24 Peaks in 24 Hours: 2013

Monday, June 3, 2013

Regards

Shadows and Light

I had a shadow of doubt about completing the 24n24, but that shadow was much smaller than the light of "I can do this." That sort of light animates my life, and keeps me upright. And while the shadow of self-doubt provides some ballast—a sort of counter-weight to unbridled enthusiasm—it has to remain subservient to vision, hope, and faith. It's a life-long dance, isn't it, this play between the certainty of success and possibility we may fail; being sure that something is possible, while at the same time accepting the part of our mystery that cannot tell the future. Truth is, my shadow of doubt foreshadowed what was to come, and I came up short on both of my attempts last week. I'm thankful I kept my doubt in its place, secondary to the larger truth of "going for it." Otherwise, I would not have so publicly shouted "Hey, check this out," nor would I have committed 6 months of free time to training, nor would I have asked everyone to encourage me by donating to the nonprofit I'm so steadfast about supporting, The Wildlands Conservancy.

Snow Plant on Birch Mtn

My first attempt fell to an unsuspected adversary, my body's metabolism. In hindsight, I realize I should have trained once or twice with an overnight climb, starting up 6000 feet at that same time that my mind and body was expecting to lay down to sleep. If I had done so I would have had some expectation and would have prepared some defense. The overnight lows at the ridge line were in the 30s, colder with wind chill,and this would not have been a problem had I kept up a good strong pace. It should be easy for you to understand how hard it was emotionally to turn around at that early point, when so many were following me, cheering for me. Letting go of a dream is hard…it's something each of us have experienced. This dream of completing an epic course over two ridges and so many peaks, was my own challenge—like any other, like yours, it was personal. In the letting go, I believe we are guided to turn around and see the extraordinary and beautiful path we have taken on the way here.

Mill Creek Jump Off

And so, as I made my way back down the mountain, I was certainly sad, but I was also strangely jubilant. I shouted out just how happy I was to have found my way to this chapter in my life, this place where I am learning about giving, and am giving myself to finding just how I can give. I am blessed to have found this important pivot in life with more chapters ahead to write, to read. Concerning my second attempt to tackle the 24n24 course, I may well come up short in the telling, like I fared on the trail. Thanks for hanging in there with me. First, I have no plans to ever again solo traverse the section between Galena and Little San Gorgonio. In fact, I have plans to not do it a third time, so you can assume it won't be me who completes the 24n24 solo, self-supported loop. Someone else could, I still believe complete this challenge.

I set out from Bearpaw Reserve at 4:11am on Monday morning, in a counterclockwise direction, and held a good pace until I hit the knife's edge traverse to Galena. I'd traversed this once before in the opposite direction with several good friends: David Myers, Doug Chudy, and Charlie Marquardt. Approaching from the West, it all looked so unfamiliar. And with no one else accompanying me there was no way to compare opinions on best route options—getting around rock cliffs, for example. The traverse requires repeated handholds on unsecured rocks, and plants rooted in loose, sandy, and steep mountainside. Bottom line, I felt much more vulnerable this time. And since I've never been drawn to this kind of danger for challenge or thrill, it was very slow going.

San Jacinto, Pisgah Ridge, Oak Glen

The sun rose on the way up to Allen, the second peak. It was going to be a hot day—I could tell by the sun's intensity—and I started thinking about my water caches and how they'd been placed with a clockwise loop in mind. The Birch Mountain cache was going to be near the end of the clockwise trek, a gallon to pour over my head and cover my hydration needs for the last few hours. It was more than I needed, but heading the opposite direction I had to consider the long haul over the exposed section of the Yucaipa ridge to the next cache, placed on the far side of the Mill Creek Valley. I knew I'd need every drop of it. As it turned out, I had to stretch it too thinly and I was moderately dehydrated by the time I reached the next gallon water. Now, 14 hours into the hike, I called it once again, and started down the Vivian Creek Trail towards Forest Falls.

Regards

Once more, I met my limits. Limits! I make their acquaintance, but I never invite them to come live with me. I recognize them by face and form and sound, but it would be foolish to know them too well; I'd be tempted to let them dictate to me what I can and cannot do. When I meet my limits, they often send my shadows' regards. (Remember my shadows of doubt?) Well, I tell my limits to send my own regards right back.

Now, having once again passed over these extraordinary places, including some seven peaks that The Wildlands Conservancy has saved from development and which are on track to be included in an expanded San Gorgonio Wilderness, I can say I am happy. The experience of my 24n24 epic endeavor "out there" has been matched and even surpassed by the kind thoughts of all who have followed along in some way, and given in spirit and support. I've been moved by it all, and I'm a better person because of it. And if I've provided some inspiration, even a small portion of which has come my way, I will have done right and good.

In gratitude, Paul

P.S. I'm thinking of running across the Mojave Desert next spring. This next Epic4Epic will be fully supported, with a traveling van, and I think I'll plan it as a non-solo epic (if you know someone who'd enjoy this sort of thing, let me know). For now, though, let's you and I plan a short, simple walk through a beautiful place.

Saturday, May 25, 2013

humbled, part one

       Friends, I just want to say that I'm okay, and will be assessing just what happened as the weekend moves on. Suffice to say, I fell far short of my expectations. I made the decision that it would have been unwise for me to continue on last night and turned around just before the first summit. While this turning point represents a third of the elevation profile and more than a third of the distance, the fact that I did not "bag" the first peak, smarts. The temps were in the 30s, and for reasons I'll have to consider I was slowing down to a such an extent that it was going to be progressively more difficult keeping warm; heading ever further "out there" felt unsafe at that point.

       I am honored by the fact that you all believe—as much as I do—in completing the 24n24, and hope that you see this as just a setback. I may have to put it off until next month, and will likely decide to tackle it in a counterclockwise direction, starting in the morning. There are several advantages to this other direction that I thought were not significant enough to warrant it, but I may indeed have been mistaken. I've no doubt that someone else could tackle the course as I'd laid out, but there are very real challenges in taking the initial 6000 climb while the body is wanting to shut down for the night. (This was one of the contributing factors last night, and made my footsteps less sure than typical, and unsafe for me over the rocks.)

       I am humbled by the limitations I met out there; surprised by them, and frustrated by them since I'd climbed these trails so often before with starkly different results. The temptation is call this a failed attempt and leave it at that. It is all too easy to say this is about one single event—but it is much more than that. In a way, I've been climbing the mountains of this epic for several months, learning how to inspire and be inspired. That I've fallen short, is what it is. I am sorry for this. Especially all the efforts that were poured into the news coverage, were they for naught? I can only hope not.

     I'm feeling a bit lost right now (got back at close to 4 this morning), but should have more to offer later.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

In 24 hours

In a little over 24 hours hours I'll be setting out on this Mill Creek runaround. Thank you for following along. I will report back within the following 24 hours. What a difference a day makes...and the difference is you. Your support, in your kind thoughts and through your gifts to The Wildlands Conservancy, makes this all worth the extra effort. I will do my best.  A few last minute details:

Mapping

  Here is the link to the map to track progress in real time (for advanced viewing, see KML Feeds just below). Once the map page is opened, select the Map Filters, then within the "Date and Time Range" dropdown menu select the "Currently tracking" option (that way you can limit the viewing to the 24n24 and exclude any previous hikes I've taken).

  How this tracking unit functions does not necessarily reflect how I'm doing on the 24n24. It is an electronic gadget and as such, may not work as one would expect. The fact that Delorme (the manufacturer) has issued three firmware updates in the past couple of weeks tells me they've been working on some serious bugs having to do with the connection to the Iridium satellite system. And while I expect this latest update will suffice for my trip, keep in mind that this beacon is not something I depend on. It's nice to know it's there—since it has an emergency signal should the extreme need arise—and it's nice to know that you all will be able to track my position en route. But, don't fret if it doesn't work perfectly. I may need to change batteries, for example, in which case the signal will drop for some minutes before reconnecting. I may not be aware that batteries have run low (again, don't fret).

KML Feeds Use these links to view inReach data outside the MapShare page linked above. (Note: This is an advanced feature. Most people just use MapShare.)
KML Loader This feed can be opened in an application, such as Google Earth, for viewing real-time inReach updates.  https://explore.delorme.com/feed/ShareLoader/PaulMelzer  
Raw KML Feed A more advanced option, for scenarios such as loading inReach data into a web site.  https://explore.delorme.com/feed/Share/PaulMelzer

Saturday gathering

If you are planning to visit Bearpaw on Saturday afternoon, please let us know you're coming. Call the office 909-797-8507 to confirm you're coming and for directions. No one will be there before about 4:00 pm or so, btw. There's no set time after that for when I get back since I can only guess how long this thing will take overall, but there'll be plenty to enjoy there while you wait: great company, food, beautiful walks, games to play, etc. Weather should be very nice as well. The Reserve is not hard to find, but the turnoff is tricky (you must be careful to slow down well in advance, especially if a car is following behind you). Once on the gravel drive, you will cross the creek (there's a bridge), and on the far side you'll follow the paved drive all the way to the parking at the end (half mile or less).

There's scant cell coverage (if any), so don't plan on having it. We will have some coverage at the lodge and will (in theory) have a sense of my location as long as electronics are functioning. I will head straight for the lodge to touch the post and mutter "that was easy" (or press one of those buttons if someone has one available).

  See you out there!

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Leaving the trail behind

We each enter this world on our own, and we exit on our own. It's a well-worn cliché, yes, but poignant nonetheless, and it serves as an overlay to the feeling I have sometimes when I step off the trail into the wilderness. It's a cutting of the chord, from the other world to this one, or from this one to the other. Similarly, the interface between tame and wild can be covered in one or two steps. The wilderness (as in San Gorgonio Wilderness) has popular trails, with people weaving their way back and forth. One such path, the Vivian Creek trail, wends its way up from Mill Creek to the highest peak in Southern California. It runs about 9 miles or so from parking lot to rocky top; at a certain point, about 2/3 of the way up, it begins to follow a north/south ridge for the next mile or two before turning eastward to the peak.

   I'll be coming down from San Gorgonio [and Dragon's Head], heading off the trail down a thousand foot bushwhacking descent to the Mill Creek Jump Off (sometimes referred to as the Galena Headwall). Each time I do this I feel a sort of sadness, like I'm leaving behind the comfort of the peopled world. Even through the wilderness, when there is a trail that hikers tread, there is a sense of safety even if hours pass before seeing any other person passing. But there's something about leaving the trail in the wilderness that is like cutting the ties that bind. It's a feeling. And I wonder if it's more like the passage of birth or the passage of death. In birth, we enter our human world; in death, we leave it behind. When leaving the trail I enter another world where I'm simply another animal, on my own, without human companionship. I cut the umbilical cord, the human chord fades and nature assumes a royal mantle. (It's always there, of course, but we typically choose to ignore this.)

   I wouldn't choose to be a reclusive, living out in the middle of the northern woods of Canada. I've just too much to learn from the company of others to set aside the peopled world. Yet, from time to time, a fugue into deep nature is the most powerful teacher I can find, with elements of extraordinary beauty and peace, as well as wistfulness and even fear. This coming Saturday morning I'll be heading off down a steep draw covered with bush chinquapin. At the bottom, above the headwaters of the Mill Creek, I'll begin my ascent to Galena Peak and the subsequent traverse over Cuchillo and Wanat peaks. This will be the most remote section of my trek, the furthest removed from my "tribe," and when I arrive at the saddle beneath Little San Gorgonio, and find the human path once again, I will let out a loud whoop—I'll "sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world," as Whitman wrote.

   As a note, The Wildlands Conservancy presently owns Galena Peak (and Wilshire Peak) and supports the expansion of the San Gorgonio Wilderness to include these as part of the Sand to Snow National Monument (within the California Desert Protection Act). They certainly deserve to be added to the designated Wilderness.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Newspaper online article

In case you want to view this article outside of this blog, click here.

Friday, May 17, 2013

Glowing rectangles... or, "Don't look down now."

Ugh!

I'm carrying electronic contraptions which weigh almost 2 pounds combined! Yikes, I'd not intended this, but here's what they are and why I'm bringing 'em along:

Garmin Trex: I'm bringing a gps, borrowed from friend and TWC ranger Charlie Marquardt, because I want a reliable tracking for the course. The Delorme Inreach, unit below only sends a tracking point every ten minutes so this will not work for the source tracking. I'll put in fresh batteries, turn it on, and forget about it, since I do not like the idea of relying on a gps to find my way (just another way to look down at a glowing rectangle and away from the beauty surrounding.

Delorme InReach: This beacon hooks into and can send messages via the Iridium satellite system. I'd consider ditching this, but ya never know…and it's pretty remote…and this is a solo run…etc. The Inreach also will provide anyone with a link online, to view my progress in real time. Like the Garmin, put in new batteries, turn on, and forget about it (though I might check a couple of times to make sure battery's good).

GoPro: As lightweight as this tiny video camera is, the protective case is not. Nevertheless, the Riverside Press Enterprise offered it to me to carry along and record some images and thoughts, "to bring others along on the journey," and we managed to attach it nicely to one of my pack straps, so I won't have much to fiddle with.

Canon SX280. I want some good quality stills, and the GoPro can't cut it for these, so this point-and-shoot will capture some worthy stills.

ABC watch (altitude, barometer, compass): I plan to take a quick photo of this on top of each peak for added course verification.

I'll post more on what I'm taking along for the ride, but these doodads are sitting on my desk now so I'm thinking about them [and how much they weigh]!

Ugh!

ETAs

With an emphasis on "estimated," I submit the following estimated times of arrival for the 24n24, with a departure time of 6:30 pm:

Bearpaw Preserve: 6:30 p.m.
San Bernardino Peak: 11:45 p.m.
East San Bernardino Peak: 12:15 a.m.
Anderson Peak: 1:00 a.m.
Shields Peak: 1:30 a.m.
Alto Diablo Peak: 2:00 a.m.
Charlton Peak: 3:00 a.m.
Little Charleton Peak: 3:15 a.m.
Jepson Peak: 4:15 a.m.*
East Dobbs Peak: 4:45 a.m. *
Dobbs Peak: 5:00 a.m. *
San Gorgonio Mountain: 6:00 a.m.
Bighorn Mountain: 6:30 a.m.
Dragon's Head Peak: 7:00 a.m.
Galena Peak: 9:30 a.m.
Cuchillo Peak: 11:00 a.m.
Wanat Peak: 11:30 a.m.
Little San Gorgonio Peak: 12:15 p.m.
Wilshire Mountain: 12:45 p.m.
Wilshire Peak: 1:15 p.m.
Oak Glen Peak: 1:45 p.m.
Cedar Mountain: 2:30 p.m.
Birch Mountain: 3:00 p.m.
Allen Peak: 4:15 p.m.
Mill Peak: 5:00 p.m.
Bearpaw Preserve: 6:25 p.m.

Once underway, real-time tracking (ten minute interval tracking points) will be available to follow online HERE.

* The order of Jepson and the two Dobbs may be reversed (east Dobbs, Dobbs, then Jepson).

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Crumbling mountains, fading eyesight

I like to make connections. It's just who I am...I can't help myself. And it's a game I play to keep my perspective on life interesting and inspiring. Something about associating the shape of a leaf to the sound of a musical phrase, or a scab and subsequent scar on my arm to some fading bad habit—odd things like that—intrigues me.

The mountains I've been spending time in are crumbling. You can't see this from down in the valley, from down in the town, but they are. When you walk over them, they simply give beneath you. Sometimes in just the smallest way, like the sand and gravel underfoot sliding downward under the weight of your stepping forward; other times in more pronounced, even troubling ways, when you step on a large rock or boulder and it gives [way] when you expect it to take [your weight]. The mountains are falling apart. All my life I've watched them from a distance and thought they were "rock solid." Nope, it ain't so. The pinnacle of "falling down," like the game of Ring-a-round a rosie, is most pronounced on the crags of the Galenas, the easternmost section of the Yucaipa range, but I see the lure of gravity throughout the 24n24 course.

My eyesight is failing. Well, not failing, as in boulders giving way; more like the soft side of the hill slowly sliding down over time. Especially reading, when my eyes are not yet awake, or are end-of-day tired, is more challenging. I've some 1.0 reading glasses, but I've not yet figured out how to keep them clean, which may be my way of denying the crumbling mountain. I'm 55, turning 56 on the 24th (yes, inflicting hardship on myself is my way of celebrating the occasion, ha). I'm trying in various ways to keep my body, my mountain, from undue crumbling.

Here's another paradox (a most treasured connection): my body crumbles faster when I'm not climbing the mountains. The more sedentary life I lead, the more I get sick, the faster the mountain crumbles. By remaining in the valley I might not see the effect of my absence, but the mountain falls nonetheless. Why is it that climbing the steep trail, even feeling the dirt and rock give underfoot, keeps the mountain more...mountainous?

Friday, May 10, 2013

Run, walk, sit, stand, fly...

      The question's been posed: "How is it possible to enjoy nature, really experience it, when one is running through it." I can only say it is indeed possible to fully experience the sights, smells, and sounds of nature while running through it. After all, is a deer's experience of its world somehow diminished while running? Multitudes of animals and insects move faster me, yet experience the breadth of life as much or more than I do in my relatively sluggish form.

      Perhaps when we pose the question we are confusing "running" with "rushing." I sometimes feel like I'm rushing through my day sitting at my desk. It's about a fullness of experience. I can barely imagine what the wild horse experience must be running across a wild desert landscape; I hardly expect those unfamiliar with the sport of endurance running to understand how much greater it is to run in beautiful landscapes than it is to run in "asphalt jungles." Running in itself is an experience of the body like no other—not greater or lesser, but unique. Like other endurance sports, it challenges the athlete to experience one's limits. (read Limits, real and illusory)

      I love being out in nature, walking, sitting, standing…or running. My sport is endurance running, for me most enjoyed in places of beauty and challenging terrain. Moving through epic landscapes is wonderful at any speed. Yes, they're very different experiences, sitting quietly and moving swiftly. So, what am I "trying to prove?" Several things. 1) We each have "epic" challenges inside of us waiting to be met, things that will help us to grow taller, become better people and truer, more honest friends. No need to be of a physical sort; composing a folk song and performing it before an audience could be your epic endeavor. Or, what about that book of short stories you've wanted to publish, or whatever. 2) In doing this sort of thing, and not keeping to yourself, you can inspire others to consider their own unique, as yet unmet epics. "Wow, that reminds me, I've been wanting to hike the Appalachian Trail since I was a teenager. Why not now?"

      We become better people from these experiences, I'm sure of it. And in addition to inspiring others to find their own epic(s), we can invite them to support us by contributing to a cause outside of ourselves, tone hat we wholeheartedly believe is worth supporting. When you might ask, "What is Melzer up to with all this?" the answer is multifaceted, and that's a good thing.

The peaks' names

The 24 peaks all have names, although two of them are under consideration with the USGS for the proposed names Wanat and Cuchillo. I've found a few bits of information on the peak name origins. For further info, where available, click on a peak's name to link to the Sierra Club's HPS (Hundred Peaks Section). I've not included the peaks with secondary names (East San Bernardino, Little Charlton, etc).

San Bernardino Peak (elev 10,649)
Named, early 19th century, after Saint Bernardino of Siena (1380-1444). Although not the tallest, this is the most iconic peak from the valley floor.

Anderson Peak (elev 10,840+)
Named in 1921 for Lew Anderson, USFS District Ranger of Barton Flats.

Sheilds Peak (elev 10,680+)
Named, 1920s, for Leila Shields, outdoor enthusiast.

Alto Diablo (elev 10,563)
Name of unknown origin.

Charlton Peak (elev 10,806)
Named, 1921 for Rushton H. Charlton, Angeles National Forest Supervisor (1907-24).

Jepson Peak (elev 11,205)
Named for Willis Linn Jepson (1867-1946), botanist, author, Charter Member of Sierra Club and Save-the-Redwoods, and founder of the California Botanical Society.

Dobbs Peak (elev 10,459)
Named for John W. Dobbs, local prospector, mountain man, and guide.

San Gorgonio Mountain (elev 11,499)
Named after the Christian Saint Gorgonius. Highest peak in Southern California. The San Gorgonio Wilderness was designated in 1964.

Bighorn Mountain (elev 10,997)
Named for the Bighorn mountain sheep, Ovis canadensis, still seen in these mountains.

Dragon's Head (elev 10,866)
Apparently named for the summit which appears to some to be like a reptilian head. Name first appears in 1967.

Galena Peak (elev 9,324)
Named, circa 1902, for the mineral galena, named after the Greek physician Galenus.

Cuchillo Peak (elev 8,870)
(naming currently under consideration by CACGN and USGS [USBGN])

Wanat Peak (elev 9,040)
(naming currently under consideration by CACGN and USGS [USBGN])

Little San Gorgonio Peak (elev 9,133)
eta: 12:15 pm

Wilshire Mountain (elev 8,832)
Named for Joseph E. Wilshire (ca.1858-1920), famous Oak Glen resident.

Oak Glen Peak (elev 8,400)
Named for the city of Oak Glen, California.

Cedar Mountain (elev 8,324)
Named for the incense Cedar (Cedrus deodars) found on its slopes.zzzz

Birch Mountain (elev 7,826)
Named after nearby Birch Creek, perhaps mistakenly named since there are no birch trees in the area.

Allen Peak (elev 5,795)
Named for B. F. Allen, a Special Agent of the Department of the Interior (late 19th c), or possibly for USFS Ranger John H.B. "Jack" Allen, posted at Mill Creek Ranger Station (early 20th c).

Mill Peak (elev 4,900)
Name of unknown origin.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

There lies a transcendence...

I am including here a passage or two of David Myers' writings in Behold the Beauty, the book that The Wildlands Conservancy has produced to help illustrate (in glorious photography) some of the epic landscapes being preserved for all of us to share. These passages inform my work these days, and inspire my efforts on this 24n24 endeavor.

_____________________________

There lies a transcendence amid deep forests, pastoral meadows, remote beaches and solitary deserts that the world’s great art, music and literature have attempted to capture. Indeed this is why the great poets, prophets and redeemers of humanity sought the wilderness. Wherever there is a place of great beauty and biodiversity, inspired people have been given the eyes to see that beauty, the mind to understand the importance of biodiversity, and the passion to act upon its preservation. The Wildlands Conservancy is but another face of people, past and present, who have devoted their lives to preserving timeless enclaves of nature. By preserving wild lands though reverent stewardship, by opening our preserves to the public at no cost, and through our children’s programs, we trust people will be inspired by the songs of birds, the music of streams, the whispering pines, and voices more eloquent than our own.

Since incorporating in 1995, The Wildlands Conservancy has continued to promote its model of land-based conservation through expanding our preserve system. That system now includes the West Coast’s largest nonprofit preserve at Wind Wolves, California’s largest nonprofit wilderness at Pioneertown Mountains Preserve, and California’s longest stretch of nonprofit-owned coastline at Sounding Seas Dunes and Eel River Estuary Preserves. What is most remarkable is that these preserves are being purchased and restored with private donations, and opened for free passive recreation with national park quality facilities.

Over the past 15 years, there has been a growing demand for conservation organizations to become land stewards and for more individuals to become citizen conservationists, docents and restoration volunteers. The restoration challenges facing California’s landscapes far exceed the financial and human resources of government to adequately address them. The Wildlands Conservancy’s overarching goal is to call people back to the beauty, wonder and inspiration of the natural world, and to encourage people to be participants in saving our magnificent landscapes and restoring California’s rich biological diversity.

Ultimately, saving land means educating and instilling a love for nature in the next generation. The boundaries we place around our state and national parks and wilderness areas are not automatically sacred and inviolate to the next generation. It is the value system of our culture that gives land designations meaning and prevents all land use decisions to subordinate to utilization, profit and expediency. This is why The Wildlands Conservancy is California’s nonprofit leader in providing free outdoor education programs to almost one million children to date. It is through these programs, and reverent stewardship of preserves visited by almost half a million people a year, that we foster a love and respect for life in all its magnificent forms.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Limits, real and illusory

Last spring I was training for the Barkley Marathons, a footrace held each year in Tennessee on or around April Fools Day. In the world of ultrarunning it's legendary. Lots of other races present huge personal challenges to the participants, but none match the character of the the Barkley—it's a life-changing experience (not to make too much of it). The entry field is limited to about 35 runners, all devotees to the sport (just about the only prerequisite). Names are drawn at the end of the year for the upcoming race, so one of the challenges is, if you are serious about the race—and I would suggest that if you're not, you'd best not throw your hat in the ring—you had better be training for it long before the drawing—like months before.

It's often said amongst Barkers that you're a fool to train hard for this race, since you will fail. The only difference is how long your suffering will last—the better your training, the longer you'll last out there, the greater your suffering. And if you're a fool to train hard, what kind of idiot are you to be training hard before your name is even drawn?! Like all great things, I believe there's something here we can weave into a broader cloth (heh, heh, follow me if you dare).

Melzer, tapped out at the Barkley

Training for the Barkley is intense, and the echo that follows each participant after they fail effects them deep to the core. (For the very few who complete it, obviously true as well.) It is an epic endeavor, in part because of the details—60,000 feet of climbing (that's 120,000 feet of elevation change) over a 100 mile course known for its natural obstacles (including a time limit of 60 hours). There have been about a dozen finishers out of hundreds who've tried over the past 20 years; all the rest of us are tapped out (literally, a bugle plays Taps to signal another fallen).

Some consider the race director to be a sadistic man; he is anything but. Sure, he has a streak of toughness like no other, but its tenor is that of a wise teacher. Offering the participants a chance to look close (reallll close) at their own limits is an informing idea behind his race. Why would anyone want to get up close and personal with one's own limits? Good question; I think the answer might be different for each person who wants this experience. It may have something to do with our sense that limits are both very real, and very illusory. Our own limits ebb and flow like the ocean. Sometimes I am more courageous, or more flexible, or more generous...sometimes less. In training for 24n24, I am pushing my limits. Indeed, I find the trick is to push as hard as I can in training—this promises the best outcome, all other things being equal.

The trick is—and this is the biggest unknown—there's a certain point where training too hard will invite injury or illness. Or is there? That certain point, like one's personal limits in a race, is illusory.... at least up to the point that you experience it. "Okay, so now that I've got shin splints I realize I should not have run an additional 50 miles this week on top of my 50 regular miles." Smarts will help keep you from overdoing it, but to succeed at the Barkley, you really have to push the training into an area that's unsafe. After all, meeting one's limits is the height of unsafe, it can be terrifying, in fact.

I pushed my training this past weekend, and will do so even more next weekend. I climbed Galena Peak on Saturday and San Bernardino Peak on Sunday. While separating these two hike/runs by a night's rest (and lots of extra protein), I tread the fine line between training hard and training so hard that I'd need a week to recover. I felt the extra fatigue from the day before, yes, but not so much that I couldn't complete it feeling pretty good at Sunday's end. Next weekend I'll do the same, only a few hours longer each day. I'll be caching water, so an additional 8 pounds will be on my back on the climbs.

By the way, I've attempted the Barkley 3 times. Each time I get a bit smarter, a bit more focused, more determined, and a bit further down the trail. Still far from the end, it's the great teacher Paradox, who stands beside me silently stating "Failure / Success." What will the 24n24 hold for me? We'll see soon enough.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

"Forget I asked."

I recently attended an international conference on fundraising, hosted by the Association of Fundraising Professionals. There were a multitude of workshops and presentations one could attend and some exceptionally thoughtful and inspiring presenters, some filling huge halls at the San Diego Convention Center. I spent three days there hunting and gathering (and planting). In part, I am gathering the so-called "tools of the trade," the trade being a sort of sales and marketing with heart. It's a novel use of the cold, unfeeling tricks of marketing, the intended result being that donors agree to give their money for a good cause. At the conference I was as amazed by the degree of ethics that infuses the philanthropic trade (or, as I called it, the philanthropic industry) as I was by the number of fundraising professionals (duh, this is a fundraising professionals convention).

TWC Bluff Lake Reserve

There are tens of thousands of fundraising professionals working on behalf of nonprofits large and small, scattered throughout the world. Universities, hospitals, shelters for the abused, services for the down-and-out. If you can think of some area of the human experience that could use some help, there's likely an organization with a mission to bring help, light, education, love, and money to it. It is, in a way, the ultimate "redistribution of wealth," socialismo. I've thought this for many years, that western capitalism presents us with the best opportunity for human transformation. Communism represents some notion that individuals in a society must be forced to share, that no individual should benefit at the expense of another. Of course, we know this is a laughable idea, that this system, however it may be well-intended, has never worked. It is as much a breeding ground for greed as any other; more so because greed in that setting is an even greater travesty.

Communism—and to an extent, socialism—as a system of governance will always fail, because our extraordinary greatness as human beings requires that we have the opportunity to give of ourselves [and our wealth] freely. Giving, philanthropy, is perhaps the single greatest opportunity in our short lives, the most golden of opportunities for transformation, as much for the donor as for the recipient...maybe more. To be deprived of this opportunity, as with communism, is an injustice. The great argument rages these days (and has for decades, of course), how much socialism can we tolerate in our society? Most enlightened souls agree we are all in this together, and some lesser or greater degree of government-guided social welfare is appropriate. Because we humans are still wrestling with that "deadly" sin, greed, we agree that some degree of wealth redistribution is acceptable. Trickle-down economics is a wonderful, watercourse, idea but evidently a bit before its time.

TWC Jenner Headlands Preserve

Of course, every religion under the sun reflects what we already know inside, that we are indeed all in this together. I believe the Buddha said something to the effect, no one enlightened until all are enlightened (with apologies to scholars of Buddhism). Bear with me here—I'm trying to wrap back around to my original thought for this post. Let's see, fundraising professionals, communism, greed, enlightenment...ach, maybe I'll simply cut to the chase and see how it fits.

Friends on top of Galena Peak

"Forget I asked." Ever hear that phrase? It's usually uttered when someone else has either ignored our request or just not heard us in some way or another. Like the phrase "judge not lest ye be judged," I'd like to turn this one on its head. I'm asking you to give to support The Wildlands Conservancy...now, "forget I asked." Here's what I mean (and why): I invite you to discover your own giving heart. To give, not in response to my asking, but in response to your own desire. You truly deserve the credit, the "points in heaven" for your generosity. Really, it has nothing to do with me, at least that's how I hope it will be. All I can do is hint to you what is already there inside of you. Consider this: your generosity changes others' lives, gives support, lends a hand, builds a community. Supporting The Wildlands Conservancy helps to preserve treasured places where you and your family and friends and their family and all of us can walk, camp, picnic, and connect (or reconnect) with an essential goodness of nature.

Whether or not you contribute to The Wildlands Conservancy, I thank you for reading this. Let's find the time to go for a walk. Yes, soon.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Judge not...

TWC Wind Wolves Preserve shade structure (photo Dave Clendenen)

Not always, but often I meet my muse when I'm out on my runs or hikes. She sees me honoring my health, raising my awareness of breath and footfall, and she seems to approve by offering sage advice and new ideas. Take this morning, for example. I was thinking about my own generosity (and lack thereof). As long as I can remember I've felt uncomfortable with panhandlers, or those who stand patiently in front of a store checking with us when we pass by to do our shopping. Something about being asked for money. Maybe I suspect the money they gather will not actually help war veterans (example), or in the case of the one holding the cardboard sign that reads "Out of work, need HELP," maybe they'll just go buy beer or cigarettes with my loose change. I never think these people are lazy, or losers, or that sort of judgement, but I judged them nevertheless.

I've changed a bit inside over the past year. I now carry a few folded dollar bills in my wallet, and give one to whomever asks for money. A dollar is not much, of course, but it probably helps a little. I think that Buddha said something to this effect, and I know it's found in the Bible (Matthew): Give to the one who asks you. I know could give, no questions asked, and yet still be judgmental. Problem is, this only allows for half of the giving equation—in a way it's robbing oneself while giving to another.

Judge not lest ye be judged (again, Matthew). Here's where my muse stepped in. I thought, there's an alternative interpretation to the phrase "...lest ye be judged." It's not that I am judged by others as a result of my having judged someone, but that I am judging myself. This was what I'd been doing all along when I was judging those who were asking me for help, those who were asking for a "handout." Being judged is not a good feeling, is it? This might well be part of the discomfort I felt when I saw someone panhandling.

TWC Whitewater Preserve (photo: Jack Thompson)

Have you ever walked a few feet out of your way to avoid "the ask?" to avoid feeling troubled? How does my interpretation of "judged by others" strike you? I walk a bit straighter on my path now, and when someone beside me asks, I'll give. It feels right this way. Mostly because I don't make a big deal about it anymore. Maybe it’s a way for me to avoid getting involved in the difficulties of the one who asks (by simplifying the transaction I don't have to stop and help further). And I wish I could give more than a dollar, but I think I can't afford more. I guess that even with new clarity comes new questions.

Not sure what all this has to do with 24n24, save that I continue to ponder the art of the giving heart, starting with myself.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Translation of values

I used to own an antiquarian bookshop in Redlands, buying and selling old and unusual books and autographs. I would regularly happen across something entirely unique—I couldn't find records of any similar copies having sold at auction, in booksellers' catalogs, or online. Whatever it was—book, manuscript, or artifact—it presented a challenge of translation. How did the language of its intrinsic value translate to a numeric, monetary language? Because as a merchant, I needed to "find a new home" for the item (in other words, sell it). But the language of an [unusual] object's intrinsic value has no obvious translation to a numeric system. One is a language of feeling, of memory, of beauty or inspiration; the other a language of numbers (and the mantle of power that accompanies money). What was it worth monetarily? I had to decide if I were to offer it for sale. I could describe how special it was, how important it was, how rare it was, but none of these things translate easily to dollars and cents? The value of stuff is often determined in comparison to other like items—this is true for everything that is bought and sold. But without these comparisons, it's that much more difficult to make the translation.

     What most interests me nowadays are other kinds of translations, like what is the value of building a trail to an overlook? What is the value of preserving a pristine swath of nature? What is the value of going on a walk with a friend, or alone, in a place of beauty? Thankfully, there's no need to place a hard numeric value on these things. None of them have to be translated to anything—they can simply be left as we find them, mysterious and moving. What I am up to, these days, is immensely different from my former work, it is seeking ways to entice the giving heart in others (more on that to come)....and finding it in myself.

       I woke early this morning, concerned for the success my 24n24. I was pondering "what if after all this preparation, writing this blog, speaking to everyone her uncle about it, as it were, tooting my horn in hopes that people will support me through giving to The Wildlands Conservancy, what if only a very few people are moved to contribute?" But I cannot make the success of one thing (the run itself) depend on the success of the other (philanthropy for TWC). It does matter, of course...it matters a lot to me that my Epic4Epic experiment is a success. But it also doesn't matter, because I won't hang its success on how much is generated, or how many contribute. And as far as climbing 24 peaks within 24 hours is concerned, I set out to challenge myself on the 24n24. I know I am becoming a better man, and truer friend because of it—this is neither diminished nor increased by how much or how little much money I generate for the Conservancy. It is an experiment of sorts, to find out how this Epic4Epic thing works (not just how well it works). And it's an adventure.

       I think here of you, dear reader, and wonder: What's your next adventure, your upcoming Epic? I wish you were here now, to tell me about it.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Dragon's Head and many hats

Looking east past Bighorn and Tosh Tarn, to the Mojave Desert

On Saturday I climbed San Gorgonio and then bushwhacked over to Bighorn and Dragon's Head, the last two peaks on my course before dropping down to the Mill Creek Jump Off. Along with several of the peaks between the Dollar Lake Saddle and San Gorgonio, these two were on my get-to-know list. Although I anticipate not reaching them before sunrise, I've been wondering how I would make my way between them. In the image below I'm on top of Dragon's Head and the camera's facing east toward Bighorn and Tosh Tarn (the wide, sandy basin between Bighorn and San Gorgonio). It was a good day, and I felt better than I'd felt in the fall when I last climbed up top San G from the parking lot in Forest Falls (in about the same time, 3h 20m). There were, no surprise, many others who climbed it that day—the weather has helped to melt most of the snow from the south-facing access.

There was a couple up top who had on leashes five dogs, large and small. I was thinking about the small dogs' legs and how each mile for humans must be equal to several miles for them, not to mention the 5500 feet of elevation change. I asked them about it and they said the little ones accompany them several miles on bike each day. Wow! And to think that there are so many dogs who's whole world is inside a backyard fence.

Trail to Preservation Point, San Jacinto in the distance

Like any great job, my job requires me to wear many hats, so on Sunday we inaugurated a new trail at the Oak Glen Preserve. The trail system there is not long, but it holds much spirit. There is a loop trail extending down 300 feet (elevation) alongside a stream, from the upper ponds, toward a camping area called Hidden Hollow, then returning through Oak Knoll Park to our main parking area. Over the past month I've helped to build this new trail from down in Hidden Hollow. The trail is short (just under a mile) but it packs a punch, climbing up 750 feet. Where do you get to on this new trail? We've named the overlook Preservation Point, in honor of the legacy of land conservation efforts throughout Southern California. From that vantage point we can see far to the south, to Palomar Mountain, to the southeast to Mount San Jacinto State Park, to the west to the Santa Ana Mountains and the Cleveland National Forest, and northward to our own backyard, the Yucaipa Ridge, where Wilshire Peak juts up from the line. We served ice cold apple cider, compliments of Los Rios Rancho, and cookies. All was well.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

4/8 training update

Heading up to East San Bernardino Peak (photo: Charlie Marquardt)

       Last weekend I climbed East San Bernardino Peak via the Momyer trail, with the intention of then making my way over to the western peak and back before returning down to Forest Falls. But while the snow has melted off that south-facing trail, the ridge top was covered in deep snow drifts, obscuring the trail. I skirted the snow to get to the east peak, but because I'd gotten a later start, I didn't feel I had enough time to make it over to the western peak and back. I'd not brought a light with me, and certainly not enough food/water/clothing to spend time after twilight. Too bad, since my plan is to traverse these at night (the first peaks of the 24), and will feel better if I have some sense of the path beforehand.
   There's still so much to be done between now and May 24 that I suspect I'll need to take some days off from work to be fully prepared. Being prepared is essential for something like the 24n24, both for a successful completion and for safety. There will always be unknowns and variables to the best laid plans, weather being the most obvious. For that, some plans cannot be set in place until a few days ahead. If it's looking like a bad storm is going to hit, then I'd have to postpone for several days (or perhaps until the following full moon). If light rain potential, then some additional clothing will suffice. If it looks like the sky will be clear, with temps in the 80s or more up top the ridges ...well, I'll have to have already have enough water cached to take care of hydration. I'm not worried, but I'm definitely starting to give my attention toward these sorts of things. They run through my mind these days.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Wanat and Cuchillo, a tale of two peaks

      Well, the cat's out of the bag. My proposal to name two peaks in the Yucaipa ridge west of Galena Peak has hit the internet. A post on the San Gorgonio Wilderness Association discussion forum introduced them. I spent a long time considering the names before submitting to the USGS for review. I wanted at least one of them to be in the language of the indigenous people of these mountains, the Serrano Indians. The name wanat means mountain lion (puma, cougar) in Serrano, a spoken language—at least according to the last native Serrano speaker, Dorothy Ramon.

      The choice of wanat for the Serrano word was not a given, since a formidable linguist in the language points to another, quite different spelling (and phonetic rendering). This scholar, Kenneth C. Hill, published the definitive Hopi/English dictionary, and has a Serrano/English dictionary in preparation. He was kind enough to assist me in my research, and helped with the phonetic aspects. In the end I selected the word considered most accurate by the local authorities and, as mentioned, the most recent usage. Besides, it was the choice more easily understood and spoken [most accurately] by non-native speakers. In other words, it's less likely to be mispronounced to such a degree as to have no real connection to the Serrano language.

      The other peak naming was for the smaller peak, east of Wanat (both of these are east of Little San Gorgonio). All who have ventured along this portion of the Yucaipa Ridge know that its knife-like characteristics deserve the name cuchillo. This word is Spanish for knife, of course, and recognizes that Spanish was the second language spoken in the region. I believe both names are fitting, and hope that the various governing bodies that will review them will approve them. They are two peaks that [in my mind] deserve to be named.

Connecting the dots

      On Saturday I began connecting the dots of this course. Several times I've climbed Cedar Peak from below in Oak Glen and traversed east to Wilshire Peak, but I'd not tied together Cedar to Birch and since Evan had indicated in his report on his 17 peak challenge that this section had proved troublesome, I knew I wanted to check it out. Especially since this will come late in the course, and I'll be tired and perhaps more easily confused, it was important to "get to know."

      It's a nice trek and includes a short section of the ridge, easily traversed (unlike the knife's edge west of Galena), that allows one to glance down to the Mill Creek valley on one side and Oak Glen on the other. Transverse ranges, like the Yucaipa Ridge, offer some beautiful reliefs as the sun passes east to west, accentuating the deep ravines like the lines etched in an elder's face or hands. They're beautiful in their own way.

      I'd gotten an early start and later on met up with a group of hikers who were guided by the Wildlands rangers, Charlie Marquardt and Doug Chudy. It was clear that the whole group was having a blast up there. Sometimes it's the best to hike with a group; there's no better way to get to know a person than climbing a mountain with them.