Death by Hiking

I never cease to be amazed by the beauty and proxmity of the Pacific Crest Trail - and how I seem to always be the only one on it.

I don't mean the WHOLE trail, of course, I refer to the section that is within a half hour driving distance of most denizens of the Antelope Valley. A half a million people - and very few of them hike along this outstanding and well-maintained trail.

Part of the problem is timing - I just don't happen to be on a particular section of the trail when other people happen to be on that same particular section of trail. I do see evidence of other hikers, like cars and footprints. But I rarely see hikers.

I have come to the conclusion, over the course of several years, that many people are afraid of hiking because they think they might die. I wish I had a buck for each time somebody at school made reference to my hiking obsession and then refer to death - their own. As in, "God, I would just DIE if I hiked that long," or "that far," or "that high," or just "in general."

I've brought a few people with me in years past - but most of them act like they are going to die. Like Becky, who hunched over with her head between her knees about a half hour in one afternoon and announced that she was, in fact, going to die. We turned around.

My Outlaw, Jim, uses a variation of that sentiment when I eMail him the highlights of a particularly good hike. "You'd have to carry me out on a stretcher," he responds. This from a guy who likes to walk and does so on a somewhat regular basis. I think that HE THINKS he is going to die. Which means he never offers to come hiking with me.

Then there is my cousin Terry. Terry is really more of an uncle to me, having grown up with my father with a "brotherly" relationship. But he is my second cousin, to be exact, and perpetually young and vigorous.

"How about making plans for a hike up the Angeles Crest?" I write, full of hope and optimism. He usually ignores these pleas but on occasion he will reply that such a hike is not conducive to the health of "old fat guys." I usually double-take at this point since, in my mind's time warp, Terry is just out of UCLA and in his early thirties. He was the first guy I EVER knew who sported a pony tail. He was so WAY beyond cool that mere words could never describe him. I told my closest friends that I sincerely LOVED him and wanted to marry him and that he actually looked like John Lennon. For real. Of course, I was fourteen and he was in his thirties. (Which I don't think he's seen since the Carter Administration.)

And now, my cousin Terry, who is married to the marvelous and sophisticatedly down-to-earth Sandy, tells me he is ready to retire soon and that hikes are out of the question, for now. He has to "get in shape" which is hard because, you know, he WORKS and does not have the time and energy and inclination. I think it is more of the latter, although he will probably tell me that his mind is willing but his flesh is weak. I am pretty sure that if I haul his John Lennon ass up Mt. Baden Powell, he will claim he is going to die. Then Sandy would be ticked off at me.

My sister Sue is an intrepid hiker and my best hiking companion. Her legs are longer which means she is always ahead of me and it doesn't matter how good of shape I am in, she will always mention something about my "breathing." I think this is a dig at my state of cardiovascular shape-ed-ness, which is just fine, really. But hers is always a tad better. When we do the really brutal "good GAWD I can't breathe" hikes, she is in the lower end of her cardio "range," while I am pushing the point of being almost damned uncomfortable.

In recent years, her fibromyalgia, bad shoulder, and sports-wracked knees have given her trouble, which means shorter hikes. But she never says she is going to die. She's said she needs a big bag of ice, or a jar of Advil, or a hot bath, but she never threatens death.

This is not to say that Sue and I haven't run across a few people over the years who appeared on the brink of death while hiking. These experiences always occur on a trail in the Sierra Nevada mountains. These are the trails way up high in elevation, full of breathtaking beauty, and sought after by dedicated hikers everywhere.

There was the Diabetes Family. We named them that because all four of them were either shooting insulin, on the verge of shooting insulin, or the recipient of a family doctor's "suggested diet." We came across them as we attempted the Fern Creek Trail. Now, the Fern Creek Trail is listed in the Eastern Sierra Hiking Guide as "difficult." If the hiking guide says it is difficult, then it is in a class with mountains like Everest and Whitney and Denali. This hiking guide calls trails we would rate "difficult" as "moderate." The author is obviously a smart-ass. But I digress.

So, Diabetes Family is on the way UP to where the Fern Creek trail forks away from the main trail. Sue and I were on our way down and were appalled to see two middle aged people, a man and a woman, with bright red faces, totally out of breath, leaning on walking sticks, trying to remain upright. They were both on the "hefty" side, to be kind, and looked like heart attacks ready to happen. They were accompanied by a boy and a girl who were collapsed on the side of the trail. They had NO WATER. They had NO IDEA WHAT THEY WERE DOING.

"This trail is difficult," Sue and I tell the Diabetes Family. "May we suggest a nice flat trail that runs behind Gull Lake?"

The family waved away our concern and Sue and I continued on our journey, certain they were all going to die.

Then there was Flip-flop Girl.

We pulled in to the Lundy Canyon Trailhead one nice summer day at the same time as the Flip-flop Girl's family. They were loud and argumentative, not dressed at all for a serious hike. Sue and I picked up our pace so we could sign the trail register before them and get a good head start. Nothing is worse than being stuck with people who resembled the family from "Roseanne."

This trail ascends steeply from 7,398 feet to just over 10,000 feet in about an hour and a half. This is not a beginner's trail. Yet, here was this family, with a surly teenaged boy wearing head phones and skater shoes and a little girl of nine or ten wearing.......FLIP FLOPS. Yes, flip flops. Mom was screeching, Dad was swearing, and Sue and I were certain that they must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

The family had no food except the bag of Skittles in the boy's pocket, which he refused to share with FF Girl. The family had NO WATER. Sue and I gave them a half hour, tops.

"They're gonna die," Sue said, as we hurriedly tried to put distance between ourselves and the bickering brother and sister.

Near Mammoth Lakes, we ran into a young couple who had not seen a gym or serious exercise in quite awhile - if ever. She was looking like she needed an I.V., while he was paused on the trail SMOKING A CIGARETTE. It gets worse - they had a toddler with them. They were obviously new parents who sincerely believed that if they coaxed and yelled enough, the child would happily toddle along in front of them. The "happily" part was missing. The child was in full-whine.

"One of you is going to have to carry him," Sue said, as we prepared to overtake them.

The mother looked disgusted and the father looked annoyed. "He's fine," snapped the annoyed one, struggling for breath.

"This is a long trail - we've only just begun," I offered. "Perhaps he can ride on your shoulders?" I asked. It was the mother in me - I just couldn't help it. "You'll burn extra calories..."

Suffice to say that we didn't see them a few hours later on our way back to the trailhead.

They either gave up - or died trying.