If you’ve been reading this column weekly for 32 years, wow, and you know that I was once a backpacking mountain man. For 15 years I hiked teenagers over 100s of miles of California wilderness up to 10,000 feet and as low as 140 feet underground in caves. I’ve been to the top of Half Dome, Clouds Rest, El Capitan.
Then I threw my back out while carrying a table through a doorway on the BHS campus in 2000. It was an extremely significant injury. My leg went numb. Pain was excruciating. Endured an array of shots, physical therapy, and chiropractic visits. Couldn’t sit down for five years without crying.
All wilderness adventures stopped. No more backpacking. No more whitewater river rafting. No more rock climbing or cave spelunking. I became a permanent city dweller. Got completely out of the habit of rugged outdoor living. I got fat and soft. My equipment aged and became outdated. I gave much of it away.
Then three years ago, 12 years after the injury, after four days of chiropractic visits for a bad pain episode, I was lying on my back on my hardwood living room floor watching television and rolling back and forth on the eternally knotted muscle cords connecting my butt to my hip. The pressure felt good.
All of a sudden, there was a pop. Ice water rushed down my legs. Oh, boy, I thought. That was either something good or something very, very bad. Apprehensive, I tried to stand up. And I did. And my posture had changed. I was taller and straighter. My back pain was gone. I walked a few steps. My foot was no longer numb. My back pain never returned. Hot damn.
I remained caution for two years after that. No amount of one-day fun could justify returning to that broken state. I became much more physical, but I stayed out of the woods except for fishing.
Now, it’s year three. I’m retired. My friends are retired. My friends want to go backpacking in Yosemite. Then want to hike up 9,700 feet to Ten Lakes, a location I have hiked to eight times. The last time was with Gino 17 years ago. They wanted me to go. I agreed.
That is where I am now, contemplating this August hike, eager yet concerned. I don’t want to hurt myself.
I hauled out all my hiking gear from under the house. I spread it across the garage floor for inspection. As I looked over my equipment, lifting each item, turning it over, checking for damage, I realized, my God, when I was young I had absolutely no regard for weight.
Because I alone was responsible for the safety and comfort of 15 kids, I always carried extra essentials, extra food, extra gas, extra first aid. My aluminum pan-in-pan set weighed two pounds. My canteen was metal. I carried a Coleman lantern. I carried one of those IHOP copper-covered insulated coffee pots. My Hollofil sleeping bag was as big as a farm dog. My empty frame pack lifted like a half bag of potting soil. I’m gonna die. Everything must go.
I would need all new equipment. My commitment to this hike just got real. Carl and Deb Kittrell, our hiking companions, showed me their equipment – weightless water bladder, light-as-air pack, two-pound down bags, an ultra-light tent. Carl was using a mail scale and counting every ounce. Dang.
Just returned from REI. I dropped $500. Got a new bag, stove, water bladder, cookware, Jungle Juice. Chad loaned me his light pack. So far my determined load is half what it used to be. My old pack was so heavy that I could only wear it by first sitting on the ground. This ultra-light gear is going to add a new dimension to my hiking experience. I’m less portentous, more auspicious.
In the past I sometimes hiked with Sue and my son Adam instead of 15 backpackers. Still, I always carried the lion’s share. The last time Adam, Sue, and I hiked to Ten Lakes, their packs were empty except for their clothes and sleeping bags. Now it’s just me.
All I need to do is get off my fat butt and get in shape. We’re going to take some practice hikes. I plan to fill my pack to the top with heavy jugs of water and hike uphill somewhere. When weight becomes too much, I’ll pour out some water, and so on.
We are driving to Yosemite this week to check out the snow conditions, stroll a few miles up the trail. Sue is still on the fence about going. She’s got a numb foot and sciatica. I have empathy. She will face the switchback beast this weekend and decide. I told her I’d gladly carry her stuff.
One area where I can travel light is in the food department. These lakes are bursting with trout. I can safely say one could hike in for several days carrying nothing but trout fixins. I’m taking some rice, noodles, spices, oil, foil, and my new pole. Carl is packing freeze-dried meals that can be augmented with trout. My whole focus on this trip will be to hike light. I’ve never done that before.

Steve Gibbs is a retired Benicia High School teacher who has written a column for The Herald since 1985.

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