It's really quiet up here. I can only hear the wind, the nearby stream, and the occasional squeak from one of the rock chipmunks.I'm sitting in the middle of a boulder field overlooking my camping spot that's tucked away in the trees. I'm completely surrounded by jagged rocks - some the size of my hand, and others as large as a truck. It's as if half the mountain slid away from the other half and smashed into a thousand pieces. There's a metaphor in there somewhere.
Its beautiful though. The sun is out and there aren't too many bugs up here. Just what I needed - time to sit and do absolutely nothing. Beyond this blog, there are only a few thoughts bouncing around in my head and with a few deep breaths, those are easily stilled. Clarity and focus are as present now as when they emerged during my hike up the mountain.
There were two main goals for this adventure. The first was to go camping in a hammock and the second was to see if I could rig the hammock 20-30 ft. up in the trees. The second goal is really to figure out how to camp in areas with a healthy population of wildlife and not disturb them. This would allow me to camp and be able to take photos that I would not normally be able to get.
The drive up to the Gibson Lake trailhead is an easy one...for the most part. 2 hours on the highway and 6 miles up a dirt road that, with every passing mile, becomes rockier and seems to delight in bouncing around any vehicle that tries to pass by. After a couple of miles of intense jarring and a few scrapes on the undercarriage of my car, I park it in a little pullout off the side of the road. At this stage, the road is way too bumpy to proceed without a 4WD vehicle. Still, I'm only 1/2 mile short of the parking lot and the trailhead. All in all, I think my car did really well. It's a 2000 Saab with 120,000 miles on it and got me further up the road than I expected.
With my pack on my back and a belly full of breakfast burrito, I hike a short distance up the road and arrive at the Gibson Lake trailhead parking lot by 9:30 a.m.. I've been up to this trail once before and that time there were a couple of 4WD vehicles in the parking lot. Today there are none. I wonder whether I'll go the whole day without seeing a single person.The hike up to Gibson Lake is rated as easy on most outdoor/hiking websites, but with a pack on, it'll knock the wind out of you. Today, it knocks the wind out of me a little, but the excitement of this trip trumps any exhaustion and I push on.
At 11,800 ft. which is still 100 feet below tree-line, I leave the trail and hike a short distance into the woods. Across the stream and through some more trees, I find a spot not too far from fresh water where giant pines buffer the wind. It's perfect.
It's 10:35 and I unpack my gear and stare up into the trees, trying to visualize what the hammock will look like hanging high between them. The task looks daunting, but my optimism does not waiver and I gather my ropes and pulley and set about the task of getting the hammock set up.
My plan goes like this: Climb each tree and attach the slap strap (connects to the hammock), the hammock, and the pulley line between them. Then, I'll clip into the pulley and while hanging underneath the pulley line, roll to a point above the hammock and simply drop in.
Here's the execution...I select two trees - pine trees of some sort - that are the perfect distance apart (15 feet).
Here's the execution...I select two trees - pine trees of some sort - that are the perfect distance apart (15 feet).
Step one is to figure out a way to climb the tree that's relatively fast and non-invasive. My mind zaps back to boy scouts where we made foot loops to climb trees. I measure and tie off foot loops, making sure they are long enough to go around the tree and back through itself so I can use them as a foothold. I make two of these as well as an additional loop to clip into (I've brought my climbing harness which comes in handy). Feeling very confident, I begin ascending the first tree to hang the slap strap (which has loops at each end where you can attach the hammock with a carabiner) and the pulley line (so I can climb up, clip in, roll to the middle of the rope and drop into the hammock). Its been years since I climbed a tree this way and its kicking my ass. My hands are sore, my feet are sore and I'm getting shaky legs trying to maintain my balance. On the plus side, my clothes, the rope and my hands all smell of pine sap. It smells really good. After about 1 1/2 hours, I have one side of the hammock clipped into the slap strap and the pulley line installed in tree number one.
The second tree takes me about half the time. Never underestimate the value of doing something once. The second time is always easier.
I climb back up tree #2 to test the pulley line and I'm exhausted (after having made 3 trips up and down the trees by this point). My arms are threatening to cramp and my legs are becoming more unstable. Still, I can't give up yet.
Clipping into the pulley line isn't as difficult as I'd thought it would be and for a moment I forget about how tired I am. As I let go of the tree and roll to the middle of the rope, I'm feeling optimistic that this might actually work. Unfortunately, when I arrive at the middle point between the trees, I am hanging too low, so when I get to the point where I'm supposed to be above or level with the hammock, I'm actually 2 feet below the hammock. I had underestimated how much the rope would sag with my weight on it. The thought of reaching up to the support rope and pulling myself into the hammock strikes me as beyond absurd and I start thinking about whether I have the strength to climb up both trees again to raise the height of the pulley rope.
At this point, my arms are cramping, my forearms are cramping and my hands are cramping. If you've even experienced this, you'll understand how difficult it is to hold onto a rope, tree or anything else.
Time to make an executive decision - climb both trees again to raise the height of the pulley line, or unclip the hammock, release the pulley line and the slap strap and abandon the goal of camping high up in the tree...for now. I decide on the latter.
With this decision, I instantly feel better and enough strength returns to my body to allow me to untie the ropes, slap straps and hammock and make my way back down the tree to ground level.
Feeling a small amount of defeat mixed with a healthy dose of relief, I turn my attention to the next most pressing matter - trying to straighten my arms and wrists and hands and fingers. A nearby clearing provides me a perfect spot with adequate space and I march in continuous circles with my arms out as far as they will extend to stretch out my muscles. At about circle number three, I'm reminded of when I was a kid and used to march around like this pretending that I was an airplane. This lifts my spirits and I spend the next 15 minutes continuing my solitary forest procession, stumbling around in circles laughing hysterically to myself thinking about how crazy I must look. 
With my arms and hands back in working order, I set about hanging the hammock at a "normal" height and I'm surprised at how little time this takes (15 minutes). The remaining critical campfire tasks also take little time - gathering wood for the fire and fresh water. Wood here is plentiful thanks to the many fallen trees. I build a respectable wood pile which should last me through the evening and make a trip to the stream that's only 30 yards from my camp site to stock up on fresh water.
It's 4:15 p.m. now and I'm still up in the rock pile typing this entry. I haven't seen any signs of big game wildlife (Elk, Moose, Bighorn Sheep, etc...) and am beginning to wonder if I'll see anything beyond the rock chipmunks and birds. A few hours later, I climb down from the rock pile, still not having seen any signs of wildlife. That's OK, the solitude and peacefulness of this place more than makes up for it.
Darkness comes gradually up here and several hours pass from the time the sun drops behind the mountains till when the sky is completely dark. At around 10:00 p.m. the campfire starts to die down and I look up to see more stars then I've ever seen before. In fact, they are so plentiful that they look pretend but I know they aren't. I dump my left over drinking water on the fire, leaving only a few glowing embers and lay back to stare up at the night sky framed by the silhouettes of the surrounding pines. The quality of sleep in the hammock is almost the same as in a tent at this altitude. I wake up a few times during the night to roll over, but apart from that I sleep soundly. The only thing I'd change is solving the problem of sliding down into the middle of the hammock during the night. I think lining the hammock with a rug stopper might do the trick. I'll try that next time.
Morning comes as gradually as night fell. I'm awake at 6:00 a.m. and stay in my hammock until the sun breaks through the trees illuminating the forest around me. The fire pit is almost completely cold, so I decide to douse it with a few buckets of water rather than light another fire.
I had planned to hike another 1,400 ft. vertical to the top of Whale Peak this morning, but my arms and legs are protesting from yesterday's tree climbing antics. No worries. I can do that another time. For now, the promise of a hot cup of cocoa and a breakfast burrito pull me back down the trail to my trusty Saab and the bumpy road back to civilization. Here's what I learned on this adventure:
1) Climbing trees is a lot harder when you're 37 than when you were 12.2) But it's just as much fun.
3) It didn't matter that I wasn't able to reach my goal of hanging the hammock high in the trees, I had a damn good time trying.
4) Spending a day where you have hours with nothing to do but watch the world go by is a really good investment in yourself.
The best part though, was waking up feeling as though I was the only person in the word and knowing that I wasn't.
