DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

I don’t know what it is, but I always stop to stare at old-time billboards painted on brick walls. I think it’s not nostalgia, because most of these signs are older than I am. I sure as heck would not have wanted to live 50 or more years ago — if you think it’s hard for server-side web engineers to find work today, just imagine how tough it would have been before, say, they’d discovered electricity.

Anyway, we found this Levi’s wall in Jacksonville, Oregon. I don’t know whether it is a real antique advertisement or a carefully-faded reproduction.

My unretouched photo is a lot less interesting than the wall is. An attempt to restore the image to what I imagined it may have once looked like led to the rekindling of an old, forgotten passion: Photoshop image manipulation. I used to spend entire days doing that. Four years ago I put some of the more finished images (which then were already five years old!) into an online gallery: the pretentiously-named Gallery of Experimental Art. Caution: if you can’t stomach the heavy-handed application of Photoshop filters, don’t follow that link.

I normalized, saturated, and posterized the Levi’s image, then applied four layers of gradient-masked lighting effects, employing multiple edge-detection and texturing filters. The result appeals to me strangely, just like the wall did. A subsequent version, in which I’ve reduced the blue cast of the “copper riveted overalls” lettering, is on its way to the print service for enlargement. I hope I’m as fascinated with the printed version as I am with the digital.

There’s a shop at the Oakland airport called “www.news.gifts.oakland”.

Is that just about the dumbest thing you’ve ever seen? I mean, beyond the fact that URLs ceased being trendy and cool and became utilitarian and generally uninteresting in 1999 is the fact that that URL doesn’t work. Go ahead, try it out: http://www.news.gifts.oakland

Why doesn’t it work? Specifically, because ‘oakland’ is not one of the handful of approved Top Level Domains. But more generally, because the marketing-class flunkie who decided to name his newsstand after a website wasn’t attempting to create a real or useful web address — he or she was simply trying to be cool by association. But it’s dumb. It’s like naming a salon “The 2004 Mitsubishi Haircut GXE”. It sort of means something in a wholly different context, but on the other hand it’s just stupid. The car doesn’t exist; the website doesn’t exist.

The shop doesn’t even sell computer or networking gear. It’s just another seen-one, seen-‘em-all airport media-and-kitch market, memorable for no other reason than the dim-bulb appellation.

I’d bet that the person who picked the name “www.news.gifts.oakland” had a previous job designing book jackets, but got fired for putting ‘@’ signs in place of the letter ‘a’ in the titles. “Well, the author mentioned the Internet in chapter 6, so I figured…”

“Tucked within a circle of jagged cliffs, the lake’s blueness is so improbable that, according to local lore, it prompted one first-time visitor decades ago to write an angry letter to her congressman, accusing park rangers of lacing the lake with dye. It’s that blue.”

The National Park Service has a page of news, events, and information regarding Crater Lake.

This is part V of a series on hiking Barr Trail. Read part I, part II, part III, part IV.

To close out this series, I’ll summarize what we learned about gear and equipment needed for climbing a “fourteener.” We had three organizing principles:

• Drink lots of water.
  You will drink 3-6 liters of fluid during the ascent. I slammed a half liter at the inn, and drank five liters while hiking. Staying hydrated is the first and best thing you can do to prevent AMS.

  Remember that water consumption will be affected by temperature. We hiked at 50°F. On a warmer day, we’d have carried more fluid.

  Most of our group mixed some sort of energy powder into the water. I heard good reviews of CytoMax, and I personally liked GU₂O. You’ll be fine with plain water, but one of these supplements may give you an edge. Just remember: if you’re thirsty, you’re already dehydrated.

  There are two ways to carry water on a hike. The most convenient way is via a bladder system such as CamelBak. Six of our seven hikers used these with no complaints. I didn’t want to wear a backpack, so I carried 2 32-oz bottles in my lumbar pack, and 2 18-oz bottles in the hip pockets of my shorts. The small bottles were literally at hand and easy to use; I refilled them as necessary from the big bottles in the lumbar pack. This was slightly tedious, but manageable. One advantage: I could tell at a glance how much water I’d consumed, and how much was left.

  You will most likely be able to refill bottles at Barr Camp, which is 6.8 miles up the hill from the trailhead. The water there is pre-filtered and need not be treated with iodine. But please don’t take my word for it — I suggest you contact Barr Camp to verify that the above is still true for the date of your ascent.
  

• Dress for the weather.
  A corollary to this directive: “cotton is not your friend.” Trekking is a sport that has genuinely benefitted from so-called high-performance fabrics. It’s all about moisture control and heat retention — basically, you don’t want to wear wet cloth in a 40° breeze, or you’ll burn up all your energy trying to stay warm. Invest in polypropylene sock liners, underwear, and T-shirt. You will thank me.

  Foot comfort is critical if you’re planning to use them to get back home at the end of the day. $15 for a pair of real hiking socks is cheap insurance. I like Thorlo because the feet are more padded than the ankles, and because of the extra band of elastic around the arch. As mentioned above, wear polypropylene sock liners inside the hiking socks. Polypropylene wicks moisture better than just about anything else, and the thin slippery fabric helps prevent blisters.

  Get quality hiking boots, and break them in before your long hike. Experts disagree on what constitutes a proper break-in, but for reference, my Vasque boots needed about a dozen trail hikes — or two to three weeks of daily wear.

  Several of our group wore convertible pants (the legs zip off). These make sense, although you could also wear hiking shorts if you carry some kind of long pants that fit over the shorts. You’re likely to need something warm at the summit. Whatever you decide on, you’ll appreciate having many pockets so you need not fumble through a pack every time you want to take a photo or reapply sunblock. Also: unless you’re using a lumbar pack, you might need a belt. On a warm day you might find your pants slipping as you sweat off that greasy burger you ate for lunch yesterday.

  Your shirt should be polypropylene, or some equivalent wicking fabric. Also bring a fleece and a windproof/waterproof jacket. These three layers should keep you comfortable from 40°F to 100°F.

  Bring gloves of some sort, preferably thin and weatherproof as opposed to thick and fuzzy. One of our group spilled water on his gloves and suffered freezing hands for the remainder of the hike. This is a good argument for synthetic fabrics. It’s also a good argument for taking your gloves off when you refill your water bottles.

  Bring a variety of headgear: a bandana or thin stocking hat (or balaclava) for warmth, and something with a brim for glare control. Remember that the atmosphere offers little sun/UV protection at altitude, and the best sunblock is a shadow.

• Prepare for your own emergencies.
  Few single items are large or heavy enough to merit disqualification. So, if you think you might need something, bring it.

  If you’re certain you’ll be near others in your group, you can share this load. If you’re not certain, you should be equipped to take care of yourself.

  Here’s a starter list: spare batteries (camera, headlamp, cellphone, radio); foot powder; dry socks; white athletic tape; moleskin or pieces of plastic grocery bags (for blister prevention); pocketknife or leatherman tool; ace bandage or knee/ankle wraps; adhesive bandages; insect repellent; tissue/wipes; saline solution (if you wear contacts); lens tissue (for glasses, sunglasses, camera); paper towels (especially useful for spilled energy drink, which is sticky); lip balm; sun lotion, wristwatch, compass, 2-way radio, UV sunglasses (on a strap), flashlight or headlamp, aspirin and/or ibuprofin, pen and paper, trail map, drink powder, food bars, film.

  If you are hiking in the dark, get your own headlamp and bring spare batteries. I recommend the Petzl Zipka, which is tiny, lightweight, comfortable, and very bright.

  You will absolutely need sunglasses, preferably wrap-around or with leather blinders on the sides. I recommend wearing them on a neck strap so you can put them on or off quickly.

How much pack space will you need? Our group used various packs ranging in size from 300 to 3000 cubic inches. My pack holds 1100 cubic inches and seems to have been an ideal size: I carried everything I needed, and had no wasted space.

Pack choices are determined by hydration solutions. Or in other words, the first question you should answer is whether you want to use a CamelBak (or similar bladder system). Always a renegade, I had decided early on that I didn’t want to wear a pack on my upper back. Instead I opted for a Mountainsmith Cairn lumbar pack.

There are two disadvantages to backpacks:

• you’ll carry the weight high on your body
• you’ll sweat through your shirt under the backpack. (You may or may not find this uncomfortable.)

The advantages to backpacks are that they offer lots of space, many pockets, and are easy to take off and put on. The last of those brings up the one disadvantage of lumbar packs: when full, they are very tough to put on. On the trail I had to lean up against a tree or a rock to hold the pack in place while I connected and adjusted the waistbelt. Another disadvantage: my lumbar pack was tightly packed, making it difficult to quickly grab any specific item.

No matter what pack you use, you’ll appreciate having commonly-used items hanging on your belt, or in a pocket. Suggestions: lip balm; sun lotion; sunglasses (hang them around your neck); camera.

How much food will you need? I ate four food bars and a few ounces of nuts. Others in the group brought no solid food, but slurped down “energy gel” every 45 minutes. If you opt for the goo, try it out before your big hike. Some of the flavors are apparently disgusting.

Conspicuously absent from this document is any mention of trekking poles. Everyone in my group swears by them, so I’ll say that you should consider trying them. I have no relevant experience.

One final piece of advice: listen to your body. Don’t hike into a crisis, and don’t expect others to bail you out.

This is part IV of a series on hiking Barr Trail. Read part I, part II, part III.

At the end of the day, I had mixed feelings about not hiking back down the mountain. On one hand, we’d enjoyed an unqualified success:

• gorgeous weather
• 0 injuries
• 0 cases of AMS
• 100% completion to the summit (12.6 miles, +7600 feet)

This victory is especially sweet considering the inexperience and less-than-ideal training or acclimitization put in by some of the participants.

I also have to mention that I hiked without pain and without painkillers. I’ve had recent battles with knee and shin problems but neither affected me, proving that the skeletal adjustments I’ve made recently have worked. I used no orthotics, external joint bracing, or support wraps. I must be doing something right.

But there’s that unchallenged part of me that wanted to complete the round-trip. I think I will do that 25-mile hike at some point. I’m not disappointed in our decision not to hike down this time, because even now I can’t imagine enjoying a 9pm finish. Hiking down in those conditions would have been a mistake. But I think it is possible for a smaller group, with similar conditioning and a decent night’s sleep, to finish this roundtrip in 12-14 hours. Maybe I’ll put that trip together in a few years. I hope to conquer a few other fourteeners first.

Getting down the mountain was a challenge, albeit of a different nature than the ascent. Three different people, including the director of Barr Camp, had told us that the staff at the summit house would make a PA announcement to help us solicit rides down the mountain from tourists who had driven there. However, when I approached the clerk at the information counter, I was met with a haughty attitude which I’d previously thought was limited to employees of German railroads. She shut me down, not only refusing my request but acting insulted that I’d had the audacity to ask. Apparently they fear the liability should something bad happen on the drive down the mountain. “But you need not arrange specific rides,” I pointed out, “you could simply announce that there are hikers looking for rides, and leave it to us to —” She cut me off and was rude enough to look over my shoulder to the next customer in line, asking “Can I help you?” as if I’d ceased to exist.

Still, I knew I’d have no problem arranging a ride, because of the awe factor I’d experienced earlier. Some of our group felt differently; they were visibly nervous about the task. Then as some of us were discussing it, a woman approached and offered the two empty seats in her car. What could be easier? Two down; five to go.

I stepped outside and approached the first group I saw. I struck up a brief conversation about the ascent, and then once I had them engaged I set the hook. “You wouldn’t have any extra seats in that enormous maxi-van, would you?” They took three of us. At that point, with five of seven rides arranged in less than five minutes’ effort, I claimed a seat for myself and assumed someone else would find the final two rides.

This turned out to be more difficult than I expected; our last two hikers got rejected a dozen times before finally accepting a ride from some senior citizens who made them ride in the bed of a pickup truck, which was otherwise filled with souvenir rocks. The truck stopped at every vista point on the descent, and again so one of the elderly passengers could lean out the door to vomit. They got dropped off on the freeway a mile outside of town. It was, unfortunately, the worst ride of all. In contrast, we were provided seats, food, conversation (complete with entertaining Fargo-esque accents), and were driven all the way to our rental car.

I was badly in need of a nap at that point, but we drove out to round up the rest of our group. Then came a shower, dinner, and several pints of beer. I still felt glassy-eyed and disconnected, making me suspect that sleep loss was a primary component of my mountaintop fog. I crashed hard at 9:30 and slept the sleep of a guy with no plans at 2AM except “sleep another six hours”.

Believe it or not… I have more to say. Read part V.