms, the line was drawn, and he coerced me to leave the family home “for the children’s sake”. He felt I was corrupting our children.

  Several months after my divorce, I moved to the mountains of Georgia. I was hired immediately by a hospital as a full time cook. Rainmaker and I had met in a hiking-oriented Internet chat room previously. When he extended the invitation to accompany him for his second year’s hike on the Pacific Crest Trail in 2000, I accepted without hesitation. The previous year, 1999, he hiked from the Mexican border, just south of Campo, California, to Sonora Pass, California. He would resume at Sonora Pass in th
e High Sierra in July, and reach Crater Lake by mid September. Here was the opportunity of a lifetime. Rainmaker was incredibly experienced, and I expected to learn a great deal. I got much more than I bargained for.

  Chapter Two

  Pacific Crest Trail 2000

  David “Rainmaker” Mauldin thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail in 1992. His journey was 2,162 miles, and lasted seven and a half months. One evening he suggested, “You should write down why you want to do this. Some people think it’s all about fun. Then, when it quits being fun, they go home.”

  At first I resisted, thinking, “I have no clue. Why does there have to be a reason? Why does it need an explanation?” But, because of my great respect for him, I took a lot of time to think it over, pondering the purpose while earning enough money cooking at a hospital. Finally, in February 2000, I wrote this:

  Wondering

  Modern life seems so soft, in a physical sense.

  A person could live their whole existence on this earth

  Without ever breaking into a sweat,

  Without ever needing to use every inch and fiber of their being.

  Without ever tasting a physical struggle, defeat, or conquest.

  Or ever making a conscious decision to live.