My grandfather on my mother's side was a backcountry ranger in King's Canyon in the Sierra. Ben was always ragging on me to do the John Muir trail. Because he was a horseman and "the man" in the mountains (note rifle in scabbard), I always looked up to him. While he was alive, I never did get to that challenge. My wife Kathy and I did about 100 miles of it last summer in two segments. They were Kearsarge Pass to Mt. Whitney and Piute Pass to Bishop Pass. We needed to do another segment this summer, and that was Kearsarge Pass North to Bishop Pass, a 61 mile stretch. Unfortunately, we have been having too much fun this summer and she only had two days leave to spare. On paper, the five passes only required four days if two of the passes could be done in one day.
On Thursday, August 12th, we drove separately up 395 to God's country. Our plan was to caravan to South Lake parking lot, leave one car and then drive back to Onion Valley to begin the hike. Because time was limited, we really needed to get over Kearsarge Pass that day to make the whole plan work. We kept in touch via FRS radios, so we could trade quips on other drivers or other sights along the way. The rest of the narrative is taken more or less from a crude diary that I struggled with each night before sleep.
8/12 Left San Diego at 5 AM with peanut butter sandwiches to be eaten as breakfast along the way. We beat the Norco traffic by a hair and arrived at the Lone Pine ranger station at 10:20, to pick up our wilderness permit. The ranger looked skeptical of our planned itinerary, probably because of my gray hair and impatient attitude. I assumed that we would be hiking by noon, what with our early arrival at Lone Pine. Yes, I thought that we had it sacked, but the car shuttle took longer than expected and we left the car at 1:30.
Onion Valley start
The tree of knowledge
Summited the Kearsarge Pass (11,760 ft elevation) at 5 . We were both pretty shot from the car ride and lack of acclimatization. We didn't have the luxury of sleeping at the trailhead, the way I like to ease into the mountains. Camped just above Charlotte Lake at about dark, after some discussion but no discord. We were too trashed to cook, but I tried to eat half a peanut butter sandwich. Kathy was bleary and had no appetite. As frequently happens at altitude, we were dead tired but wired in kind of perverse way, which made sleep elusive and never deep.
A beautiful day dawned and all was right with the world. Well, not really. To maximize time hiking, we were up on headlamps at 0530 to get organized and on the trail. We had an oatmeal packet and hit the trail at 0640 and arrived at Glen Pass (11,978 ft) at 0800.
Atop Glenn Pass
There is a rhythm to one's breathing that can really help at altitude. The in breath through the nose is metered on one step and the exhalation through pursed lips takes two steps. As with swimming, the important component of the breath cycle is the exhalation, as gravity takes care of most of the work on the in breath. Cardiologists say that the heart rate slightly increases on the inhalation and slows on the exhalation. Watching your breath is important to avoid headaches or worse.
The view of the Rae Lakes was spectacular. Unfortunately, the North side of the pass was very rocky, with big drop off steps being the rule. Also, the Rae Lakes were overrun with people. At our lunch break we realized that we had only covered 7 miles, not good. We ate a mega portion of salami and rye crackers, took a 15 minute nap and got going again. Our mood was a little somber. We were slow and tired, plus this was going to be a big push up a steep section to Pinchot Pass. We hit Woods Creek (the low point at 8547 ft) at 1:40. The worst part of the trip was the next 3.5 miles up to a nice campsite above a rushing creek. We made camp at 5:00, totally wasted. Kathy had a severe backache and my shoulders were trashed. We both were exhausted, but ate a freeze dried dinner and retreated from the mosquitoes at about 6:45. We slept like the dead.
Kathy putting up the tent
Crossing the South Fork of the King's River was a microcosm of being aware in the wilderness. On more difficult crossings, Kathy usually likes to ditch her shoes in favor of crocs and wade on the slick water stones of the creek bottom. I like to keep my shoes on and jump from available things sticking out of the water. I use the ninji toe socks, so it takes a while to get in and out of them. Because of my laziness and being tired, I made a stupid mistake and got my foot wet and still had to change to crocs after all. Little mistakes get magnified in the mountains. Wet socks means higher chance of blisters. Most accidents in the wilderness are not really accidents, just poor judgment.
8/14 We awoke just below the Sawmill Pass turnout, 3.7 miles from Pinchot Pass at 0530 and were on the trail by 0620. The upper area was a gradual incline. The meadows were inhabited by huge rabbits, who ran excitedly away from us. We made the pass at 0900. This was our chance to do two passes, Mather was only 9.5 miles away.
Mr. Rabbit near Pinchot Pass
We went through a beautiful lake filled valley and were making good time on the nearly flat terrain. Crossed the South Fork of the King's River at 1100. The trail gradually gained altitude through beautiful meadows bursting with flowers. At the upper end of the valley Mather Pass could be seen, an imposing wall of rock. Marmonts dominate the upper reaches of this valley of creeks. Made the summit after using amazing switchbacks cut from the rock face. It was 4:00 and we had time to spare to negotiate the poor trail full of rocks and big step downs. We found an excellent remote campsite above the Palisade Lakes on a windy ridge. Freeze dried food never tasted so good. We retreated to the tent after treating Kath's blister and a motrin for her back pain. What a great day over the best pass of the trip.
On Mather Pass looking South
Charger coach Don Coryell related in an interview that he did his best thinking on backpacks in the Sierra. There is something about the physicality of hiking at high altitude which frees the mind of its usual preoccupations. As I get to old age, the responsibilities of parenthood and work recede. All that is left is what I am able to do, how I treat people and whether I can accept what comes down the pike.
View from tent above Palisade Lakes
8/15 We woke up on the Lord's day at 0530 and were on the trail at 0620. Kathy and I were some distance above Palisade Lakes and this day proved to be a long one. The morning was spectacular and the "Golden Staircase" beckoned to us as the sun dawned. We saw a few deer close to the Middle Fork Junction. We had some salami and crackers there at 1130. The next three miles were uphill and Kathy's back began hurting rather badly. She also had a few large blisters. Things were looking bleak for our making Dusy Basin by this evening.
We met a couple of climbers at the Bishop Pass turnoff. One kindly gave Kathy a few Advil, which helped enough for us to make it to the lower Dusy Basin by 5:00. We found a great campsite, which overlooked the spectacular drop off down to the Le Conte Canyon. We spent a delightful half an hour at the sunlit creek, washing up and soaking our feet in the fast moving water. I stayed out in my running shorts until the sun went down, while Kathy rested her sore back in the tent. We are in a good position to make it the 8 miles to the South Lake parking lot before noon. Hoping for a good morning view from Bishop Pass.
Camp at Dusy Basin
Soaking our feet, Looking toward Le Conte Canyon
8/16 Made it to the Bishop Pass by 0900 and took the obligatory pictures by the sign. Had a nice hike down to the parking lot and have to say that it felt pretty good to be on our way home to San Diego after an action packed 3 days and 22 hours. Kathy and I honestly never had a cross word. I think my grandpa would have been proud.
I was one of the replacements who arrived after the NORTH AFRICA CAMPAIGN and left before the BRENNER PASS MISSIONS. I have no notes or records of individual missions, so I give you what I remember.I arrived in August 1943 and departed in May 1944.
In 1941, I was attending U.C. Davis and my future wife, Mary, was attending Santa Barbara State College, both in California. One weekend, my classmate George and I decided to hitchhike to Santa Barbara and visit the gals. On the way home we were picked up by a young man in a convertible who had on a pretty pink and green uniform. We asked what it was and he said he was in the Army Air Corps. He did a sales job on us and when we returned to school we decided to go to Sacramento and take the cadet exam. We both passed!!!!!
I had preflight Santa Ana, primary in Tulare, CA (PT-17) and basic in Lancaster, CA ( BT-13, BT-15). Then I went on to Roswell, NM for advanced (AT-9, AT-17 and B-25). We were class 43-D graduates.
(While at Lancaster, I had a three-day pass over Christmas. Mary and I used that time to borrow her dad's car and go to Yuma, AZ and got married on Christmas Eve 1942).
Joe and Mary McCormick (1942)
Combat crews were formed at RTU in Florence, SC and I was assigned as copilot on Marty O'Toole's crew.
There were a lot of newly-married 2nd Lts and for the training time there we were not allowed to live off base. We faked it with improvised ID cards and lived off base until one day we got caught and met the Base Exec to discuss it!!!
Not long after that we were on a cross-country flight to Tampa and lost a prop seal and had to lay over. Marty O'Toole, Joe Meredith (instructor bombardier) and I were out after curfew and got caught by a 2nd Lt MP. He seemed nice enough and said he would not report us if we went straight back to our hotel; however, he needed our names in case we were caught later that night. About three weeks later Marty, Joe and I were told to report to the Base Exec's office. Never trust a 2nd Lt MP!!
We went overseas via the southern route riding on ATC planes and were dropped off in Rabat French Morocco for further training.Mostly fun flying without rules!!!ATC ride then to Sicily.
During my combat tour of about 10 months and 57 missions we operated from 5 different fields and every field has its own character.
I picked up my nickname "SPIDER" along the way because I was a very skinny---6' 3"tall and when I was in the cockpit all they could see were arms and legs.
CATANIA:
We arrived at a camp on the beach with bushes all around the tents after dark. One of the guys meeting us turned out to be a classmate from my high school (DAVID MAYES-more about him at San Pan).
We were flying support for the British 8th Army and Capt Shealy, our adjutant, got us attached for rations: Tea, mutton, all that good stuff and a bottle of gin and scotch for each man.
The group was mainly flying support for the Salenero Invasion of Italy at this time.
My first mission was as copilot for Capt Fete on a night mission to the Naples Area. We flew as individual ships and you could see the flashes as the ships in front of us entered the target area, minutes and minutes of fear building. We lost one ship that night near Mt. Etna, the crew bailed out and was OK except the pilot Fred Blaney was killed.
After a few missions with John Fete and Peter Bunce, I was given Capt Fete's plane "I'LL TAKE YOU HOME AGAIN KATHLEEN" and began as pilot. The beachhead was secure and we moved to San Pancratzio on the heel of the boot known as ITALY.
SAN PANCRATZIO:
This field had a short concrete runway cut through a vineyard, which was good and bad. The hard surface was great, but with a full bomb load on long missions it was possible to pick up vines in the nacelles when the wheels came up as you lifted off.
This field had a few pillboxes from the Italian or German army using the field before us. David Mayes and a couple of others were going to take over one to live in. They sprayed 100-octane gas in it to get rid of the bugs. One of them lit a cigarette and there were some bad burns from that, Dave was evacuated to the states.
The good part of the place was there was an underground vat of DAGO RED--- all clubs had plenty of VINO !!!
One mission to Athens was a long one: It was a mass effort with many groups and a long way to go. We flew nine ship formations at that time and I was flying #2 on the lead ship of the squadron and after takeoff we had to climb thru the overcast to reach our assigned altitude. As we rejoined above the overcast, we were behind schedule and the lead ship was trying to catch up.As we came off the target we were still behind and the lead ship was still trying to catch up. My gauges were telling me my fuel situation was such that I thought we would not make it to our home field.I knew the 8th and 9th slot guys were in worse shape fuel wise. I tried to get the attention of the lead ship to get them to throttle back to conserve fuel, to no avail. So I unlocked the gun switch, fired a burst to get his attention. I then peeled out of formation and went into long range cruise. I caught it from the operations officer when we got back.
On another mission, we were joining up and I came in too fast, chopped the throttles and attempted to slow the critter down. The bottom dropped out and I lost 4000 feet before I recovered. I aborted and returned home. Upon reviewing it later, I thought it was a high-speed stall; however, Capt Nafe, the engineering officer, thought it might be a rigging problem so he and I went up and I tried to recreate the situation, no luck.
The bomb line was moving north so they decided we had to get closer to the action: Orders came to move to FOGGIA.
FOGGIA:
This is a flat area on the north side of Italy, the home of the 12th and 15th Air Forces Headquarters:
I flew my crew to the new field and we were supposed to meet the advance ground party at the new field, but they didn't show up. It was raining and cold so we put up a tent and waited for them to arrive. The tent only fell down once in the mud---what a day.
We had great quarters this time. The Italian government had erected many farmhouses along the main road. The houses had rooms upstairs and on the ground floor was the kitchen and stables with a cellar below.
About eight officers were assigned the top floor and the family lived below. At night the grandpa would invite us to sit around a bruiser of live coals and to share his vino.
There was an oval oven in the side yard and the lady of the house made pizza for us. My first pizza!!!
The missions continued, but one non-mission flying experience stuck in my mind:
The operations officer Capt Dozier told me a Colonel from one of the headquarters wanted to get in some flying time and I was selected to fly with him.
This old guy came out to the plane and I asked him if he wanted right or left seat? He said don't worry, Sonny, I take care of everything as he entered the left seat.
He started the engines-rolled to the end of the runway-pushed the throttles wide open- put two hands on the control column and we were away as I tried to clean up everything he overlooked in the cockpit. He tried some fun things like power-off stalls then we landed at a fighter strip. It was a P-51 Group and the C.O. pulled me aside and said "Get that S.O.B. out of here!!!" Right after we took off the colonel told me to take us home; I guess he had enough flying for the day
The Anzio invasion was the next business, so we had to get closer to the action: On to Pompeii.
POMPEII:
The field was tucked right next to Mt. VESUVIUS with Naples on the
other side of the mountain, and Anzio not far to the north. It made for some short missions.
There was a lot of history made in the area and we could go to Naples if we could borrow a jeep. One night we found an Italian military vehicle by the side of the road and towed it to the flight line. Rocky Petrozi, my crew chief, used it for transportation for awhile.
We had nice quarters again in a two-room house in a small village, six officers to a room. The family was close by to keep an eye on things. It had a flat roof and solid walls. Both items came in handy:
Solid Walls: We used a 100-octane gas heater for heat and cooking late-night snacks. One night the 5-gallon fuel tank overheated and it was shooting flame across the room like a flamethrower. We rushed in between blasts to get our things out. No damage---the solid earth walls saved the day.
Flat Roof: When MT VESUVIUS erupted, we woke up to six inches of wet ash on the roof—we had to shovel it off to keep the roof from falling in. Some of the ash was the size of footballs with a hot center.
Missions were short, supporting the ANZIO INVASION. Some missions were flown at 5000 feet—5 seconds to time the flak is not good.
I was scheduled to fly copilot with Lt Swope on the group lead on one mission and at the last minute the group commander, Col Jones, bumped me. They were lost over the target.
The new group commander, Col Chapman, lead the group to the end of the war.
One mission stood out: We caught a lot of flak and I was coming in too slow and too close following the ship in front of me. I got in bad prop wash and the right wing was pointing at the ground. My copilot (GAT Ross) jumped on the controls to help me. We overcorrected and landed on the left wheel, as we slowed down we ground looped because the right tire was shredded by flak.The luck of he Irish saved us.
I got sent to the ISLE OF CAPRI rest camp while in Pompeii.
While there I met a Navy Warrant Officer who was an engineering officer for a PT BOAT squadron in Tunis (He had worked for Packard Motor Car Co and the boats had two Packard V-12 engines in them).
He said if I got to Tunis, he would let me drive a PT BOAT if I would give him a ride in a B-25.
Mt Vesuvius erupted and the ash damaged all our planes and we moved by truck to Pastium.
PASTIUM:
It was back to tents again, no more of the good life. As it was in Pompeii, there was much to see in the area.
The missions were a little interesting because they picked up planes all over the Theater to replace those lost at Pompeii. Many planes were lacking armor plate and guns.
I took a ship to Tunis to have armor plate installed and I was able to look up the navy warrant officer that I met on Capri. He got his ride in a B-25 and I got to drive a PT-Boat. They had LST's as mother ships that had ice cream machines installed and we had real American ice cream with our meals. What a treat!!
The head shed decided it was time for us to move again, this time to leave the mainland of Italy and move to Corsica. The ground personnel got a boat ride and we flew our ships over.
CORSICA:
I was getting to the end of my tour, so I was thinking a lot about going home. Capt Dozier, the operations officer, had a new directive that set up a program where they exchanged ground combat troops and air corps crewmen so they would appreciate the other’s problems.
Not long after that I had an artillery major fly a mission with me and I was about to be placed on orders to go to the front lines. We discussed that and decided I was too close to the end of my tour, so they sent someone else. I think it was my friend Bill Laney (I met Bill at the Columbia Reunion in 1992 for the first time since WWII).
We got an R and R trip to Cairo, Egypt during this time and had a great time being tourists. Marty O'Toole was the pilot on that trip and I was the copilot---it was the first time we that been scheduled together since joining the squadron.
I finished my 57th mission in early May 1944 and was given the choice of flying a war weary B-25 to the states or going by troop ship. I chose to fly and went to Tunis to pickup an aircraft.
THE TRIP HOME:
I picked up a B-25G with some 75mm ammo still aboard. It was a pickup crew and the only one I knew was the Bombardier-Navigator, ED STOTLER from the 486TH.
My orders were to pick up the aircraft in Tunis and fly as a solo ship to Brooks Field in San Antonio, TX via the southern route.
Out of Marrakesh there was some weather over the mountains so we went around that and had no other problems except for not getting radio position or weather reports. No one aboard had any training in the 75mm gun so we dumped the ammo in a river to get rid of the weight before crossing the ocean.
Upon reaching Ascension Island we were met by a signal corps 2nd Lt and he asked me if he could talk to my radio operator. It seems my radio operator had been asking for weather reports for thirty minutes on the international distress frequency! It turned out the radioman had taken a short radio course in England so he could get on a combat crew. He never used the radio on his combat tour so he had forgotten a lot. I asked him why he didn't tell me his problem? He said I would have kicked him off the crew, which I would have. We laid over for three days and he was retrained and everyone was happy again.
We arrived in Miami and most of the crew was from the east coast so Ed Stotler and I decided to fly to Brooks Field without them and they could go home early.
Our first stop was New Orleans. We went to the Roosevelt Hotel and encountered a long room check-in line. We got in line and a hotel employee asked Ed if that was a purple heart he was wearing. Ed said yes it was, so we got immediate action on rooms.
The next day we were about 40 minutes out of New Orleans and lost an engine. We set down in an airfield in Lafayette, LA. An engineering officer flew up from the Lake Charles depot and signed for the plane. I took the train to Brooks Field to clear my orders.
I asked at Brooks flight operations if I could get a flight home to San Diego and they said if I was not returning overseas I had no priority and no priority, no flight. I took the train home.
HOME!!
It was great meeting everyone, especially my son JOHN who was born on March 12, 1944 while I was in Pompeii.
Joe John Don
While getting ready to go to the redistribution center in Santa Monica for tests and reassignment, I loaded the gas tank on Mary's 1939 Dodge coupe for the trip. The next morning I smelled gasoline fumes and looked under the car. The tank had been almost empty for a long time and weight of the added gas had caused the leaking.A mechanic came over and soldered a patch on the tank and the problem was solved.
The trip to Santa Monica was great--it was the honeymoon we had missed when we got married.
During the processing they asked where and what type of assignment I desired: I asked for the West Coast Area flying AT-11's or a similar plane.In the true army way they ordered me to Greenville, South Carolina as a B-25 instructor.
GREENVILLE:
We lived in a nice duplex, the owners were a nice old couple and they adopted us as part of their family. We were on a schedule of 24 hours on and 24 hours off; we had morning, afternoon and evening flight schedules and then a day off. We had three instructors from the 486th that I remember: Rocky Root, CJ Clarke and Ivan Olsen.
Ivan and I decided to try our hands at golf on our days off. We went to the Country Club and purchased a set of used clubs ($35 sounds about right).Mary pushed our son John around the course in a four-wheeled baby carriage to be with us. (To this day Mary says it is a silly game. John and I still play golf regularly.)
The flying was normal RTU stuff: instrument, cross country, bombing, skip bombing, gunnery and piloting skills.
We had one interesting event I remember quite vividly; there was a hurricane down south of us and the Navy was being evacuated to our air base. I was up with a student crew and the navy planes were using their carrier approach on landing. We were coming in faster and closing in too close behind the navy aircraft. The student kept getting closer and closer behind them and finally I took over. We aborted the landing; however, I think we broke some windows in the officers club in the process.
I arranged for a cross country trip to Monroe, LA.The Air Corps had the navigators school there. My younger brother DON was an aviation cadet in training at Monroe and I had not seen him in awhile.Fitting the B-25 into the AT-11 navigation planes traffic pattern reminded me of the recent Navy experience.Don and some of his buddies wanted a ride in a B-25, so I made their day with a short hop.The following is about my brother’s career:
First Lt. Donald W. McCormick, a 27-year-old native San Diegan, was a student at San Diego State when he was called to active duty in Korea in August 1950. He had previously attended Occidental College where he was a member of Alpha Tau Omega.
Don had served late in World War II as a B24 navigator but did not get into combat.
He completed a combat tour in Korea as a B26 navigator and was awarded Air Medals and a Distinguished Flying Cross for this service.After duty in Korea, Don entered pilot training and was killed in the crash of hisAT6 training plane at Bartow, Florida in May 1952.
The Air Corps had a points system to see who could be released from active duty and my number came up. Mary and I decided to leave the service. We were ordered to Camp Beale in Marysville, CA for discharge processing. I left the service on 3 Aug 1945.
I heard about the 57th Bomb Wing Reunions in 1979 and attended my first reunion in 1980 at Seattle.
I've always wanted to ski Mount Shasta. It's a long way from San Diego, but it like the Grand Tetons, a huge mountain scarp jutting up from a lower elevation plain. It's huge, and towers almost 10,000 feet above the small towns surrounding it. It's really a part of the Cascade Range , not the Sierra. When the ski section offered this trip, how could I refuse? It always is easier to do something new with people who have been there.
The way group ski trips work is a plan made months in advance. The weather can be good or bad, but airline tickets are purchased ahead of time and housing booked. I don't like being confined with a group much, so I opted for driving up in my camper. Since I bought a pair of skis online from a guy in Bishop, the planned route was going to be 395 to 44 to 89. I would mount the "new" skis in Bishop, then get an early day at Mammoth and continue on.
Arrived at the Lone Pine Visitor Center and tried to take a nap. Some inner city field trip parked next door and I was fading in and out with the interruptions. Was glad when they left, but then discovered a note on my truck telling me that the back camper lights were on and "Have a blessed day". Wow, better watch my karma or I'll be a grumpy old man.
The weather report looked dismal, but what the heck, I've got 4WD and I wanted to ski those light skis with some AT binders. Picked up the Goode skis at a residence that had a perfect view of Mount Tom, covered in snow.
As I was almost frantically mounting the bindings in the park parking lot at Bishop, I noticed two things. First, I had chosen an area that seemed to be frequented by teens and early 20's males on the hunt for Friday's fuel for party. Hope the cops don't think I'm dealing. Second, it was getting very cold in a hurry.
The Pleasant Valley campground is close to Bishop and is cheap. As the night progressed, the wind started moving the camper on the gusts. This is not good.
The day dawned with storm clouds and rain. Going up Sherwin Grade, it began to snow in earnest. By Mammoth, any hopes of skiing there or June were out. The snow was blowing sideways at something over 40 MPH. Not seeing too many pilgrims on this road. Thinking maybe I should reinforce my already flaky reputation by taking the prudent course and turning tail back to San Diego. But then started thinking that I wanted to ski with Afra and Dave, who had done Janet Peak with me and didn't want to let them down. It would later turn out that this was wasted altruism. Well, not completely altruism because I am 66 and how many more chances at Shasta am I going to get?
I have some experience with driving in snowy conditions. The main concept is to almost never use the brakes. The Dodge diesel makes this job easier, but the rig weighs over 10,500 pounds. Trying to anticipate things ahead and pretty focused on the bad weather and wondering if this is a bad decision. There are quite a few small towns as one gets to the East of Tahoe, slowing down the progress. But the scenery is really great and the snow makes everything look magical. I'm pretty well shot by the time I get to Honey Lake, just before Susanville. After an aborted run looking for a free campground up to where the dirt road got very bad, and then the hejira ended with a road closed sign. Elected to get off the road a bit at the Honey Lake RV place. It was $16 without hookups, nice people and a great view. I'm dry camping in the RV because water in the holding tanks would be a disaster. It's in the 20's and our handy film strip LP gas reader doesn't work like in the desert. Elect not to run the heater, want to have a way to cook.
I sleep like the dead and wake up and it's still blowing, but not snowing like last night. My portable radio gets a station in Susanville and they are talking chains and ice in town. It is 28 at 7, and 29 at 8. The weather forecast is for snow at 11, so the plan is to leave at 9, to maximize my chance of the ice being gone and still have time for the toughest part of the trip, highway 44, before the snow starts in earnest. Also, there is the sad news that climbers got caught in the storm on Sunday and one has died. The recovery helo can't get off today because of bad weather. I am no longer thinking about skiing, just want to get the truck back in one piece.
Briefly on highway 36, then at the beginning of 44 there is a sign saying "Speed Limit 35 MPH, chains required". Since I had screwed my back up checking the water level in the camper battery for the first time, I hadn't practiced putting these particular chains on the truck. What the heck, I'm not turning back at this point. Slow down to 45 and proceed. The road is in bad shape, lots of patches of snow and snow and ice. Had read the owners manual last night on 4WD and am able to put it in and out of real 4WD while going at any speed. This really is a good rig in bad conditions.
It is very exciting and beautiful. The trees are flocked with snow and everything looks fresh and free of the usual desecrations of man. I'm actually starting to enjoy this. Going in and out of 4WD and using the gears to slow down when necessary. No problema!
It's kind of anticlimactic to get to highway 89, which is more heavily used road. The road is mostly just wet with occasional patches of snow on dark curves. It does start snowing at 11, but no big deal. I'm turning into the Mount Shasta Ski Park by noon. It is Wednesday, so seniors get the $15 ski deal. It's kind of like Big Bear, only there are only twenty cars in the parking lot. I get used to the skis and bindings and am a happy camper.
Mount Shasta, the town, is a sleepy new age spot with a number of inns, restaurants and tourist shops. I get some propane and find out there were two gallons left, so I could have run the heater last night. Find our little 100 year old house above the Radio Shack storefront. It it very nice and there is a good parking spot behind the property. The rental is filled with little notes to remind the the user of his responsibilities and potential hazards that lurk in this abode to the ignorant and stupid. The owners have definitely been there done that and are prepared for the worst.
It has a great view of the tattoo parlor and liquor store. I am happy to walk around in a regular house, drink tea and read "The Future of Freedon" by Fareed Zakaria. His central focus is an analysis of those critical components of viable and long lasting democracies. He points out that the mere pretense of elections is a necessary but not sufficient condition for one that is viable. For instance, Hitler was elected in a supposed democracy. Fear has a funny way of making people give up their freedoms to get the trains to run on time.
The group is a strong one. Patty, who arranged the trip, is of Norweigen descent and is both pleasant and at the same time tough as nails. She has skis that are kind of skinny, but she always gets to the high point. Dan has literally written a book on skiing SoCal and is great company, with a dry humor that is not to be missed. Big Mike has taught more people to ski than anyone else in San Diego and is very competent and knowledgeable. Dave is both a skier and a dancer and kind of merges the two disciplines in the backcountry. All these people are always ready, on time, packed and ready to ski. I'm fortunate to have them as friends. We added two new friends, Myrek and Ann. Myrek escaped from Checkoslovakia, just before the Russian crackdown. He has great stories, is very generous and has a powerful athleticism about him. Ann is great to be around.
The lockbox had the wrong combo on the info sheet. I had worked out the problem with the landlord but had to wait for the others to arrive so the info could be passed on. By the time they arrived (without my friend Afra), I decided that it was way too crowded and elected to retreat to my Lance Camper cell.
At 0800 we are sort of prepared to go. We go up in the rented van and the day looks pristine. The mountain has a good road up to Bunny Flats at 6900 feet. There is a restroom and a large parking lot, where I will park my camper next time. The view is spectacular right out of the car.
The new AT setup and the light carbon fiber skis are working great, using some narrow skins (synthetic pile with adhesive on one side) to get a little glide going uphill. I have some wider skins for when the climb stiffens up. I am not worried about avalanches down here in the lower reaches because the snow looks pretty consolidated, but he headwall that Avalanche Gulch approaches gives me that old fear response. It has been snowing for four days and now its warm.
We get to about the Sierra Club cabin. Dan and I wait for the others. The whomp whomp whomp of the recovery helo is the only sound in the wilderness. It sounds like a military exhaust but probably is a big Bell high altitude helo. After a beacon exercise, the others head up canyon and I stay behind to do some terrain further down. It is pretty crowded compared to somewhere like San Jacinto or San Gorgonio because most of the terrain has been stripped of trees from previous avalanches. You can see people camped on ridgetops, skiing with dogs and generally having a great time.
By the time the others return, it is time to head back to the car. The gulley we ascended looks like a half pipe and I go from side to side, gaining momentum and at one point shouting "hully gully". It is great fun, but I'm back to the car too soon. What a great place to come and play.
The next morning, no one wants to ski so, I head back on highway 5. It's snowing pretty hard in town and on the highway, for about an hour or two. Thirteen and a half hours and I'm back home, with a one hour nap in the middle of the trip. Mission accomplished, the hard way. Next time it is going to be highway 5 to the parking lot at Bunny Flat.
When I pulled up at the bank parking lot, a volunteer came up to my car and said that there were a thousand volunteers today and that I'd have to park a ways down the road. Walking back towards the staging area, I was wondering if it really made any difference that one more person would make. The line to get registered was about 80 long and it didn't move for about thirty minutes. A volunteer yelled out that we would be processed when the latest batch left the staging area. We were offered snack bars and water, but I already had my camelbak and own food.
The line moved rapidly once it started. My ID and registration form were quickly processed, my wrist band applied and we were placed in groups of eighteen. A big, imposing gentleman asked for people with police or armed forces training, to lead the groups. I wanted to volunteer for steeper, brush terrain, but didn't want to get in the way of those processing the groups of people. There were prepared lunches supplied by local businesses and the entire operation was pretty efficient, considering it was volunteer based and quickly put together. Only short side was no toilets in evidence. After about an hour of processing, I was glad to be in a group and able to find a bathroom before we staged in cars in the Von's parking lot.
The suburban wife driving our minivan knew the family personally through her son and daughter. There were two young mothers, a middle aged female former employee of Mr. King from LA, and another young man from LA in camo pants. We were kind of quiet, but the driver made us feel comfortable. No one exchanged names, it wasn't really that kind of atmosphere. We met the leader at Von's. He was a active duty Navy pilot and had a by the book approach to the initial search. Once we got to the search area (it wasn't obvious to any of us where it was initially), I was glad that my hiking poles were at the ready. The driver shared that her dog was snake bit on the toungue in her back yard. She said the antivenom was quite expensive.
Our grid included an avocado orchard that had seen better days. After an easy part through the grove, we started hitting arroyos choked with heavy brush, nettles and the usual San Diego assortment of prickly plants. We took our time and were led well, making sure that nothing was missed if possible. After we had completed the search area (about an hour and a half), we began to look in a more promising area close to the freeway on kind of a free lance approach. My fellow searchers began making some small talk and became more of a group by our efforts and the lessening of the seriousness that dominated the first phase of the search. The area did not look promising in that it did not look disturbed in any way and it would have been a long carry by the perpetrator in any case.
On the way back from the search site, one of the mothers in my group received a text message that a body had been found. The driver and I expressed our relief at the news. It had never been anything but our commitment to the parents that motivated this turnout. Any parent could be in limbo for years, hanging on to some faint hope that they would see their loved one safe and home. So, the search had ended successfully and I was glad to have helped. You always get that smug satisfaction when you reach out to help someone and the goal you set is realized. Still, there were some voices from my past which seemed to cast a slight depression to my mood.
In the dim past I had been responsible for the lives of children. Working as a child protective social worker in the dependent children section of the juvenile court, my job was to prevent these terrible things from happening to children in my caseload. Granted, the possible victims were not the targets of damaged predators, but rather those who supposedly were related by blood family or boyfriends of same. My caseload was about 40 families and I had never lost a child. That is not to say that mistakes were not made. Mistakes in that line of work stay with you or they change your ability to feel much of anything towards those in your care.
When proposition 13 passed, things changed pretty quickly. The caseloads doubled and I no longer had the time to keep all the balls in the air at one time. My decision was an easy one. There was no way that I was going to be the fall guy for taxpayers who did not want to have the job done properly. It was retraining time.
Sure, every one identifies with the elderly couple in the 1970's that had seen their tax assessment/property value double and triple. But Proposition 13 was such a poorly written bill that it capped commercial property, had no means test, and allowed property to be inherited without reassessment. Plus, it forced the 2/3 majority vote necessary to change taxes. Schools and County government became more dependent on the State government for full funding. So, here we are today. Paralysis in government and competition between very worthy programs such as schools, caring for the sick and elderly, and protection of our children. This is no accident that everything looks like it's falling apart. In addition to the voices from the past, I feel slightly depressed that TV sound bites have come to hold more sway than rational discussion. Even more dark is the feeling that our society has become a bit selfish and the reasons to avoid "wasteful spending" are coupled with astonishment at how the system whose job it is to protect us doesn't work.
Our good friends Jerry and Dianna had their 50th wedding anniversary, so Kathy and I hosted a small party of 15 to honor the occasion. We all had a good time and enjoyed the company, food and drink. 3:30 AM the alarm went off and it was time to meet my ski buddies at the Poway park and ride.
We had tried to get up to Jean Peak last weekend, but didn't quite make it. I had a new pair of skis (wider) and was anxious to try them out. On the way up we were treated to a blue sky and snow on the foothills from the storm the day before. We made the 8:00 Palm Springs tram with time to spare.
I was a little intimidated by the level of the group. It soon became obvious that I was the weak member, whether from too much fun the night before or just genetics and geriatrics. The sky was a cobalt blue, six or eight inches of new snow and no wind. We wasted no time getting to Round Valley, about two miles from the tram. We were all using skins (pile on one side adhesive on the other) on the bottom of our skis. There was a mix of telemark and alpine touring equipment. One thing for sure, these guys and gal were making me look rather like a little too old or at least too slow.
Round Valley, Jean ahead
Well, we are now off for it. I don't feel any desire to achieve a mastery over my self, I am starting to regret eating that tomale at 4:10 AM. My stomach is turning, am I in an impossible situation? That's OK, just calm down, we can contain this situation. It is getting more and more out of my comfort zone as the Jean Peak becomes closer. It is quite steep, but the skins are holding. The day is so beautiful that I have almost forgotten that my shallow breath indicates some lapse between what my body wants and what it is getting. Fortunately, for me (!), Afra has foot problems. I get to rest. It is good and am starting to enjoy the sky above and the snow below.
Afra going up Jean Peak (South face)
Now we are on top and I'm going to find a place that is private. Not to think deep thoughts.
Jean Peak looking Southeast
I'm back and the better group looks like they are history. The drop over Jean Peak is much steeper than the video. Sierra Descents Video LinkI start to head toward the North, to find a way that works for a guy that probably doesn't qualify as "expert". Don't mistake me now, I can look pretty good at a resort place that has those cushioned rescue sleds. It is up here where you pay dearly for those mistakes in judgment or over estimations of your capability to function under pressure. Dave and Afra follow me and everything looks rosy, until my line shows that sooner than later you are going to have to drop into this abyss. Plus, because we have avoided the hard part, now we are way lower than we need to me to drop back into Round Valley.
This means that we are following tracks into a narrow ravine called Tamarrack Valley. Dave is making great low speed turns, but Afra and I resort to booting trail. With 4 pound boot weight, this is not a great solution. Dave is having the time of his life, skiing very well and not getting hurt.
We are back to the tram ramp at 10 minutes to 3. This means that you must push as hard as possible to catch the 3 o'clock. Later than that, the masses of SoCal will haunt you as you wait in an "express" line that someone has trouble with their checkbook. We are back on the road, no one is hurt and it has been a transforming experience. San Diego rocks..
Well, its been about a year since my last blog. I turned 65 last March and it kind of threw me for a while. Most of what I wanted to write about seemed to be beating my own drum and showing that there was some ability left to not only continue to do the things that I love, but do them with some style. As one gets older, this gets more difficult. Feelings do not change just because the seasons fly by and the body becomes something less than it once was. My weekend helped to put things in perspective for me.
Friday (Feb 12) looked like Spring was just around the corner. A beautiful, clear day dawned and my surf buddies Bob and Byron were going to meet me at PB. We all like smaller surf now, one of the many compromises that come with the territory. That doesn't mean that we don't still want to get the wave of the day and do it justice. Most of the time you get almost as much satisfaction when your buddy gets the good one and doesn't screw it up. This was a small day, but we were all in a good mood and got plenty of these little waves. The newer wetsuits keep us warmer in the water than when we were on shore. It's a quiet place out in the ocean and kind of a sanctuary from all the mess and people on land. You drive home relaxed and more optimistic.
Saturday was a 3:30 wakeup to meet my friends at the Poway park and ride. Five of us wanted to make the 8:00 tram from Palm Springs to the San Jacinto wilderness area. A good sign was that everyone was there by 5:30 and we made it to the parking lot with 20 minutes to spare. The second good sign was that everyone had their gear in order and just put on the plastic ski boots and off we went. Afra had given good pretrip instructions to this effect. Ted met us at the tram station, as he was staying in Palm Springs. The tram goes to a little over 8500 feet, a great start. 15 minutes after arriving and we put on the skis and were on our way.
Ted Sue Patti Afra Dave
Towards Jean Peak
Afra, Dave and Ted were using AT (alpine touring) gear. Patti, Sue and I were using less wide skis and telemark bindings. After 5 hours of intense uphill travel, we made it to about 10,000 feet and took a short break for lunch. See Dave's track log superimposed on a map here. We were just under Jean Peak and skied down Round Valley in some rather heavy, grabby snow. Afra and Dave made some great turns and I resolved to get some wider skis for my birthday this year. There were some good wipeouts, but no one suffered any permanent damage. We took the hiking trail as a technical challenge and raced back to the tram to try to make our self imposed deadline of 3 PM. Any later than that and there can be a long line to go back down. We made it with a few minutes to spare.
Just Past "Dave's Abyss", Ted in background
Dave the Man
Afra insisted that we have lunch, Sue enjoying it
The day was a long one, but I was impressed with what good companions these wilderness friends are. There were some tense moments on "Dave's Abyss", but gear and personalities survived intact. Sue invited Afra and I to do Indian Head Peak a climb that she was leading on Monday.
On Sunday, Kathy and Jerry and I biked around the Bayshore Bikeway. (photos from Kathy) Yup, 5 Cities ride again. Fred the seal and his friend were there, Buoy 22 every week.
San Diego, what a great place to live. Especially in the winter!
On Monday, I met Sue, Afra, Rhea, Monique, and Marty at the Borrego Palm Springs trailhead. Other people met up with us, but they disappeared before we got much above the first palm grove. After the first palm grove, there is some route finding and brush beating necessary. There is always a class 2 way, but sometimes it is obscure.
Finding the easy way
Rhea's turn
Afra tending to Sue
The upper canyon is worth the trip
This funny tree marks the spot for going North (2.5 mile)
Once you turn up the North slope, the hike turns from a typical east side canyon stroll to a cactus and loose rock exercise in route finding. The general direction is quite easy, just do the ridge up to about 3000 feet and then turn right up the next steeper ridge. The trick is not to get stuck by thorns, avoiding reptile/human interaction and picking a way that isn't so steep as to cause excess stomach acid. The little decisions become the essence of a good desert hike experience.
Warning, this is steeper than it looks in your camera
Now we're Getting there
Afra on top
Arrived at 1:59, 2:00 PM time to head down
Close to seeing God
Back to the tall ladies before dark
Sure, SoCal is crowded and there are people here that I wouldn't invite to this feast. However, this weekend I met some new friends and did a few things that will be with me for a long while.
My grandparents were both in San Diego in 1899. My father was a B-25 pilot in the Big War and our family went to Okinawa during the Korean War, where my brother Marty was born. Being an army brat had its advantages. Every time we moved, I could be a different person. I'm always hoping that there is at least one more reinvention left in me.
Grandpa Ben
Onion Valley start
The tree of knowledge
Atop Glenn Pass
Kathy putting up the tent
Mr. Rabbit near Pinchot Pass 
On Mather Pass looking South
View from tent above Palisade Lakes
Camp at Dusy Basin
Soaking our feet, Looking toward Le Conte Canyon
