Stuart Ellis

APRIL 4, 2004

I was exhausted and felt like I had been wandering lost for hours. We were struggling up the gully of a ravine choked full of underbrush on a cold, black night with only the lights of our headlamps. The mountain rose up, steeper with every step, seemingly without end. I felt like I was reaching my limit.

I wanted to blame someone for this. I really did. Then Greg reminded me that the hike was originally my idea. Damnit.

—-

THE ORIGINS

Six months earlier, while pouring over topographical maps in the geologist cabin in Butte Valley on a pleasant October evening, I spotted what looked to be a promising trail. We had not had a proper through-hike for several years, so Dan had spread out some maps and the rest of us huddled around, each searching out our favorite areas. Dan waxed romantic on the Panamint Range, so naturally we looked for some canyon that we have not previously explored. Greg was interested in revisiting Panamint City again. A very good idea. Edric and I had not been there. But as a through hike, it had been done. We were looking for ways of linking it with some destination other than Johnson Canyon. I was really excited about where we were at presently, Butte Valley. I had not been here before and already I wanted to return to it. Then I saw what looked to be an old unpaved road leading up from Panamint Valley into something called South Park Canyon. Could we link it to Pamamnt City? Possibly, but that route looked longer than long with plenty of mountain summits and off trail bushwhacking.(1)* I would not want to try it in a single day. At the end of South Park Canyon the road plateaued up at an abandoned airstrip, or at least, that is what the topo map said. Was it still there? Was the road still there? It looked interesting enough to want to connect the dots. The end of the airstrip was ringed by high elevation mountain peaks that bordered Butte Valley. And there was a visible gap between two peaks that lead to a small ridgeline that would descend into Butte Valley, east of the magnificent Stripped Butte Rock. Dan kept checking the elevation lines and started grinning.

I proposed the idea. It would be long, but not quite as long as the Panamint City through hike had been. There was a trail of some sort, or at least, there had been. It gained a lot of elevation and hugged some pretty steep canyon walls. If it was washed out, it would get bad really quick. However, if it was clearly marked and too easy (always a factor you had to calculate in when dealing with Greg) then the off-trail decent down a steep mountain ridge would make up for it.

We batted around a few more ideas but I kept coming back to South Park. The factors were weighed: Did it look too easy? Too short? Was it awesome enough? Was there enough of a possibility that we could die?

We had more tequila shots and agreed that this would be our next targeted hike.

Then I looked at the map again and started to seriously wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew.

—-

“You hanging in there?” Cameron’s face loomed in front of my headlamp, framed by the darkness. He looked drawn with fatigue, but focused. I gave him a thumbs up.

“Do you need some goo?”

I nodded. He took his last small, gold foil package out and handed it too me. I tore it open and sucked the slime down. It would keep me going for a bit more. We resumed the climb upwards, keeping our eyes on the gap between the looming mountain peaks.

—-

THE CAMP

Despite the rain clouds and the occasional drenching, the trip down to Death Valley ran smoothly and confidence ran high. There was a feeling that we had done this trip enough times as a group that we had the details dialed in. This would be the first trip since 1995 that the four original members would all be together again. That felt good and right. We also had Mark Mooney returning, along with Blake and Bob Stowell. Cameron brought his dog, Joaquin. Dan brought Jack.

We made good time down to Ballerat, had our beers, and found a flat space to set up camp at the base of the four-wheel drive road that ascended the barren Panamnt Range. I kept looking up at that road and thinking that, damn, it was steep. Greg told me not to worry about it. We had all day tomorrow for that.

There was good camaraderie and Dan conceded that it was, indeed, a good idea that Bob brought a table with him to cook on. Bob, a veteran fisherman, just shook his head quietly with seeming disbelief that Dan should have ever doubted him in the first place. A cold wind picked up that night as Greg regaled us with stories of the Ballarat Bandit (2)*, which we thought was untrue. He assured us that it was all fact, and that there were warnings all over the internet about this man. This made us feel felt very vulnerable, and we all quieted down as the hard desert wind blew through our camp out there in the middle of nowhere.

—-

I stood stock still as a violent shudder coursed through me. I crossed my arms over my chest and hunched over trying to generate warmth. My sweat-soaked t-shirt was catching the breeze and it felt like it was turning my core to ice. All I wanted to do was lie down. All around me was nothing but bushes and rocks and darkness. Even my tiny Petzel headlamp seemed to be losing power.

“Don’t stand still. Keep moving,” I heard Dan’s voice behind me.

I nodded my head. Rubbing my chest I managed to get my feet to start shuffling upwards again.

—-

MORNING

“I’M SAAAIIILLLING AAAAAWAAAAAAY! SET AN OPEN COURSE FOR THE VIRRRGIN SEA!

The recorded sounds of Eric Cartman from South Park shattered the still tranquility of the early morning. Dan was blasting his truck’s stereo.

‘CAUSE IIIIII’VE GOT TOOO BE FREEEEEEE! FREE TO FACE THE LIFE THAT’S AHEAD OF ME …!”

It was going to be a long day.

We were cleaning up our breakfast of blueberry pancakes that Bob had made and were preparing ourselves for the hike when Blake wandered off to relieve himself. He came back to the trucks and said that he found an abandoned motorbike. We all trundled off after him and sure enough, pushed off of the embankment we were camped on, was an old off-road bike. Blake wanted to keep it. Dan wanted to report it. I was concerned about time. Greg suggested that it was the Ballarat Bandit’s. Mark suggested that they would return it to Ridgecrest’s sheriff’s office. Mark won the day, and the beat up bike was roped down onto Bob’s truck. (3)*

The hikers were to be Dan, Cameron, Greg, and myself. Jack-Dog and Joaquin would join us. Mark, Bob, and Blake would transport the bike to Ridgecrest, the head back down Panamint Valley to Goler Wash, drive up that road, over Mengel Pass, and then find somewhere to set up camp down in Butte Valley. The prime location would be at the Geologist cabin. If that was taken, then we would rely on them to find an appropriate place. Mark would have the beers cold and the steaks marinating for us.

The dogs were fed, our packs were rechecked, water bottles were filled, feet were taped up, radio frequencies were coordinated, and finally keys were exchanged. Both Bob and Blake looked up at the road we were to hike up and told us that we were crazy. Mark just told us that he would see us on the other side.

The truth was, as bad and as steep and as barren as our path looked, it was a road. A serviceable road. That might have disappointed us. I think we had romantic visions of blazing a trail across the mountains. Yet at the same time, Dan and Greg and Cameron remembered all too vividly the sheer exhaustion of doing just that through Johnson Canyon. So with all that in mind, we toasted with tequila, said our farewells, turned our backs to Panamint Valley, and started our long trudge up the winding road that eventually lead into South Park Canyon. As we gained elevation, the road switching back and forth against the mountainside, we watched the jeep and the two trucks leave our campsite and disappear in a trail of dust for Ridgecrest. Soon all that was left was the wind buffeting against our ears. There was no going back now.

—-

Everything was losing focus. My view of the world was a dark tunnel lit by a dim grey light where fuzzy shapes impeded my path. I could hear the dogs. I could hear Cameron ahead of me. I could hear Dan behind me. Greg was so far ahead that I had lost all sense of him. He had hit the wall hard just ten or twenty long, long minutes before. He too went into a shivering fit. Now he dropped all pretenses of safety and blasted as fast and as far as he could in a last ditch effort to find the summit. I could only hope that he would find it.

—-

THE CLIMB

I pushed aside any mental picture I stored of the trails complete topography and concentrated on leisurely climbing the dry, empty road upward. I pretended that this would be the hardest part, and that if I could get up this I would be rewarded by a stretch of flatness. And perhaps the road was not as steep as it felt. It was still morning, it was the very first part of the hike, my legs were not stretched out and warmed up yet (oh, but they were getting that way awfully fast) and I had just eaten. Dan and Cameron were setting a good pace and surprisingly it was Greg that hung back with me. I was determined not to just power through the trip, I wanted to enjoy it as much as possible. I would let myself rest a moment at a turn in the road and just feel the breeze, or marvel at the blueness of the sky; on how parched and white the landscape looked in contrast. When you concentrated on it, other colors would magically appear: yellows, browns, purples, even shades of green. There was a small mire of water on the valley floor (that I learned afterwards is Panamint Lake) that was clear and still, and it reflected the sky and the clouds. It looked like a window into something cool and refreshing on the arid valley. I made sure I enjoyed all of this, but remembered that there were still miles to go and other sights to be seen.

Greg started to wake up and picked up his pace to catch up with Cameron, and it was Dan’s turn to play caboose with me. He admitted that his knees were hurting, and that he was pissed because he did not feel the same after his epic bout with Lymes Disease. He hoped that it would not be a permanent condition. Also, Jack-Dog was slowing down. He had a doggy pack that carried water, and he was not feeling frisky about it. Dan was saddened by his slow pace, and removed the pack and carried it himself. He admitted softly that this might indeed be Jack’s last hike with us.

Towards the crest of the climb there was an insanely steep trail that went straight up, cutting across the remaining switchbacks. And when I say trail, I mean a four-wheel drive track. It was not just insane, it was stupid. How, or even why, someone did that I could not fathom. At the very top there was a rise that made the track appear almost perfectly vertical. Cameron, eyes all bright with a challenge, smiled and said that he would beat Greg to the top and took off for it at a run. Greg took up the challenge, and the race was on. If I said that they ran up an eighty-degree incline it would probably be an exaggeration, but at the angle that we were at, that was exactly what it looked like. It was exhausting just watching. I have to hand it to them both; it took a lot of strength to make it up to the top. The last few yards climbing the rise took its toll on them as we could see on their faces. But they both made it with a mixture of self-congratulations, pain, and fatigue. They rested there, legs trembling, gulping in water and air and the vista that we were about to turn away from as Dan and I caught up.

The landscape changed dramatically when we were at the base of the canyon. The vast bright, glaring … sameness … was now gone. The mountain was darker with rich veins of contrasting rock stratus that wove and bent and curled. Steep cliffs broke off with succulents clinging at every niche in extreme angles. Rich shadows streaked across the mountain. Jack and Joaquin found shade and plopped right down with their tongues lolling out to the ground. We stopped for a water break while Cameron broke out his secret weapon.

The goo.

Officially, the goo is called PowerBar Energy Gel. And it would save our lives.

According to the Powerbar website: “PowerBar Energy Gel is the first gel to provide the carbs and electrolytes of a high end sports drink, and contain 4 times the sodium of leading competitors. Sodium is the key electrolyte lost in sweat and is the only electrolyte recommended to be replaced during endurance exercise.”*(4)

Cameron was gracious enough to share, and after some gentle ribbing, we all concluded that we needed to bring some for ourselves on the next trip.

—-

The stars were intensely bright in the pitch sky. Only they differentiated the blackness of the sky from the blackness of the mountains. We were all scrambling as quick as we could now. We knew the saddle had to be there.

—-

THE CANYON

The hike into the canyon was simple, relaxing fun. We were following a road, so there was not any scrambling over deadfall or boulders. There was some shade, always shifting from one side of the high walls to the other, depending upon which way our path snaked. It was uphill, and we kept commenting how it would not be noticeable if it had not been for the climb up to the canyon. My legs kept twitching and jerking with fatigue. Greg even said that he just needed a few yards of flatness for relief. We walked backwards and sometimes rested, but the constant incline wore us out.

While the canyon was beautiful, I remember it being mostly pleasant. The weather was pleasant. The company was pleasant. Everything was just working on all cylinders. The changes that had all happened to us in the last few years were noticeable. My friends were becoming the people that they always wanted to be, and it showed. Dan was coming out of a personal and physical hell and was now officially in the fire department. He was itching for stability, and maybe even a new place to live. He had that look like he wanted a project and something to build. Greg was coming out of a downward spiral that had lasted several years and now seemed on an even keel and appeared as if he did not want to waste any more of his life away. He wanted to seriously do something about it. He even had (gasp!) a career ahead of him. And Cameron was adjusting his life to embrace more experiences without being socially self-conscious. After Mark Bingham’s death on 9/11, he embraced how life was short and how it was best not to take himself too seriously. He was training for a marathon even. A marathon! He was becoming more interested in being an active participant as opposed to just following someone else’s lead. As for myself, I now had a child. It was hard to be away from him, but Dan kept reminding me how much better of a father I would be if I sought out my own experiences.

We were all tired, but our attitudes kept us buoyant. That was the one thread that linked the whole trip together. The attitude was terrific.

—-

I looked up and noticed that the night’s sky had somehow changed. We now could see the outline of the twin peaks we were headed up between. The light was changing. Somewhere, far beyond us, the moon was rising. This gave me great hope and a new surge of enthusiasm overcame me.

—-

THE CABINS

The morning slipped into the afternoon, the sun got hotter, the shadows retreated, and still we climbed. There was some discussion as to whether we should have driven, except that our trail would eventually diverge from the road and lead us off of a mountainside. But there were tire marks in the road, so we assumed it was passable until then.

The topo maps indicated that there were a couple of buildings nearby, and sure enough we found them. There was a spring with a water tank and two cabins. But these cabins were not a hundred year old relics. These were cared for, added on to, mended, and added on to again. Obvious care had gone into them. Cabin Number One, as we called it, was built up on a rock against the north side of the cliff wall. Cabin Two was just a little farther up the canyon floor and surrounded by shade trees. (5)*

So this was where the tire marks had led.

It was the natural place to stop for lunch.

Cabin One had multiple rooms and furnishing and a wood burning stove. It had a refrigerator and a skylight and bunk beds and a deck. It was surreal. It was quickly decided that Mark, Blake and Bob had to see the place. The road up to it was clear, so plans were made that the following day we would drive up and spend the night here.

Cabin Two was occupied, but we asked the woman there if we could check it out anyway. She was very nervous about having these strange dirty men invade her place while her boyfriend was away, so I opted to stay outside. Behind the cabin someone had built an arbor and a garden. It was kind of amazing how these buildings were kept furnished and not vandalized. It gave you hope in people.

We had lunch in the shade by the spring at the foot of Cabin One. It was here that Greg was telling Dan that he should come to Burning Man that coming August, but Dan was skeptical of the people. Greg was trying to convince him that they had a really cool set up and that he wanted to build a bar; you know, something simple. Like a lemonade stand. But it had to withstand the wind. Dan said that he would go if he could build it. “Tell me what you want and I’ll build it for you. I don’t care what it is; just tell me and I’ll do it.” Greg was hemming and hawing that a dome is the best construction against the harsh elements but time … material … coordination … transportation …and Dan virtually exploded with “That’s easy! Dude, We could probably build it behind the firehouse. Easy. That’s easy. It’s the simplest design. So what; we rent a truck. Dude, we can do this.”

Greg went on talking about how cool it could be and that we should all come. He had an idea for a theme for the bar. Since a large group of his friends were really big fans of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it could be a vampire bar. He and Matt had been experimenting with higher end makeup and latex prosthetics, and everyone could dress up …He started to look embarrassed. He said that he bore a resemblance to the character Spike, and that it could be called Spike’s Vampire Bar. The three of us kind of rolled our eyes, but had to admit that the vampire theme was really in vogue, and it could draw a crowd. Greg said he didn’t care about that. It was just an excuse to hang out with his friends and that we should come. Besides, he didn’t want to have to work too hard at it. Dan said that Greg wouldn’t have to work, that he would do it himself. Cam said that he was in if he could swing things. But he might be going on a trip at that time. And I said that I probably could not go because of Griffin. But we both said that we would love to help out. Then Dan said that it would be built, and it would be the greatest thing out in the desert and Greg started to look scared. But he was happy that Dan was coming out of his funk.

Then I started getting fidgety because we were relaxing way too much, and we still had a long hike ahead of us.

—-

“Just keep moving. It can’t be far now.” Dan had stopped to check on me. I was lagging far behind now.

I nodded as a reply. It took too much to answer.

Dan looked worried. It was clear he had hit the wall as well.

“Go on,” I wheezed. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

I nodded again. I wasn’t going to sleep here tonight. We were going to make it out of here.

—-

THE BRIDGE

While the other three were regrouping I struck out on my own. I was going slower than the rest, so I figured if I got a head start I would not hold them back too much.

The valley appeared to stop here, and for us to continue onwards we had to follow the road which immediately veered to the south side of the canyon and zigzagged up the steep side and hugged the cliff face. There at the top the road had washed out. However, someone had built and industrious log bridge to span the gap. It was only approximately ten yards long but it worked. Someone went through a lot of time and effort to repair this, and we felt that there was a larger story going and that we would like to know more about it.(6)* All I knew is that I wouldn’t want to attempt crossing it by jeep. Immediately beyond there was a very sharp, very rocky corner (7)* with a bone crushing drop off. It looked very nasty to navigate, but I assume it has been done.

I used the excuse of waiting for the others while I tried to catch my breath. My allergies were beginning to get to me, and breathing was a labor.

The road breached the blocked end of the canyon and continued to climb into another higher section of the canyon. The walls became rockier and narrower and the road’s incline increased. It was starting to get painful, but we trudged onwards to our next destination, which was Coulter Spring halfway between the bridge and the airstrip. If our luck held out, it would not overrun the road with impassable shrubs.

Lady luck was still with us and although it got steeper still, the road was clear. Behind us the canyon walls formed a darkened ‘V’ with the bright sky as a backdrop. Clouds were moving in from the west blocking some of the sun which was moving ominously lower towards our backs into the dip if the canyon. We knew that we had to quicken our pace, but we were moving just as fast as we could.

—-

The tiniest, thinnest strip of white light appeared low on the horizon in front of us. It took me a moment to understand what it was. Then I heard Dan whoop from in front of me.

It was the moon.

A full moon.

And it was rising directly over the saddle of the mountain pass we were looking for.

—-

THE AIRSTRIP

The sky overhead was still blue, but the clouds behind us were darkening. The road was leveling. The mountain peaks were widening out before us. The sun was lower at our backs. Our shadows began to stretch and lengthen in front of us. And then we crested the gentle curving summit of the canyon onto a high elevation, open plain of scrub grass. We had made it. A fine cool breeze and a vast open sky met us. Cloud shadows sped across the vast expanse of the field. Directly in our front horizon was the small dip that I thought we would use as our exit off of the mountain. The scene looked more like something that I envisioned as Africa, not Death Valley. Something from King Solomon’s Mines, perhaps. That is what always impresses me about Death Valley National Park. Every time I turn around, there is something different. Something wonderful. Maybe it was just because it was flat, but I loved the airstrip. I felt giddy. Or maybe it was just the altitude. Or maybe it was the fact that my allergies had swollen my bronchial tubes practically shut.

There was not anything left that could denote the plateau as an airstrip. There were a few old dirt roads that cris-crossed each other, but that was about it. Greg was a little disappointed. I was a little worried that a flat terrain would result in mud. (It had, after all rained the day before) But before we plotted our next move, Greg was on the radio trying to contact Mark who was hopefully below us somewhere in Butte Valley. We had assumed he made it, but in those first few moments of radio attempts and failures, one starts to wonder. Then worry. But we refused to let ourselves become discouraged. Attitude is everything. And once again, we let out a holler of joy when we heard Mark’s voice come through over the speaker. He had made it. Camp was set up and waiting for us. They were not able to procure the Geologist cabin, but found instead an isolated spot for them to spread out in and have some protection from the winds.

Camp was there; al we had to do was go down to it.

—

That full moon, outrageously bright, was ever slowly peaking right over the brim of the very saddle we were hiking up to. Luna was calling out for us. I gave out a shout of thanks. The way was lit for us now, like a gift from above.

—

THE RIGHT TURN

Dan and Greg read and reread the topo maps again. After some time they made an executive decision and changed our course. Instead of heading straight across the airstrip and down the pass in front of us, we were to turn right and head south. From there we would pick up an old road that would take us close to a pass between two steep peaks. From there a finger of a mountain ridge would take us down into Butte Valley closer to Mark’s camp, west of Stripped Butte Rock.

I remember Cameron being so excited that he raced ahead, and then became almost distracted with the way the small pebbles on the ground looked as they sat in the shallow water the seemed to surround us. The way the light of the sky reflected off of the water. The shadows the pebbles cast. It was hypnotic.

We made for the south side of the valley with speed. Already the wind was getting cooler and our shadows much too long. We reached the hillside and began searching through the dense brush and trees for the elusive road. As we found it, I remember being a little dismayed that it traveled westward, back in the direction we had originally came up from South Park Canyon. Backwards? Really?

I took a picture of Cameron, smiling at the prospect that we were on the last leg of this long journey. We regrouped and head back down the road.

—-

A narrow band of silver light was cast from between the peaks, straight down the gully to us. And above, the moon, full and pregnant with light and energy shone out like a spotlight. Here was the way. Almost there now.

—-

THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

The road, which had not been used in a dog’s age and was little more than a trail, slowly edged up the hillside and then plunged downward into a neighboring valley. A valley? I had thought that it would take us up to the plateau’s outer rim so we could exit down and out. But no, this was not the case. We went down instead, and the trail began to wander here and there without any intent on going anywhere. Down in the trees with hills on either side of us, it began to get dark. The winds of evening picked up and the air began to get cold. All four of us were at the ends of our comfort level, and we were packed for light travel. Sleeves were rolled down. Gloves, if any, came on. And still we wandered aimlessly. Cameron shared more of his PowerBar goo. We came to a clearing as the trail made a sharp bend and turned southward. Finally southward. From here we were out of the trees and I could see the sun setting behind the rim of the peaks. I took a second picture of Cameron, this time with a worried expression on his face. The change in the last twenty minutes was troubling. And in the next twenty minutes?

The trail began to look like a road again and slowly made its way up the hillsides once more. As we rose, we became colder. Already at the end of our endurance, we began fighting for warmth. Not a good sign. But we kept up the encouragements and the momentum. We had to be close now, didn’t we?

Dan had his headlamp out now as he kept rechecking the maps. Greg was scouting way ahead. I was on reserve energy now. I kept plodding along, but my pace was slow. We continued climbing up. What little I had left was quickly being used up.

—-

I heard Greg holler. He had made the crest of the saddle. That spurred us on even faster. My weary feet were unable to steer myself straight, but I didn’t mind. All I had to do was follow the light. Then I heard Cameron’s yell of triumph. He has made it too.

—-

THE TWIN PEAKS

Greg shouted that he thought he found the gully that would take us to the correct saddle between the two intended peaks. The problem was, it was officially getting dark now. I could not see Greg at all. And all of the peaks began to look the same as they started disappearing into the gloom of the evening.

I had caught up with the rest of the group as they were all huddled over the topo map, slapping their arms and trying to stay warm. Earlier there was some confusion as to where the road went, and to where we were to diverge from it, but after a meeting of the minds we concluded that Greg was correct.

It was obvious that we were reaching our limit. We tried to joke about the possibility of sleeping for a few hours, masking the fact that we were truly considering it. But we were so close; we could not stop. Each of us had to reach down deep inside of ourselves to find the extra energy to make it up this one last pass. I kept thinking of an airplane that had run out of fuel. I had to switch to my reserve tanks. But by then they were almost depleted as well.

Above us, the twin peaks were no more than two black triangles against a darkening sky. The lowest point between them was our destination. All we had to do was make it up there. Cameron handed out his PowerBar Gel to us. We shared the last of our water. Then we began to stumble up the shallow ravine.

THE SADDLE

I was so weary when I crested the summit. The clear starry night seemed to suck the last remnants of warmth from me. But as soon as I reached the lip of the ridge I was buffeted by warm breezes coming up from Butte Valley. We congratulated ourselves and gave ourselves a moment of much needed rest. Dan made contact with Mark who got in Dan’s truck and drove out to the designated pickup spot. He would keep his headlights on as a guild to us. I have to say, that felt really, really great to hear. We made sure that each of us understood the route that we were supposed to take getting down. With no kidding aside, a false step could end in death. The drop offs on this side of the mountain rim was precarious and lethal. We checked and rechecked the topo map against the GPS units. We stuck together close, within arms reach of each other in case someone took a fall. We had come too far to make a mistake now. It would be so easy to overestimate our momentum and cause an accident. So many times before this is where the mistakes were made, the last leg of the journey. We joked about Greg twisting his ankle on the last twenty yards of the Panamint through-hike. We would make sure something like that would not happen now.

Dan calculated that we were a little east of the finger ridge that we were to descend. He took Jack-Dog with him to carefully find the way down. We were close on his heels.

THE DESCENT

The moonlight shone silver and gray across the shadow striped ridges of the eight hundred foot drop. We oh-so-carefully skirted the rim of the range along the backside of the western peak until we came across our ledge. Damn. It was small. Tiny. Steep. We nervously laughed. I clearly remembered pointing and asking, “You want us to go down that?” It looked like a diving board that sloped out some ten feet then plunged into darkness. GPS units were rechecked. Topo maps were referenced. Yup, this was our route.

Dan and Jack started down. He would prod the ground with a foot to check the steepness before making a step. The knife-like ridge was not straight and had many branches that led to drops. There was no hurrying. We linked arms when necessary. After a bit the ridge leveled. We had to slowly inspect the crest to see which way led down. I miscalculated directions and went left when I should have gone right. It looked as if it was the way down. Oh, it went down all right. Straight down. The lip I stepped on petered out and dropped into nothing. I stopped too abruptly and slid in the loose rock. Not much, but just enough to have my heart leap into my throat. It was all too easy to make a mistake here. I inched my way back up.

Jack-Dog found the way. Joaquin was right behind. They both wanted off the mountain.

With each drop our mood lightened. We were still careful, but we became more and more relaxed. Toward the bottom we came across what appeared to be the end of the ridge that ended in a cliff. We had to backtrack and slid down some shale to a lower level. From there we could see the valley floor. The moonlight was making the scrub grass appear gray which unfortunately made the ridge appear darker. Footing was less sure, but the angle of descent was leveling out. We scampered down the remaining drop and laughed uncontrollably as our feet found level ground. We landed right on target. Mark was mere minutes away parked on a dirt road, the trucks headlights like a beacon bringing us home.

THE BEERS

We were all smiles as we walked proudly to the truck and saw Mark silhouetted against the light. I remember him greeting each of us in turn as we stepped up to the lip of the road. He took our hand, gave us a hug, and put a cold bottle of beer with lime into our hands, one by one. We leaned against the sideboard and drank deeply, laughing and saying things like “epic” and “unbelievable” and “glorious”. We were a sight to see, covered in dust and grime and grinning from ear to ear. Then Mark asked us the question that I was burning to hear,

“How do you want your steaks cooked?”

We piled into the truck as he radioed in our orders. There he and Bob and Blake had already set up our tents. The fire was burning and the meat was on the grill. All we had to do was relax and enjoy.

—-

THE EPILOGUE

Dan saved getting injured until the next morning. While explaining parts of the hike to the others over coffee, Dan stepped backwards and fell over a thorny bush that boarded our camp. He skewered his toe pretty good. Greg was happy to use his medical kit to clean and dress the wound. Go figure.

We did take the others to the Briggs Cabin the next day and spent the night there. I highly recommend it.

Some dude with a flashing yellow light on his car seems to patrol South Park Canyon Road. He seems to rip down the road at dusk with his light flashing. I do not know anything about him except we thought he was annoying.

If there is one aspect of the hike that I remember most it was the attitude. It was the binding force that connected us. It could have been a miserable experience, but the buoyancy of the positive emotions and mutual respect and encouragement made this one of the best trips ever. I thank each and every one of you for that experience..

—-

(1)* I have since found out that the road does connect South Park Canyon with Surprise Canyon:

http://www.trails.com/topomap.aspx?trailid=XFT001-006

(2) * The Ballarat Bandit information:

http://www.reviewjournal.com/lvrj_home/2004/Aug-29-Sun-2004/news/24590711.html

http://www.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=12976

Everyone has a different opinion on him.

(3)* The Ridgecrest Sheriff’s Department confirmed that the motorbike was stolen by the Ballarat Bandit and was used by him to make his way around the Death Valley area.

(4)* http://www.powerbar.com/products/36/powerbar-energy-gel.aspx

(5)* Adopt-a-cabin program (from a website)

Briggs Cabin is, by far, the most elaborate and best stocked of all the Adopt-a-Cabins. Briggs and Stone cabin are maintained by volunteers (Friends of Briggs). The cabins are on private land owned by C.R. Briggs Corporation which graciously allows you to use the cabins for free.

(6)* (from a website) The bridge was built by the “Friends of Briggs Cabin,” part of the Bureau of Land Management’s Adopt-a-Cabin program, and has a weight limit of 6,000 pounds! The cabin lies below the bridge and awaits you once you descend and start breathing again.

This old road has a lot of history to it. Built by the folks who started the Thorndike Mine (located above the bridge), it was the route the mules used to haul ore down the mountain into Panamint Valley.

– Later we heard a story that Park Service was at odds with the owners of the Thorndike Mine. I don’t remember the whole story, but I remember being told that it was Park Service that actually blew the road to prevent operations of the mine. A strange convoluted story that I am sure has many sides to it. Interesting, never the less.

(7)* Known as the Chicken Rock