Sandstone Peak 2 aka "Mud Bath Trail"

Hike: Sandstone Peak via the Backbone & Mishe Mokwa Trails

The Inspiration: Memories of our last trip to Sandstone Peak; the promise of post-rain water everywhere!

Highest Altitude: 3,111'

Trip Mileage: 6.6

Total 2010 Mileage: 28.6

The recent-ish spate of wet weather here in SoCal prompted a return trip to one of our favorite trails in the Santa Monica Mountains - the Mishe Mokwa Trail to Sandstone Peak. This was actually the first trail Rebecca and I trod on together, and it was time for some re-treading, full of anticipation for the wet wonderland surely laid out before us.

Joined by Casey and Kolby, we tightened the ole bootstrings and began the muddy hike in from the Backbone Trail.

The very muddy hike in.

The very very muddy hike in.

I blurted out, "This is kind of like walking in poop."

Rebecca looked back at me, clearly disgusted.

I continued on, anyways, brain-to-mouth filter broken for the moment: "Yeah, just the color and the consistency and everything. Totally like walking in poop."

We carried on in silence.

Whilst I quietly and perversely contemplated the position of this particular mud on the Human Waste Color/Consistency Continuum, the landscape opened up like a fresh post-rain bloom all around us - the snow-capped mountains of the Los Padres National Forest, the newly greened hills cleaving into canyons drenched in rainwater, the almost unnaturally blue skies…

Even once we hit the familiar Mishe Mokwa Trail, it was all new again – the trail turned into an active creekbed and mini waterfalls tracked down the sides of cliffs like so many Smokey Robinson tears, the unfamiliar sound of gurgling water bouncing off of echo-fed walls.

Not too shabby. Any and all mud-poop comparisons totally left the building.

The rest of the hike was just really, really fantastic, and if anything, it was a reminder that mother nature isn’t static; even in a place with the kind of weather predictability that leaves potential retirees foaming at the mouth, she can throw a curveball and leave us slack-jawed and giddy like schoolchildren skipping through fresh puddles on sidewalks we thought were nothing but concrete.

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would have worn gaiters, and for that, Ed is a smart, smart man.

[Shawnté]

Mojave National Preserve aka "Oh, The Desert is FUN!"

Hike: Kelso Dunes, Cinder Cones National Natural Landmark, Teutonia Peak trail (Mojave National Preserve)

The Inspiration: Discovering desert deliciousness without battling the heat

Highest Altitude: appx 5,000'

Trip Mileage: appx. 8

Total 2010 Mileage: 22

During a recent meeting of the minds between Modern Hiker, The Hike Guy, and 1/2 of Team WWED?, it was decided that winter should involve two very excellent, and very different, activities - snowshoeing and spending time in the desert.

When a three-day weekend presented itself in the form of Martin Luther King Jr.'s Monday birthday, we decided to haul our buns off to the winterized expanse of the Mojave National Preserve. Plans were made, maps were purchased, marshmallows were packed...and poor Modern Hiker had to bail the morning of the trip due to unforeseen circumstances.

The remaining two-thirds of Team Awesome was shaken, but not stirred, and decided to forge on, with Team WWED? arriving at the Kelso Depot Visitor Center just in time for an impromptu chili taste-off with the affable Mike Williams of The Beanery! Let it be said that free chili is probably the best start to a camping trip, unless you are sleeping in close quarters that evening. And even then...

After a hugs-around-the-campfire type evening, Team WWED? + THG rose early and bundled up for a bumpy drive down to the Kelso Dunes...

O, land of wonderment! O, land of awe! Big, sweeping sandy landscape loomed ahead, curls of dust at our feet, oceanic desert plants strewn left and right, dreams of flinging ourselves like out-of-control childrenfolk into the sand clutched at our collective breast.

I have now driven twice across the desert from Texas to California, and twice have declared the desert to be "boring and sucky" - but at this very moment of sand-fever, I fell in love with the desert.

The trail to the dunes is deceptive, nothing like frisking about on the beach, but one by one, our group made it to the saddle, and then the summit ridge. Watching Rebecca climb towards the summit prompted the observation that this is exactly what Ed would do, and exactly what he would look like, if this was about 20,000' taller and capped in snow. Exactly.

Once we all reached the top, we flung ourselves onto the sand in various states of rest. Rebecca stood on her hands; Kolby reclined on the slope; I flopped down prone, like a beached whale. Then we all took turns running awkwardly straight down the side of the dunes like newly-birthed Frankensteins. It wasn't pretty, but it sure made some great noise.

We later returned to the dunes area, Kolby drawn by the promise of kit fox den-seeking, and Rebecca and I by the notion of sliding down and otherwise burying ourselves in more sand. But before this was to commence, we spent some time at the lava tubes (lava!) and patiently waited for the tiniest shaft of light to stream through while completely trying Rebecca's patience and feeding her desire to avoid being stuck down there if an earthquake struck at that precise moment and showered us all in a bazillion years' worth of volcanic residue.

Luckily, we emerged unscathed, and after another stop at the Beanery and our late afternoon sand diversion, we packed up our top-secret campsite and headed through the world's largest concentration of Joshua Trees, towards Teutonia Peak, while continuing our daylong tradition of inexplicably bursting into refrains of "Lookin' like a fool with your pants on the ground" every twenty minutes or so.

After missing the sunset, we turned around at the saddle, headlights on, and eventually blasted out of Mojave on I-15, about five minutes before it began to rain, bound for the greased-up, calorie-laden delights of Peggy Sue's 50's Diner.

Start a trip with a free chili cook-off and end it with fried pickles, grilled cheese, and pie. Now that's the spirit!

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would be proud that we had the common sense to leave before the storms hit. Ed would be concerned, however, that our weekend diet consisted solely of concession food and marshmallows.

[Shawnté]

Echo Mountain 2 aka "Station Fire, You Bastard"

Hike: Echo Mountain - Mt. Lowe Railway (sort of)

The Inspiration: Kolby's 100th Hike

Highest Altitude: 3207'

Trip Mileage: 8

Total 2010 Mileage: 14

As I mentioned a few posts back, I thoroughly enjoyed my maiden trudge up Echo Mountain as part of The Hike Guy Kolby Kirk's celebratory 100th hike. In fact, I enjoyed the peak-top views and resulting thigh-burn so very much that I suggested to Rebecca that Team WWED? recreate the jaunt in timely fashion.

The trail was a bit more steep and sweat-inducing than I recalled from that misty evening, and the amount of masochists running nonchalantly up the side of the mountain did nothing to quell my sense of inadequacy, but 1400' and a bazillion lazy switchbacks later, we stood atop Echo Mountain, drinking in a pretty large swath of greater Los Angeles...with a pretty large cross-section of Angelenos.

"This would be a great place to come at night and set up a picnic blanket with some dinner," Rebecca suggested.

"Yes, if we could push all of these people off of the mountain first," I thought.

And "Yep," I replied.

As Rebecca traipsed off to explore the ruins, I settled in with a mound of satsumas and considered an option to extend the hike - we could make our way down into the canyon, back up some 1300', catch a loftier view at Inspiration Point - then backtrack down and up and down and up and down and up and down until we returned to my car, parked halfway down Lake Avenue thanks to the glut of drivers parked on the mountain.

So, no. We didn't do that. Instead, we decided to saunter down the Middle Sam Merrill Trail for a bit, then return the way we came. Except that when we got to the trailhead, the trail was closed by the park service or someone important like that, so said the sign on the brown stick.

I looked at Rebecca. There were people up higher on the very trail we hoped to hike. Hm.

Hm.

Hm.

"It says 'RESPECT' on the sign," said Rebecca.

"Yeah. You know what - I think we should RESPECT it," said I.

So we did.

You know why? Because:

A) It said so.

B) We could see signs of the Station Fire damage just west of Inspiration Point, no doubt imperiling the Sam Merrill Trail as it climbed higher...and if there's one thing we don't want, it's anything even vaguely resembling the Tom Sloan Hell-Trail Experience of 2009.

C) Because it's what Ed would do, dammit.

Proud of our increased capacity for rational thought, we retraced our steps and decided instead to tack on some of the Mt. Lowe Railway Trail...

...Until it, too, was thwarted by a brown RESPECT stick.

This time, though, the reason for the RESPECT stick was obvious - everywhere to the North and West of the damn stick was toast.

Station Fire toast.

It was oddly beautiful, though - every nook and cranny of the mountains exposed, chaparral-free, cast in an eerie greyish hue. I was awestruck, standing on the Sunset Ridge fire road, snapping photos with my phone, when Rebecca pointed out that the fire stopped right at the edge of the road. When I looked up, I noticed the tree you saw in the photo at the top of this post - 2/3 burned, 1/3 bright green.

That tree gave me hope - these mountains and trails are a tenacious bunch, and spring is sure to bring lots of surprises.

Until then, please RESPECT the brown sticks, yo'.

Ed wouldn't have it any other way - and neither would we.

What Would Ed Do?

For once, Ed would have done what we did. For once!

[Shawnté]

Eagle Rock aka "The Horse-Beast Highway"

Hike: Trippet Ranch-Eagle Rock loop

The Inspiration: Modern Hiker

Highest Altitude: 1957'

Trip Mileage: 6.5

Total 2010 Mileage: 6.5

My last hike in Topanga State Park was a memorable one, filled with waterfall-seeking, creek-hopping, cave-exploring, and pagan ritual worship simulation.

You know how it goes.

So when Rebecca suggested a return visit to try out the figure eight loop from Trippet Ranch to Eagle Rock and back, I strapped on my sense of adventure and readily agreed.

We began on the Musch Trail, winding through grassland, past an equestrian-friendly campsite, and down, down, down to the valley floor.

Then we climbed. And we climbed. Nothing matching the intensity of the Chumash Trail to La Jolla Valley or the godforsaken steep scree mess of the Cucamonga Peak-bound trail barely stitched onto the side of Bighorn Mountain, but sweat-inducing all the same for a girl who has spent the past month basically bathing in Santa-shaped chocolate.

Once at the foot of the rock, Rebecca moved forward and began up its diagonal slope. I called after her, "You just head up there. I'm going to stay put and just enjoy the view from here."

I glanced around. The view options were the backside of Eagle Rock or the Valley's urban sprawl.

I followed Rebecca up, vertigo-prone mind imagining that my shoes were made out of a combination of spider monkey and Spiderman. After crawling around for a bit near the top, soaking in the 100-mile, nearly 360 views, I awkwardly placed myself on a bump and asked Rebecca to take my photo. Upon further inspection of said photo, you can see the fear in my eyes. I will not be publishing this on the internets.

On the way back down, things were going along swimmingly. My heart rate was decreasing. There were nice people hiking. Nice people biking. Nice people running.

And nice people riding horses. Horses! From a distance, they're all pretty, mythical, shiny, majestic - very Misty of Chincoteague, in league with the unicorn. I fought back the urge to run up to one and slap its chocolately haunches.

Yet, for all of my wishes, when I finally got close enough to one to initiate said haunch-slapping, I realized something very important:

I am afraid of The Horse.

The Horse is no Misty of Chintoteague, The Horse is no unicorn; The Horse is an erratic 10-ton wildebeast, all flared nostrils and blistering muscle, waiting for the precise moment in which it might rear on its hind legs and proceed to throw its entire body weight upon me, crushing all of my very delicate vital organs in one giant thruuuump.

So, yes.

I am afraid of The Horses and I am afraid of The Heights.

But I would still do that trail again because it was amazing, and amazing trumps fear anytime.

(Unless "fear" trumps "amazing" by materializing in the form of an attacking Horse.)

Addendum - 1/5/10: Rebecca has informed me that I am not allowed to be The One Who Is Afraid Of Animals, as that position is already occupied on our team. Henceforth, I shall return to being simply The One Who Is Afraid Of Heights.

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would have a gentle, but firm conversation with The Horse, guiding it through the pros and cons of crushing all of my very delicate vital organs, after which Ed would mount The Horse and ride it North to the summit of Mt. Whitney, setting about twelve world records in the process.

2009 in Hikes aka "Holy Shit, I Did All That?"

Yesterday evening, on New Years' Eve-Eve, I joined an esteemed group under the well-heeled leadership of Captain Kirk (Kolby Kirk, that is) in summitting Echo Mountain, completing Kolby's mission of enjoying 100 hikes before the year's end.

It also marked my last hike of 2009, which gave cause for reflection as I submerged myself in a tub full of steaming hot mentholated eucalyptusized bathwater afterwards.

I've always been a little nutty for the outdoors, thanks to summers spent at gloriously pine-laden Camp Whitcomb/Mason, but it metastasized this year into a full-blown love affair. I bought actual hiking boots and a Camelbak. I carefully crafted weekend itineraries packed with trails and cloud-skimming elevations. I built up a small arsenal of SmartWool socks.

I mean, I own a headlamp now, for chrissakes.

These mountains have become my church, my sanctuary, my gymnasium, my backyard. I cried when they burned. I drive out-of-towners to see them up close. I trace familiar peaks from airplane windows.

I trudged up the ass-kicking Chumash Trail to the La Jolla Valley; got lost in the Verdugo Mountains; raced to the top of Mt. Hollywood; broke a sweat at Temescal Canyon; found a cave en route to the Santa Ynez Waterfall; wrecked my knees and discovered creepy concentric stone circles on the 14-mile Bulldog-Backbone Loop at Malibu Creek SP; took friends old and new for waterlogged adventures in Solstice Canyon; enjoyed boulder-fed confusion at The Grotto; barely mustered the strength on a blisteringly hot day to earn a stunning ocean view atop the Leo Carillo SP Ocean Vista; felt sweat turn to awe on the Serrano-Big Sycamore Loop at Pt. Mugu SP; dug deeper into Bear Canyon, past Switzer Falls; nearly burst a lung reaching the fly-swarmed San Gabriel Peak; delighted in the tree-filled high mountain topography of the Silver Moccasin Trail from Charleton Flats; spent several weekends becoming intimately acquainted with Icehouse Canyon and her never-ending switchbacks, eventually leading to summits of both Timber Mtn. and later, the queen ass-buster herself, Cucamonga Peak.

Oh, and there was that also that one time on the Tom Sloan Hell-Trail....

But perhaps most surprising - and most fulfilling to a girl who has a lifelong intimate acquaintance with vertigo - I climbed my very first peak, Sandstone (3111'), earned my first breathtaking panorama of the Yosemite Valley atop Yosemite Falls (6740'), and summitted the highest peak in Southern California on my first non-summer-camp-related backpacking trip (San Gorgonio, 11,500').

Didn't know I had it in me. Never would have dreamed.

So here's to you, o gorgeous chunks of canyon-gouged, summit-strewn earth. Thank you for opening my eyes, testing my thighs, and blistering my feet.

Can't wait to see what 2010 has in store.

What Would Ed Do?

Keep going, aim higher, keep dreaming.

And above all else, remember that getting to the top is only half the climb.

[Shawnté]

Yosemite Falls aka "Am I Having A Stroke?"

What follows is a mostly verbatim transcript of key moments in my very active inner monologue during our recent ascent of the Yosemite Falls Trail in, you guessed it, Yosemite National Park:

Drive along Merced River to park: Oh, the road is closed and we need to take a fake-looking bridge across the river. Oh, it's closed from a rockslide. Oh, it's a BIG rockslide. SuddenlyI'mhavingflashbackstoTomSloanHell-Trail. Must prevent self from hyperventilating before we even park the car. Does not bode well. Am doomed.

Exiting freshly parked car: Holy shit, it's cold. I wish I had more clothing on [despite fact that I am swaddled in SmartWool from head to toe].

5 minutes later, on first of 1,000 switchbacks : Holy shit, it's hot. I wish I had less clothing on [removing layers of SmartWool].

5 more minutes later, on fourth of 1,000 switchbacks: How many more switchbacks do we have? Who invented the switchback, anyways? That person is an asshole.

5 more minutes later, on eighth of 1,000 switchbacks: Why does it feel like I'm carrying a medium-sized orangutang on my back? I think it's all of the extra food I'm carrying. [Stop and remove carrots and celery; pack not any lighter.] Oh, nevermind. It's the twelve layers of SmartWool I insisted on slapping on.

About 500 vertical feet and about half a mile into our 3.5-mile, almost 3,000' elevation gain journey to the top: We have to be halfway, right? [Spotting something furry behind a bush in front of me] Huh, that looked like something furry. Nah.

5 minutes later, pausing to catch breath for eleventh time: Snarggllfllfllllugh. [Group of hikers approach, ask if we saw the bobcat just behind us drag a fresh kill up the mountainside] Oh. Something furry.

At Columbia Rock overlook: Why does the top of the waterfall still seem so far away? The view is quite nice from here. Let's call it a day and get a hot chocolate. Anybody? Bueller?

Looking at a switchbacking hillside made out of a steep, soft slash of sand: Bwaaaahahahahahahaha - you're so funny, Mother Nature!

Rounding corner, Upper Falls in sight!: NOW can we have the hot chocolate? Or can we parachute down to the parking lot? I can see it down there...

Moments later: Um...why aren't my hands working? WHY AREN'T MY HANDS WORKING????

One more moment later: NOW WHY AREN'T MY FOREARMS WORKING? AM I HAVING A STROKE????? [I tell Team YF that I must stay behind and nap on a sunny part of the slope; Team YF assesses the situation and commands that I sit down and eat something] I am a hiking failure. This is embarrassing.

After eating a delicious lemony Luna Bar, sensation returns: Maybe it was just anxiety. I should do something about that.

Begin ascending last million switchbacks: My mental math tells me that these are a) somewhat exposed and steep, b) mostly composed of granite, and that if I add a) + b), I get c), which entails falling to my death on the way back down the trail.

Reach the top of the damn switchbacks: Oh, glory be! I need to pee and lay down. In that order. [I pee; I lay down] Ahhhh....this is the life. I shall rest here until the rest of Team YF returns from their surely dangerous explorations of the Falls

Laura tells me that if a bear approaches, I should make a lot of noise and throw things at it: WHAT DO YOU MEAN "IF A BEAR APPROACHES"?!?!?!?! [Rebecca places a single, solitary chunk of granite next to me, apparently for throwing at bears] Ok, so this is it. I better enjoy the view before I'm mauled. Maybe I should give them my mother's phone number.

If I were to summarize what happened after this, it would basically entail a) not getting eaten by a bear, b) enjoying an epic view of the Yosemite Valley, and c) clenching every muscle in my body during the entire hike back down.

What Would Ed Do?

Ed's inner monologue would read: "Should I attempt this one barefoot or blindfolded? Oh! I know! With both arms tied behind my back. Cakewalk."

[Shawnté]

Rebecca’s Experience on San Gorgonio

Surrounded by a group of parents I loudly confessed to my hiking partners that sometimes I hate kids. I suppose that at that moment I should have realized that my trip would be doomed.

I was on my very first backpacking trip, accompanied by my hiking rock Shawnté, Kolby from 100 hikes, and the hiking king himself, Modern Hiker. Our destination was San Gorgonio Peak. Our plan was a 6 mile trek to camp and a summit attempt the following day. If achieved, this would mark my longest hike, greatest elevation gain, and highest ending altitude. I wanted to make sure the rest of the group knew what they were getting into if I tagged along, and sent out a very explicit email documenting my hiking successes to date, and how close they were to this trip. I also documented my back-up plan in the event that I couldn’t make it. I felt that I knew what I was getting into, they knew what they were getting into by including me, and hoped that the amount of thought put into my ability to tackle this trip would guarantee it’s success. Usually worst-case scenario planning has that effect.

But I ruined it all with that “kids” statement. We were hanging out by Jenks Lake, adjusting to the altitude. I wanted to make sure I hit the restroom before 2 days of no toilets. I waited, for what must have been 10 minutes outside the stall. And all I heard was a kid singing. And singing. And singing. Really, I hate kids sometimes.

There was another restroom closer to the trailhead, so fortunately the singing child didn’t actually prevent my pre-hiking bathroom needs. After that was done, and Kolby interrogated a ranger about the legitimacy of our parking situation, we headed up the trail. Within minutes we arrived at our lunch destination. Where I met a dog, a dad, and a kid. A really cute kid. On his first hike and SO excited about it! I made it a point to talk to this kid, unconsciously hoping to make amends for my earlier statement. And truth be told I really enjoyed talking to him. Really, kids are great. When they don’t interfere with my needs.

We put our packs back on and continued on the trail. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that hiking with 30 pounds on my back didn’t feel nearly as hard as I thought it would. I like to be prepared, and don’t like dealing with unpredictable situations when they can be predictable. Weeks before, I posted a question on Modern Hiker’s forum asking about how to prepare for backpacking. I bought the recommended book, spent hours in REI buying the perfect (ok, on sale) hiking boots. I’ve been hitting the treadmill at incline 15 for as long as I can stand it and have taken conditioning hikes up the Chumash Trail and others with gallons of water stuffed in my day pack. I was physically prepared. And that preparation paid off.

The hike itself was beautiful. Modern Hiker did a wonderful recap and managed to capture the surroundings as best one can over the interwebs. We hiked about 6 miles to our camp. Set up the tent. Found the teeny tiny baby spring we were reliant on for our water. Then we prepared dinner. I was against the idea of paying $5 for prepackaged camping food, so did some internet exploring to come up with alternatives. I made pasta with spinach drenched in olive oil and cheddar cheese that unfortunately got kinda squishy during the journey. Despite the questionable state of the cheese, the result was both a beautiful and wonderful tasting dish that earned the jealous stares of others. Over dinner Modern Hiker told us about these backpacking cooking competitions where chefs will backpack in all their ingredients and make these incredible meals. I looked at my meal and exclaimed that I would win. To my credit I followed the statement up with the observation that I was getting cocky. But that, combined with the statements about kids, was too much for this mountain to bear. It was time for me to pay.

I lay down to sleep and quite suddenly didn’t feel so well. I felt dehydrated and nauseous, and my previous experience with these combined symptoms made me realize that bad things were highly probable. I told Kolby of my symptoms. He got out his wilderness medical emergency book and started reading off all the symptoms of altitude sickness. Not reassuring. Particularly not reassuring for someone prone to bypass reality and head straight to worst-case scenario images. And I’m sure that the other campers in the vicinity were less than thrilled with having altitude sickness symptoms announced to them, accompanied by the frantic pacing and moaning sounds of a clearly sick human. As the list continued, and I asked Kolby if there were any camping options lower down the trail, I heard rustling. Then the sound of a tent zipper. And then Modern Hiker emerged from his tent, with a halo of glory over his head, and the most beautiful pink pill wrapped in sparking cellophane I have ever seen in my life. I listened to his sage words about how to take this magical pill, followed his instructions, and was lying in my bed with a calm stomach an hour later.

I woke up the next morning feeling pretty great. I reasoned it would be a really stupid idea to start up the trail to the summit just in case I wasn’t really healthy yet, or it was altitude sickness that I was experiencing, and decided to stay behind at camp. All I wanted was water, which had been used up during breakfast. The others headed to the teeny tiny baby spring to refill. After about an hour they hadn’t returned, and I started getting worried. Worst-case scenario: Kolby got really bad mountain sickness and he passed out and Shawnté and Modern Hiker were frantically trying to resuscitate him! They appeared not long after this ridiculous thought popped into my head, my water bladder filled half way, with the distressing news that the water filter stopped working. Worst-case scenario realized.

After Shawnté and Modern Hiker started up the summit, I forced my friendship upon some nearby campers, and they were kind enough to let me use their filter to get me some much needed water. I rehydrated. I stuck around camp. Felt iffy, and was really ready to go back down. Via another hiker headed up the summit, I sent a message to Kolby (who was behind Shawnté and Modern Hiker at this point) that I still wasn’t feeling well. He came back down. And fast forward a few hours and Kolby and I started the journey back down the mountain.

The trip down was pretty uneventful. I didn’t stop much- I had hit that “get me off this mountain” part of my hike and was dreaming of a nap. Unfortunately for me something changed in those last few miles. And as soon as I made to the bottom I became sick. Really sick.

A few hours later Shawnté and Modern Hiker came down the mountain, overjoyed to see us. I was in turn overjoyed to see them because it meant we could finally start the trip back home. Not 5 minutes into the car ride we had to pull over for me. And this continued all the way down the mountain. I was miserable, and I can only imagine that this must have been the worst car ride ever for the rest of the crew. A few hours later I was in the hospital. Officially diagnosed with mild dehydration and a stomach bug.

So, my very first backpacking adventure has been completed! And I ended up in the hospital! With a $500 medical bill because the hospital was out of network so my insurance won’t cover it! Joy! I learned that as much as you prepare, you can’t prepare for everything. Hiking and backpacking aren’t predictable. And mistakes are made. I will remember these mistakes: I will never backpack again without my very own water purifying device that I know how to use. I will make wiser food choices. I will always carry pepto bismol in my first aid kit. I will not insult the mountain by insulting her younger guests.

And I will always travel with people as great as this group. I really don’t like being the weakest link. I really don’t like feeling out of control. I was forced to surrender those wishes on this trip, and was fortunate enough to do it with a group of people who truly took care of me, and brought me to safety. So to Shawnté, Casey, and Kolby- Thank you.

And to those parents and kids at Jenks lake, I’m sorry.

So…

What Would Ed Do?
I think Ed would be proud of a lot of what I did. Ed would have prepared for the physical rigors of the trip, like I did. Ed would have stayed in communication with his team, like I did. I suppose Ed would have done a much better job of staying hydrated than I did. And Ed would never have insulted the mountain by criticizing children in front of their parents.

[Rebecca]