July 22, 2022
- Start: Near the junction of the Glacier and Ink Wells trails
- End: Cliffs above Double Lake
- Distance: ~ 8 miles
Although we woke to clear skies, gray clouds rolled in over the basin while we were breaking down camp. And then fat raindrops started to fall. There was no avoiding the rain though. We were still a 1/2 mile away from the horse camp where we intended to drop our climbing gear, so all of us got pretty soaked.
For its part, the horse camp had nice big canvas glamping tents set up. And I stared longingly at them when we arrived thinking about how nicely they could have sheltered us from the storm. But those tents were for the paying customers, not the riff-raff like us.
Luckily, there were lots of tall trees to stand under as we each dug out our climbing harnesses, ropes, helmets, ice axes, and crampons. All these items would go in giant duffel bags that the horses would be carrying out to a trailhead sometime in the next week, so a NOLS crew would collect them in their van.
And then we turned out sights on the next big task that would lighten our packs even more…
FOOD Decisions
While we were at the horse camp, we also had the opportunity to go through our food. Any extra food we didn’t want to carry could also be packed out by the horses. So Prashant, Emily, and I got to work digging through all the provisions that we had left in order to make a team decision about what we would (and wouldn’t) need for the next few days.
We really only needed enough food for two more breakfasts, two lunches, and two dinners. But as we surveyed our provisions, we had soooo much food left it wasn’t even funny. We still had two completely new, unopened jars of peanut butter (plus one partially eaten one). We had several one-pound blocks of cheese. Plus, there was oatmeal, rice, noodles, tortillas, spices, powered eggs, a sweet potato, and onion, beans, several cups of TVP…and so on.
Simply put, there was just too much there for just two day, and we set about parsing through our food methodically like we were at the grocery store. We planned out six meals and pulled the ingredients and amounts we thought we might need for each one. Then we shoved all the rest of the food into an Ursack for the horse to pack out.
The other two teams were undertaking a similar task, but were doing so in a far less collaborative way.
- Bea was in charge of her team’s food, while the other two people in her group simply agreed to abide by whatever she picked for them to carry and leave behind. She was the only person in their group that actually cooked at home, and had a better eye for what they’d use and what was dead weight.
- Meanwhile, the third team of students was currently bickering amongst themselves about what food to keep and what leave behind. One student was busy lecturing her team that they didn’t need keep certain things because she didn’t going to eat them. Her argument completely missed the point though – because the other two team members did want to eat the items she’d rejected. It was a simply absurd battle, and it made me all the more grateful that she wasn’t on my team.
MEADOWS
Once our logistics were finally sorted out, we said goodbye to the horse camp and made our way over to the Glacier Trail once again. It was nice easy hiking through the basin. And when we were about a mile away from the camp, we saw a group across the river hiking with a pack of llamas. Now that’s not something you see every day!
We also switched up our hiking groups again for the day. Two guys named Tobi and Mark, along with Evan (one of NOLS instructors) formed my new cohort, and there was a very laid back kind of vibe amongst the four of us. We were the last team to depart the horse camp, giving the other two groups a nice 15- to 20-minute berth before we started down the trail after them.
The delay between the teams worked in our favor. This morning’s thunderstorm was now long gone and blue skies and sunshine emerged once again. The Glacier Trail led us through the grassy meadows and wildflowers as we followed the creek through the basin. Above us, the Winds were simply fantastic to look at. Today was going to be a fine day of hiking indeed.
Evan and I fell into an animated conversation about long distance backpacking and some of our favorite trails to hike. Between us, we’d both been a lot of places, but very few of them overlapped with each other. So we had plenty to discuss as we compared and contrasted different trails, regions, and countries.
The two of us got so caught up in our conversation, that we’d pulled pretty far ahead of Tobi and Mark and could no longer even see them after an hour. I’m not sure if it was the conversation driving our faster pace or the reduced pack weigher. But either way, we needed to find a spot to stop and wait for them to catch up.
The meadow was giving way to a rocky canyon, and Dinwoody Creek was about to transition from the gentle, milky turquoise river to whitewater rapids. Up ahead, the water channeled into a narrow gulley lined with giant boulders, and the physical change was simply astounding.
SHORT TRAIL VS THE LONG TRAIL
Our route paralleled the Class V rapids for a little while before turning west and away from the water. The next stretch to our north turned marshy and swampy, so the Glacier Trail temporarily boxed around it taking us over to the Downs Fork, where we would need to do another river crossing before we’d be able to continue north.
Even presented the team with a choice. We had two options in how we could navigate this next section to trail.
Our first choice was to take original Glacier Trail to a calm section of Downs Fork where an old bridge once spanned the water. The Forest Service had since removed the bridge because it was in such disrepair that it was unsafe. So once we got to the water’s edge we would have to ford the wide creek in order to resume the trail on the opposite side.
Our other option was to continue even further west on a new trail beside the Downs Fork toward a crossing site with an intact bridge. This alternate route would keep our feet dry, but it was also two miles longer than the original trail where we had to ford the creek.
We weren’t in any rush and we had plenty of time to hike either trail. And with lighter packs, we certainly could add the extra distance without too much effort. But after some consideration, we opted to remain on the original trail. After all, Mark had never forded a creek before, so this was a great learning opportunity.
When we got to the edge of Downs Fork, the water was crystal clear and only looked to be knee deep. The current was moving swiftly though, so Evan crossed first, scouting the shallowest places and pointing out several sketchy spots to avoid.
Once Evan was on the opposite bank, the remaining three of us followed suit. I took the lead and Tobi agreed to be the trail person, which left Mark was sandwiched between us. We gave Mark a few tips, telling him to unlatch his pack (so it didn’t drag him down if he fell), and having him face slightly upstream so the current wasn’t pushing into his knees and compromising his balance.
We made it across the 40 foot expanse of water with no issues, and soon found the trail so we could resume our hike. Our boots and socks were now soaked, and squished with every step. But we had a plan. Once we got back to Dinwoody Creek again, we’d find some of those large boulders beside the water and take a stop for lunch, where we could lay some of our wet items dry on the warm rocks too.
LLAMA DRAMA
Our lunch spot had just enough of a breeze to keep most of the bugs away. And the rocks gave us a nice toasty warm feeling as they reflected the sun above us. My socks dried out a little bit during our 45-minute respite, but now enough that I would be avoiding damp feet the rest of the afternoon.
We were just finishing up lunch when got a nice little surprise. The group hiking with the llamas caught up with us! It turns out the group was actually just a family with two younger kids. The llamas were along to help carry most of their gear and to give the kids a ride whenever they needed a break from hiking. What a cool idea!
I stood up to get a few photos, and suddenly felt a little lightheaded. I didn’t say anything to Evan, Tobi, or Mark when it happened because I figured it was just a consequence of standing up too fast. But soon the llamas were heading up the trail again, and I sat back down to put on my boots and load up my pack. Lunch was over and it was time to get to tonight’s camp near Star Lake.
All morning long I’d felt super energetic and physically great. Evan and I had been hiking so fast together that we’d had to stop twice to wait for Tobi and Mark to catch up with us. But as I packed up my gear, I felt just a bit off. It wasn’t just that touch of dizziness felt earlier. It was if my heart was beating faster than normal
I told my team to go ahead and start up the trail ahead of me. I’d catch up in just a minute. I wanted to adjust my pack, and in the meantime I was certain whatever this feeling was would roll over me. Maybe I was lightheaded and my heart was racing because I coming down with a cold. Or maybe I was allergic to something in our surroundings.
Could it be that I allergic to the llamas? Is that even a real allergy? I’d felt 100% fine until we crossed paths with them at our lunch site. Nothing else was different from this morning, so I assured myself the feeling would surely pass in a minute.
TOO TIRED
I started after the team only 3-4 minutes after they left, but was moving like molasses. All morning long, we’d been hiking along flat terrain, but now the trail seemed to go uphill as the trail climbed beside Honeymoon Creek toward the lakes sitting a few miles above us.
We’d dropped back down to 9,200 feet elevation during our detour across Downs Fork, and our intended camp was up at 10,300. This meant only one thing – a trail filled with a series of switchbacks. I expected to be winded a bit by the climb, but I hadn’t anticipated what I was experiencing now as all the energy seemed to drain out of me.
My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest and hiking had suddenly become a struggle. I’d make it up a few switchbacks, but and then I had to stop for several seconds to catch my breath. What the heck was going on here? Was this the altitude? Or too much exertion? Or the llamas? I didn’t know what was going on.
I eventually caught Evan, Mark, and Tobi taking a break up the trail near the family and their llamas. They were waiting for me, but just as soon as I arrived, they started took off and continued uphill once again. I should have called out to Evan and told him to wait up, but I was breathing too hard. And I was still certain this was something minor. I just wanted to get past the llamas in case they really were triggering some adverse reaction in me.
As I continued hiking uphill though, my condition only got worse. My pulse was racing like I was sprinting. And I was no longer able to walk very far before taking a break. It was if all my physical energy disappeared when I finished lunch. I could barely make it up one switchback now before I had to stop and rest. Why was I struggling so much???
There’s only been one other time I felt like this. Last fall when I was out hiking the Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood, I was barely 7 miles from finishing the 39-mile loop when something similar came over me during one of my breaks.
No matter how much I rested, or drank water, or ate snacks, I just felt horrible. My hiking pace dropped below half of what it normally was and I even wondered if I’d make it back to my car. But everything returned to normal after a warm meal and some super salty fries, so I assumed the issue was my sodium levels were low.
Was that what was happening now? Were my salt levels too low? Had I been sweating more today than normal? That didn’t make sense. Today’s gentle hike didn’t even come close to the amount of exertion or altitude my body experienced two days ago on our climb up Gannett Peak. So what the heck was happening to my body right now?
I was standing on side of the trail resting when the llama family caught up to me yet again. I was now moving even slower than them and their kids. As they leapfrogged ahead of me, I asked them to pass a message up to the rest of my team. Tell them I wasn’t feeling well. I hoped that Evan would hear this and wonder what happened to me, and soon everyone was out of sight. Even the llamas.
Unfortunately, 40 more minutes went by before I’d see anyone. I crept up the trail at a pathetically slow pace. But I just couldn’t manage more than a few steps without stopping again. I was all alone on the trail now and struggling mightily. My lips were tingly and numb. My head was in a fog. My heart rate was insanely fast and wouldn’t slow down no matter how long I stopped to rest.
ASSESSING THE PROBLEM
When I finally reached my team, they were sitting in the shade on the edge of Honeymoon Lake. They were smiling and chatting with each other and, honestly, I was pissed. Nobody seemed to even notice I was missing for the last 40 minutes. Had they just assumed I’d needed to stop and dig a cathole? Was anybody even worried about my status? Had the llama crew not passed my message ahead?
I dropped my pack and breathlessly told Evan I needed his help. He immediately jumped up and could see something was wrong. I told him I just couldn’t seem to slow my heart rate or catch my breath. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I didn’t know if I was having an allergic reaction to something I ate or to the llamas or what. But something wasn’t right.
After another 30 minutes of rest, Evan decided we needed to stay together the rest of the way to camp. They weren’t going to leave me behind. Tobi offered to carry some of the weight from my pack to make it easier, but even that didn’t help. I was still struggling as if I was sprinting uphill with a 100-pound pack.
I felt miserable setting the pace for the team because I knew I was barely moving at a crawl. And eventually I asked Evan to let Tobi and Mark walk ahead of me. It was more stressful to be in the lead where I felt like the dawdling person driving 40 mph on the interstate, while every other driver was itching to get around them.
Eventually, Evan sent the two guys ahead to the camp. It was one about a mile ahead, and this way they could alert Judd (our lead instructor) to what was going on with me. Evan would stay by my side and we’d hike as slow as I needed to get us there safely.
That remaining mile was completely miserable. It took us close to 45 minutes to hike in to camp. My pulse was still racing and I just feel wretched as I struggled to put one foot in front of the other.
When we finally got to camp, I sat on a log while Evan and Judd did a head-to-toe assessment of my health. I felt like I was back in my NOLS Wilderness First Responder course as they went through the steps of trying to determine what was wrong with me. My heart was still racing at 160 at beats per minute (bpm), even after five minutes of sitting down with a pack on.
My typical resting pulse is normally in the 55-65 range, and 160 bpm was 93% of my max heat rate. It felt like I’d been pushing myself to my max for hours now, and I was just so exhausted. Eventually, the Judd told me lay down in a tent (away from the prying eyes of the rest of the group) and he put his Apple Watch on my wrist to keep a continuous reading of my heart rate.
Even after lying down, my heart rate only dropped down to 140 bpm. And for the next hour and a half, I lay completely still on my back resting inside the tent. But my heart rate just wouldn’t drop below 140 bpm. There was clearly something wrong. I wasn’t doing anything physical to elevate my heart rate. I wasn’t even sitting up. I wasn’t talking to anyone or agitated. I wasn’t near any potential triggers (like llamas) and my only known allergy is to anchovies. So what the heck was going on???
Judd was now messaging with the NOLS crew back at their headquarters in Lander. Everyone at the base was very concerned. Was I having a heart attack? We didn’t think so. I wasn’t having any difficulty breathing or in pain. The problem was my heart rate just wouldn’t drop to normal.
Judd kept coming into the tent every 15 minutes or so to check on my condition and re-take my vitals, and about the 8th time he did so, something suddenly changed. My heart rate dropped down to 88 bpm. That rate was still higher than it should have been under these sedate conditions, but it was so much better it had been for the past four hours.
My chest felt fatigued, as if I’d been vigorously exercising for hours. But I was feeling so much better now, and I told the instructors I really wanted to finish the trip. NOLS had coordinated for a rescue helicopter, and it had been three minutes from take off when Judd came in to take this latest set of vitals. Now the NOLS folks had a decision to make. Things were improving and I really wanted to stay, but I knew the final call wasn’t really up to me.
Judd messaged back to the NOLS team and they cautiously agreed to let me remain out there for the night. The instructors would continue to monitor me and we’d make a decision to immediately evacuate me if anything changed for the worse. So for now, I would just hang out in my soft coffin, trying to avoid the mosquitoes swarming everywhere, and rest.
