A Beautiful Disaster

Jared and I had our first backpacking adventure together over this past weekend. And let me tell you, it was quite the adventure. We learned a couple lessons and a lot about each other, too. I learned just how patient Jared could be with his struggling, winded wife. And Jared learned just how charming I can be hiking uphill with a 40 pound bag on my back.

All in all, the trip was a bit of a disaster. Our first clue should have been the weather report. It was supposed to be a beautiful Saturday, but Sunday boasted 100% chance of rain. And in that little box indicating what the overnight would be, I'm pretty sure I caught a glimpse of something that resembled T-storms...but I tried not to think about it. Our second clue should have been the hour long border wait at the one border crossing that's practically guaranteed no wait at all.

As we drove through the mountains on our way to the trailhead though, all my apprehensions from those first two ill omens were whisked away. Because it's true what people have been assuring me. We do get a fall season out here. Maybe not right along the coast where we live and work (where evergreens and moss trump any other kind of tree), but in the mountains we saw glimpses of yellows and what will soon be reds and golds, and smelled that crisp, fresh fall air I've been craving. It's getting beautiful.

We decided to try a trail called Yellow Aster Butte. It's supposed to be spectacular in the fall season, when some of the plants turn reddish and yellow.

The trail is around 7.5 miles round trip, which means just 3.75 till our camping spot at the top. Just driving up to the trailhead we knew it'd be a beautiful view the whole way--and it was absolutely spectacular. The trail was a bit further into the mountains than the ones we'd been on so far, so we saw different views of different peaks, and a new side to some of our familiar ones too.

With packs on our backs, we started up the trail. And that's when we discovered one additional little hiccough: flies. Everywhere. They swarmed us like a plague, clinging to any bit of us and nibbling when they had the chance. It was the type of nuisance that forbade us from taking any extra breather stops, and unfortunately, I quite needed those breather stops. Did you know it's a bit more difficult to hike up hill when you've put on the extra weight of a pack? Apparently it takes more than just determination and a good attitude to get your backpack on, it takes some strength too.

But I made it. And we borrowed the idea of some other hikers we passed, using tree branches as fly swatters the first hour. It got us some funny looks from other hikers, plus some compliments on our ingenuity and, fortuntately, some reassurances that we'd reach a fly-free zone at the top. And we did. Right as the trail started opening up to spectacular vistas, flower sprinkled meadows and rocky outcrops, the breeze picked up and blew the wretched creatures away.

And--my favorite part--the trail flattened out too. Our major elevation gain was over, so I could actually look around and enjoy the hike. And I discovered just how amazing a snack of dried fruit and trail mix can be. Delicious!

As we hiked along the ridge, the blue skies we'd been enjoying were slowly growing a bit more dreary.
Eventually, they disappeared altogether, leaving us with a blanket of gray dotted here and there with more ominous shades. Now and then, we felt a couple rain drops--just enough to put a spring to our step and get us in high gear. At least, that's what it felt like to me. Jared thought otherwise, as I distinctly remember him saying, "Lift up your feet girl!" The trail continued to climb and zig-zag through alpine meadows, over a couple brief snowfields, and some rocky overhangs.

Eventually, we reached a spot where a lovely European couple informed us the trail turned left, not right. They also told us it looked like rain--which we'd figured out by that point. We followed their (correct) directions, and headed down a series of steep, downhill switchbacks.

And there, we found some deliciously sweet and tart wild blueberries. What a treat after a long hike!

The end of the Yellow Aster Butte trail is a plateau that's pitted with little lakes, all connected by tiny streams and a zig-zag of trails.

We spotted a tent or two tucked in between trees here and there, and decided our top priority was finding a good spot to pitch our own. We decided on a nice little patch, not too protected by anything, but flat and dry. It would do nicely.

Jared was on the trip too!

We quickly set up camp, and then had ourselves a nice dinner--indian food from a pouch has never tasted so delicious. By then, the sun was getting lower and lower, the clouds were getting heavier, and the wind was getting a bit more bold. We poked around just a bit, and then retreated to our nice cozy tent and sleeping bags. It was a wonderful evening tucked warm and dry on our mountain top, munching on extra-butter jiffy-pop, reading out loud from a book while the wind whistled outside. At that moment, life was beautiful.But then the night came. And let me tell you, God did a bit of showing off that night. He showed off His power to make wind stronger and louder than you ever thought possible whip and whistle through the mountains. And He showed off a bit of His sense of humor, too, in that that two of us were protected from it all by our tiny little sea-monster of a tent, held to the ground by 10 metal stakes and our own weight. 

The wind beat and abused our poor tent, but it held firm. And although we both spent a sleepless, white-knuckled night praying and wondering how we'd ever get off that mountain, we were warm and dry in our mummy bags. Even when the wind brought along its best friend, rain. I swear, though, every time I heard that wind picking up on one end of the mountains, it seemed to say "you shouldn't be here." And I must say, I couldn't agree more.

Around 6:00, Jared finally plucked up the courage to look at his watch. We had about an hour till sunrise--or at least until it was light enough to see the trail. At 6:50 I asked Jared how much longer we had to pretend we were sleeping. At 7:00, we did a marathon pack-up, and braved our way into the rain and wind, motivated only by promises of hot chocolate and heated seats once we reached the car. We had rain coats and pack covers, but my pants were water-logged within about a minute. The wind came in gusts, cold and threatening. And the rain just kept coming. But we found our way through the fallen clouds back to the main trail, I found a trusty walking stick for the more tricky parts, and we marched our way back down.

We made record time. And, the lower we got, the less rain there was, and the gentler the wind became. Eventually, we were able to look at the sky and see beauty in the rushing clouds and rare spots of blue. And by the time we got back to our car, we had quite made peace with the mountain and it's angry weather. We promised we'd see it again--but next time, we'll make sure we have two forecasts of sunshine.

It was actually a beautiful trip. Jared and I came out strong and laughing--in fact, he recuperated fast enough to embark on another trip the next day! And the forecast for that trip? Three solid days of rain. At least I learned my lesson :)