My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking Read Free Page A

ounces, and my ice ax, a gift from Rainmaker, another 18 ounces. The Photon light, a spring-loaded utility knife and cord were the last ounce. Total weight for all of this was 17 pounds, 10 ounces.
       I was very proud of this pack weight at the time. Everything listed seemed essential. I give Rainmaker much credit for allowing me to learn gently, without forcing any of his ways on me. He taught by example and never by sermons.
     

Sonora Pass to Sierra City/ Getting the Hang of It
     
       On July 6, 2000 Rainmaker and I began our drive to Sonora Pass, California. We drove 27 hours straight, taking turns at the wheel. Finally leaving Kansas, we stopped the following morning in Limon, Colorado. We looked forward to twenty-three hours of rest in a motel. There was no use wearing ourselves out on the road driving, when we had an 800-mile hike ahead of us.
       The beautiful panorama of Colorado was breathtaking. All across the western horizon, distant snowcapped mountains loomed. That fantastic scenery along the highway would soon be our daily bread. We spent Saturday night at a motel in Salina, Utah, and arrived at my sister’s house around 8 p.m. Sunday. We visited a couple days there, then along with her family, drove to Sonora Pass and camped Thursday night. After an extremely windy night, Rainmaker and I packed up, kissed my sister and nieces goodbye, shook hands with my dear brother-in-law and headed out at 7:00 a.m. It was scary. Did I have everything I would need for the next week? There were no towns to use as bail out points before we reached Echo Lake, seventy-six trail miles away. Did I know Rainmaker well enough to hike with him, alone, into the wilderness? This first morning he looked quite fearsome, with a quiet, determined demeanor. He reminded me of that man I saw hike down alone from the mountains in Idaho, so strong, so self-sufficient. He didn’t need me to survive, but I sure needed him.
       Sonora Pass northward in July is the most beautiful flower garden, with every color, size, and shape clustered in artistic arrangements. With a backdrop of 10,000 ft. mountains we crossed two snowy sections of trail. If necessary, we would use our ice axes. I had so much to look at, and think about, it was totally incredible. I felt like a country girl visiting New York City for the first time.
   There was abundant water, many runoffs from snowmelt, a couple rivers and a lake. In some places, the trail went straight up a snowfield or crossed a river. I finally concluded that it was not necessary to carry 2-3 quarts of water at all times. The scenery exceeded my greatest expectations. I was hooked. Words couldn’t describe the splendor, photography can’t capture it, and a video camera would fail miserably. I marveled at the extremes, a huge mountain, and yet a skinny narrow treadway winding up and over it. The incongruity of massive snowfields and acres of delicate flowers thriving nearby. The incredibly wild and unpredictable environment, yet the wonderful ambience of being home.
       Just before stopping one day, we worked our way down some treacherous trail. The PCT is nothing to play around with. A misstep could be fatal. I saw Rainmaker ahead of me, and thought, what a paradox. Here we were in a wild, unforgiving place, with wind, heat, snow, narrow loose trail, and enormous blowdowns. Then, here was a man, prepared to meet it all with just what’s on his back, and he’s comfortable with this. Astounding. That evening, David found a campsite nestled just above a wide stream, swollen with snowmelt. He taught me that in the evenings, when you cross water, you will generally find a camp site that has been used previously, if you look hard enough. Someone before us had this same need, and if we looked diligently, we might avail ourselves of their labor.
      We generally slept with our food in our tent, prepared to defend it, reasoning that the bears here were wild and unaccustomed to people. Hunting in