Often times these days I can only vaguely remember the details or even the year of a climb I have done in the dim past. This one I do know for sure. It was July 1986. Six weeks after my lovely daughter was born. It was also another fine adventure with that Desert Mountaineer feller I keep telling you folks about. Another wet adventure as it turns out.
“Life is strange and the Three Stooges exist”
-Kerouac
Our lives and geographies had diverged quite a bit, and we had only recently gotten back in touch via a climbing buddy of ours after about seven or eight years of no contact. This was a shame, but one we were going to change. We had decided that a good central spot to meet might be Salt Lake City, from where we could easily drive up into Wyoming and to the Wind River Range. Now one thing you gotta understand about the DM… he can pinch a penny hard enough to give Lincoln a headache. So, armed with that knowledge you will see why we rented a car from rent-a-wreck. After all, why spend a bunch of money on a vehicle that is mostly going to be sitting at a trailhead all week long…right? I recall this car being a high mileage Honda of sorts. Nice little car. The only trouble with it was that it didn’t always start, and it seemed to burn more oil than gasoline. Well it would hardly be an adventure without some stuff like that thrown in for good measure.
After coaxing and cajoling the car up highway 80 and into Wyoming feeding it litres of 10W-30 along the way we eventually rolled into Pinedale where we camped at the trailhead. There are not too many places on this continent where a trail starts at 9,000’ but this is one of them. As you can imagine it was a crisp start to the day being at that elevation, but it was a beauty day to be sure. Brilliant blue sky in all directions. It’s a helluva long way in though. Our destination was Titcomb basin, which was about 25 kilometres away. Our packs were monster ginormous. We had food and camping gear for a week as well as a full complement of climbing gear thrown in for ballast. As you can probably imagine we warmed up in a hurry.
The DM at Photographers Point
We didn’t make it in all of the way before we lost the energy to continue and daylight, so we set up a camp for the night. We were knackered…I tell you. It was only a short hike the remainder of the way that we finished early in the morning. We had a real nice campsite in the heart of the basin, with amazing views in all directions. It can be argued that Titcomb basin is one of the most beautiful climbing destinations in the lower 48. There is a lifetime of high quality climbing to be had there as well. It’s a good thing that it is so far in. There were a couple of hikers that were camped up the hill a bit from us, but we only saw a few other people passing through; and a solitary fisherman. Apparently this was a known spot for being able to catch the rare golden trout; a non-native species that had been introduced to the area. Here’s an interesting tidbit… there were no native species of fish in the lakes and streams of this area, all of them were introduced. The first recorded in 1907, and during a more concerted effort between 1924 and 1935. Being as this was early July there was still a fair bit of snow around. It probably only remains snow-free here for a very brief period each year. Although with climate change, who knows.
Titcomb Basin
We did a warm up climb comprising of a nice scramble on one of the peaks on the west side of the valley. The only challenge was on the return to camp in the afternoon the streams had risen and it was a bit wet getting across in places. Unfortunately that was only the beginning of the wetness. The weather had taken a turn and by nightfall it was completely overcast and eventually it started to rain. We were using a pretty ‘interesting’ tent. Remember this is waaaay back in 1986…. DM had this really light high performance single wall tent. It wasn’t a breathable membrane like Gore-Tex, but rather had a Mylar like coating over rip stop nylon, and relied on a funky vent system to apparently alleviate condensation. The trouble was that the Mylar had started to severely delaminate, leaving nothing but plain old untreated nylon between us and the elements. It was coming down pretty hard and it soon became like a shower in the tent. We had a rag and a t-shirt and it was a constant job all night long wiping down the interior of the tent and wringing the water out through the door. This lasted part way through the next day as well. It was pretty miserable. We were soaked to the arse and then some. Having spent many years living and climbing in the Coast Ranges rain, and being wet, was not unfamiliar to us, but this was getting to be a bit much.
I was really thankful that I had also brought a Gore-Tex bivi sack, otherwise my down sleeping bag would have been useless; not that there was much sleeping going on.
Home of the soggy mountain valley boys
You can see if you look closely at this photo that it is stained. That is from the water that got in my camera. It did no lasting damage to the camera fortunately, but I am kind of glad it ‘marked’ the slides, as it added a nice layer of authenticity and realism to them.
Take my advice
Don’t listen to me
It ain’t paradise
But it used to be
There was a time
When the river was wide
And the water came running down
To the rising tide
But the wooden ships
Were just a hippie dream
Just a hippie dream.
– Neil Young
We were expecting the arrival of a couple of friends of ours that decided to drive down from British Columbia and were going to hike in and climb with us. They showed up in the afternoon also soaked to the arse, but by now it had at least stopped raining and the sun was actually trying to poke out a bit, and we could begin to dry things out. It was good to see them again after a few years apart and we got caught up. Oddly enough our friends had had enough, and only stayed the night, and headed out the next morning to our amazement. By this time we now only had a day left ourselves so we thought we might try climbing Fremont straight from camp. The weather was still kind of marginal and we only made a half-hearted attempt. We didn’t get very far but it was enjoyable to be moving again.
Another minor event of note was that on one of our day trips, some critter, probably Marmot, decided it liked my Gregory pack which actually had a large leather piece as an integral component of the suspension system (Leather? Well 1986 remember) Anyway it chewed it to proverbial rat shit making it pretty much unusable. We had some surgical sutures on curved needles that worked a treat for most of the repair, and got some dental floss from our neighbours that fixed up the remainder. It actually held up fine for the rest of the trip.
When the following day dawned the weather was fine (of course) but we were faced with that long walk out with packs that weren’t really any lighter, considering any food we may have eaten that would have lightened the load was countered by how much water and been absorbed by all of our stuff. We made it out in one go, but man were we dog tired. The following morning the car would not start again. I think it was missing some teeth on the pinion gear or ring gear. We placed it in gear and rocked it back and forth a bit and that did the trick. We drove back into Pinedale where I bought a nice pair of Tony Lama boots which I still have by the way. We stocked up on motor oil for the long drive back to SLC; which gave us plenty of time to start hatching some more escapades.
Gear Tent on Mt Robson
*Note: This tent manufacturer is still in business today, selling lightweight and expensive products of basically the same design. They may be vastly improved…I don’t really know. My memory is not that good at times, but I remember enough about that tent to never want to get in one again. Here is another picture of that very tent that we ended up using for gear storage on Mt. Robson many years later.