My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking

by Carol Wellman

  Rainmaker used a long plastic toolbox for his “bounce box”. It started out weighing about 19 pounds. He shipped it parcel post, insured. I used a “drop box”, a small cardboard box, shipped only once and containing supplies I anticipated needing at that point. There were 2 more bounce boxes sent to me by my sister farther up the trail. My first box weighed around 3 ½ pounds, and was uninsured. Rainmaker was able to shift through his entire inventory, choosing what he needed and bounce the rest ahead. I had to buy stuff here, like a spray can of insect repellent, 20% Deet, that I wouldn’t normally choose. Not thinking I would need another bottle of 100% Deet until farther up the trail, I put one in my next drop box! Rainmaker paid $1 more in postage than I did and saved money in these small towns. Next year I will definitely opt for a bounce box.

  We found interesting things on the trail. The list included: several apples in various places (which we split and ate), a valid credit card (Keith, where are you??), $.49 (in various locations), Aloe lip sun block, rated SPF 30 and perfectly good, a wrapped piece of root beer barrel candy, and a large man’s left tennis shoe next to the trail, with this note firmly attached: “For sale or rent. For more information, see One-Shoe-Pete at Switchback 95.” Then later on, a nearly new, rolled up tent laying on top a rock next to the trail. We lifted the package, evaluated the situation, and decided that no way would we haul it the remaining 35 miles to Old Station to mail it home.

  Crossing a stream in Lassen Park I found my magic trail spoon. It’s best not to turn down gifts from the trail gods, or they will quit giving stuff to you. That same metal spoon has been with me on all my hikes. It is my only eating utensil.

  In northern California, the trail changed so that lack of water became a daily issue. We hiked and camped through water alert zones, which meant trail with no water for at least 12.5 miles. Our eyes and ears become attuned to the gurgling sound of water, which I found is surprisingly similar to the sound of wind rustling leaves. The heat compounded the situation. I followed Rainmaker’s example and carried my full capacity of 148 ounces of water. I also learned how to “tank up” by taking breaks at water sources, drinking as much as possible over the course of half an hour, and not leaving until I could hear my stomach sloshing. He taught me how ration water to the next sure source, and his method of dry camping. At times, trail angels left water caches. Many large caches have a notebook, or register where hikers write thank you notes, give advice, or say hello to friends. Some registers have a written note by the angel, stating how often they replenish the water. Trail etiquette teaches to take only two quarts, but at times the trail angel will encourage hikers to take more. One register, 11 miles into the Hat Creek Rim walk, had this observation, “No matter what you think about pickles, they are the only thing you can do with cucumbers.” Another memorable statement, which has become a personal motto, said, “In the end, no one wins, and you find the race was only with yourself.”

  Rainmaker had a cut-down milk jug hanging from the back of his pack, having scavenged the milk jug from a trash receptacle in South Lake Tahoe. He used it to sponge bathe at night, weather and water supply permitting. I stubbornly adopted my own method of pouring liquid soap onto my camp towel, applying a couple tablespoons of water and dry cleaning myself. Both methods required very little water.

  Our gear and clothes were forest green, brown, gray and black. Those colors are nearly undetectable, especially in shady areas. A study by researchers has shown that bright colors attract bears. They also infringe on the perceived solitude of others, and hinder stealth camping. The term “stealth camping” evokes all sorts of images. It simply means finding an unused spot, and being as close to invisible as possible. It has virtually no impact, visually, audibly, or physically. Stealth camping doesn’t necessarily mean illegal camping. Sometimes it is done in the interest of safety, for instance if a person must camp near a road. Other times, it is to insure some privacy, or to get away from an obnoxious person.

  As we approached northern California, there was a very strong cat urine odor, which reminded me of the lion’s house at the zoo. We saw fresh Mountain Lion tracks, large prints and long strides. Several bears had come in close contact with us, including a mother and cub, a camp robber, and a night roamer. Bear and cat sign do not seem to cross one another’s territories. This is also cattle country, and bovine odor and sign is very common, and not welcome.

  That summer I wrote:

  You know you’ve been on trail too long when things start eating their way out of your food bags instead of into them. Or when you classify plants according to how well they work as toilet paper. Or when you feel safer walking unarmed through lion country, than walking unarmed through small town (pop. 228) America. Or when stealth camping means hiding from people instead of bears. Or when you hear a car and can’t identify its sound.

  Important sources of information for the trail ahead are the various tracks and “sign”, otherwise known as feces. From the first day we were hiking, I memorized Rainmaker’s shoe prints (an enormous size 13, figure 8 with herringbone tread). Another hiker, who was just ahead of us, had a waffle pattern, “Well, it looks like Waffle Foot has taken this route. He must be deciphering this mess the same way we are.” Sometimes close to the road, there’d be several interesting, well-traveled trails, and at the trail intersection all kinds of footprints, going around in circles probably saying like us, “Where in the hell is the PCT?” The Pacific Crest Trail is seldom labeled in the Sierra. Some sure signs you’re on the PCT are: thru-hikers tread (memorized from past encounters), water bars, rock ducks, bike tracks (illegal), and plenty of horseshit. We noted bear sign, big cat sign, dog sign, dog-just-drank-sign, and Llama-dragging-its-traces sign. It is possible to tell which direction they’re headed, what they’ve just eaten, and how big they are. This information can tell you if you’re likely to meet them, how hungry they might be, and how likely you are to be eaten.

  First priority upon reaching our nightly campsite was to clear a suitable spot for the Lakota tent. Rainmaker at the head end with both his hiking poles, I at the foot end with both of my hiking poles, would jointly set up our home for the night. It required both sets of hiking poles for the frame. Then, after the tent was done, we would go about our nightly preparations differently. Usually, I began heating water for coffee immediately. Rainmaker cleaned up and changed into his lounging clothes first. He made his coffee after dinner to enjoy with dessert. I ate dessert before and sometimes after dinner. The hard part was not to eat two or three day’s worth of snacks while supper was cooking.

  We both had mummy bags designed to fit persons one inch shorter than our actual heights. They’re very narrow and lightweight. They are thought of as a garment, fitting snugly, rather than a bag that one might have room to roll around and change clothes in. Rainmaker climbed into his, and began stretching, shuffling, thrashing. Finally he pulled the hood up and zippered it shut. A sigh. The battle won this evening. I handled mine a little differently. I got in, bent my knees, pulled up the hood and zippered it shut. Then I stretched out, my feet pushing the limits to make room.

  In the morning, I placed all my gear and food on my Z-rest, pulled it out sled style and found some random place to sit. Rainmaker would take 2-3 items at a time; place them neatly and methodically in place at the exact same tree he lounged at the night before. While I sat and sorted my chaos, my coffee was ready and steaming. Rainmaker calmly contemplated his organized assortment while his water came to a boil. We had most of the freedoms of solo hikers, and all the benefits of a partnership. Watching each other was a great source of entertainment. Although Rainmaker is so methodical, and I am so impulsive, both of us still achieved the same goals: fed, watered, bathed, rested, and ready to hike the next morning.

  A sunrise is a gentle thing. Some say the color “explodes”, but I find it requires patience to experience all the changes. There always is a magnificent sense of peace and privilege, of expectation and wonder, for no two sunrises are the same. As
I contemplated the glorious skies from our crest site, I realized my life had changed just as spectacularly. I was learning to navigate, read the trail guide, and figure out the differences between a saddle, a crest, a north-facing-west-rising slope and a promontory knob. In order to finish the Pacific Crest Trail in Manning Park, Canada with Rainmaker next year I needed to hike those first 1,013 miles (that he’d hiked in 1999). Pondering the desert section, and the possibility of going alone, it was evident I could never have considered this previously. Lack of skills, financial dependency, reasonable and unreasonable fears and no personal freedom would have prevented it. But, just as I watched the rising sun in the eastern sky affect the entire western sky, I watched this journey affect my entire being. My life was unfolding like the colors before us. That thought was as beautiful as the sunrise, but a bit daunting as well, because it meant the whole day lay before me. What would I do with it?

  Improvising becomes a fine art on a long hike. The better one becomes at this, the lighter the pack can be. September arrived and I was using all my clothes to stay warm at night. What was there for a pillow now? Ramen noodles, my journal, “powders bag” (coffee, powdered milk, hot cocoa, etc), stuff sack for tent, and empty zip lock bags placed in my clothes bag served quite well. It was easy to fall asleep after a full day of hiking. If the dry ramen was broken into bits, it wasn’t too lumpy. During those cold nights I regretted cutting down my Z-rest. The insulation under my feet would have been quite welcome. When my hexamine fuel tablets ran low, I supplemented them with small bits of paper trash and cotton balls, which had been soaked in rubbing alcohol and used for hygienic purposes. I quit burning plastic candy wrappers, however, at Rainmaker’s request.

  Waking up before daylight, preparing breakfast and getting dressed in the cold had its drawbacks. As the days grew shorter and colder, we began looking forward to light fixtures, a furnace, coffee pot, our refrigerator stocked with delectable food, hot running water and soft things, like couches, carpeting and super-size cotton bath towels.

  Rainmaker said he lost one bandana and a green Coolmax t-shirt, and if that was all, he was satisfied. I pondered this statement and concluded that all I lost were some illusions: The illusion I could do these 18- mile days without feeling it, the illusion that the nightmares from my past life would cease on the trail, and the illusion that I could ever “return” to a peopled and motorized society and be the same person I’d been.

  Rainmaker and I finished our season’s hike at Crater Lake, on September 15, 2000. During those two months we received trail magic, kindness from total strangers, cards and gifts sent to our post office drops. E-mails commending our progress came to my Yahoo account, which I read when I could get to a computer in trail towns. These tokens, which may seem small in everyday life, were so precious.

  I came home planning to return to the Pacific Crest Trail the next spring.

  Chapter Three

  Pacific Crest Trail 2001/New Designs, Soloing

  I had to wait seven months before resuming my journey on the Pacific Crest Trail. The first 1,013 miles would be solo. I had never done anything quite this extraordinary before. The actuality of it seemed so remote that plans were made with little fear or panic. That would set in later, as the time of departure drew near.

  My tent, the Cherokee, weighed 19 ounces

  My gear list from last year had to change. What I needed most was a lightweight solo tent. Everything that I learned when making and testing the Lakota was incorporated into a smaller tent, the Cherokee. Made of silnylon, and no-see-um mesh, it weighed an official 1 pound, 3.2 ounces on post office scales, and required 6 stakes. I used my hiking poles for the front frame, and a café curtain rod for the back pole. Velcro was used for the closures, but this time barely 4 yards of it. The tent was only 6 feet long, and 32 inches wide. I could sit up in it. With a small vestibule in the front, and a window in the back, I was quite proud of my new tent.

  I built a “packless” system. Using the same backpack from last year, I removed the pack from the external frame. Then, specially made stuff sacks were strapped securely onto the frame. At first, it was very confusing as to what ditty bags went where. However, the system performed quite well once I became better organized during the actual hike. One of the features was a variable capacity. The pack system had sufficient space so I could carry enough food for 192 miles: Kennedy Meadows, up Mount Whitney and back, then over to Vermillion Valley. It took 10 days. When I entered the Sierra, the extra clothing and ice ax fit as well.

  I started out with four silnylon sacks, but found that three larger ones were easier to manage. It was important to have the load evenly distributed horizontally. Each stuff sack had loops in the bottom and side seams. Because silnylon is so slippery, care had to be taken when cinching the bags tightly. If the gear inside slipped to the middle of the sack, the result would be a cinch strap working its way off the end, and not doing its job.

  The first sack to be placed on the frame was the middle one. A closed cell pad was rolled up and placed horizontally in it, giving it a firm shape. Into this horizontal cylinder was placed a large black garbage bag, into which the sleeping bag was then stuffed. In the mouth of that sack was the Murphy kit, for repairs. This middle bag had fabric loops that fit over the vertical bars of the pack frame.

  The top stuff sack was placed on the frame next, and cinched to the middle one. I usually kept my food in this stuff sack. In the mouth of the sack was my cook set, giving me easy access for cooking any time of the day. The bottom stuff sack was cinched through the loops, around the frame and to the middle sack. This bottom sack contained my clothes, hygiene kit, and tent. All sacks had draw cords that were clipped together to secure them, preventing their loss. Each of four water bottles had different carrying bags, cinched to the frame itself, one at each corner. This allowed me to carry five liters (using two 1.5 liter bottles, and two 1 liter bottles) of water comfortably in the desert. Some water was used from every bottle, on a rotation basis, to keep the load balanced.

  The blue rain jacket from last year’s hike was replaced by a more stealth appropriate gray silnylon rain/wind jacket. Instead of the cream colored polyester shirt, I took a black silk shirt. I used a bounce box, instead of drop boxes, which allowed me greater access and flexibility in changing gear and resupplying. The bounce box, a yellow plastic toolbox, was long enough to accommodate my ice ax, which had to be shipped to Kennedy Meadows, and then returned at Echo Lake.

  I added a ¾ length, closed cell pad, because at that time I thought a good night’s sleep on the trail was worth the 7 ounces. I kept my Z- rest from last year until I reached Sonora Pass. For a while, it was strapped on behind my back, using it for the back portion of a hip belt. The Z-rest became so flat and compressed that it was useless. At Sonora Pass, I placed it in a trash receptacle.

  For the first 1,013 miles, I was solely responsible for arriving in one piece, which was a sobering concept. I carried the Pacific Crest Trail Guide, the data book, and a new compass. The guidebook for California is over 400 pages long, so it was cut into sections, placed in the bounce box, and each section retrieved as needed. I burned all used guide pages as I hiked. At first, I also brought five bright blue ribbons, to mark any trail to an offsite camp. Because I am so directionally challenged, it seemed wise to mark a path back to the PCT from any campsite I used. In my heart, I carried all the knowledge Rainmaker taught me last year about navigation.

  Gear List Before and After

  I brought the same North Face 20 degree youth sleeping bag that weighted 2 pounds, with a Z-rest, cut to 36 inches (8 ounces) and a closed cell pad 48 inches long that weighed 7 ounces.

  My single wall one-person tent, the Cherokee, with 8 stakes and guy lines weighed 1 pounds, 7 ounces.

  The external pack (frame only) was 1 pound, 14 ounces. Its special stuff sacks and cinch straps added another 6 ounces, and I had a silnylon pack cover weighing 2 ounces.

  At Kennedy Meadows, 697 miles from the Mexic
an Border, I bought an army blanket from the proprietor for two dollars. My sleeping bag just wasn’t keeping me warm at high elevations. Heading north into the High Sierra in early June, my sleep system had to be supplemented. There on the deck of the Kennedy Meadows Store, I measured the blanket to the smallest size I could tolerate, cut it with my razor knife and sewed it with dental floss. That army wool bag liner weighed 2 pounds, 3 ounces. I mailed it home from Tuolumne Meadows as a keepsake. At end of the trail the sleeping bag was still with me, although I had Rainmaker bring my fleece liner for the last 800 miles. Some suggested that because it was a youth bag, it was of poorer quality than a full sized bag would have been.

  I ditched the Z- rest, which had been abused to near uselessness. I sent the Cherokee tent home from Echo Lake Resort when Rainmaker arrived to meet me. We shared a Coleman Cobra tent that weighed 3 pounds, 10 ounces. We did not use a ground cloth, but shared the weight of the tent and accessories. I swapped out my packless frame system for a Nike day-and-a-half pack, in Bend Oregon, made some modifications and it weighed 21ounces. I then needed only two silnylon stuff sacks, which weighed a total of two ounces. The pack cover made the entire trail. It is still in good enough condition for another few thousand miles of hiking.

  Clothing

  I packed one pair of 100% nylon socks, one pair of fleece socks, one set of undergarments (for town use), and a nylon scarf, totaling 6 ounces.

  A 100% silk long sleeve shirt with silk bottoms was 5 ounces, another 100% silk long sleeved button down shirt was 3 ounces.

  For my warm layer, I brought an expedition weight Thermax top and midweight bottoms weighing 15 ounces, some knit stretch gloves, fleece mittens, and a balaclava adding another 4 ounces.