8/15/96 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 704 words

Susan and Jane

Went fishing and hiking at Ten Lakes, Yosemite, same as usual, only different. My wife, Susan, hiked the eight miles with me. Ron West, my adventure buddy, came along and brought his wife, Jane.

This was a phenomenal event. Susan hasn't backpacked anywhere for years, and Jane has never worn a backpack in her life. Ron and I have been pleading with them for years to go hiking and were given the eternal "maybe." Perhaps the pressure of being excluded from our Colorado River Trip took its toll.

For all you 40-plus ladies out there convinced you're not the wilderness types, take testimonial from Jane West. She was nervous for weeks leading up the trip. She had visions of collapsing on the trail and waiting for the helicopter, of a bear chewing through the tent, of mosquitoes and bugs crawling through her hair and soup, of Stellar jays pecking at her eyes. She dreamed of bites, bruises, breaks. None of that happened.

She was ambivalent during the ascending hike, externalizing her thoughts through her facial expressions: "What am I doing here? How did I get roped into this? Will they ever stop and wait for me? What would they say if I turned around and ran like heck for the car? This looks like a good place to camp. This looks like a good place to camp."

Eventually, her determination surfaced. At the base of the steepest part she said, "I'll be darned if I'm going to let Ron live out his retirement alone on my %#$& insurance money. I'm going to live through this." And up the hill to 9,600 feet she trudged.

For Susan, one of her few hikes was to Ten Lakes, so at least she knew how the trail unrolled. She kept a steady pace, just ahead of Jane, like a carrot on a stick. After seven hours, I expected more huffing and suffering from her, but she marched to the lake, dropped her pack, and ran off to find firewood. Ron and I gave each other secret grins, which said, "They did it. We made it. Now they must have a wonderful week, so we can come back again."

Day one we relaxed and built a nice fire. For the next three days we spent the mornings fishing, each time at a different lake, each time catching enough for dinner. We caught 21 trout all together. Ron was happy because he finally out fished me. I only caught seven. Jane and Susan each caught a trout, too, big 14-inch rainbows.

In the afternoons we would lie around camp reading and napping. We brought a darn nice hammock. We also had a sun-shower for warm baths, but our favorite place was a waist-deep pool up the creek beneath a waterfall. As couples, we'd take turns sneaking off for long swims.

In the evenings we'd prepare our trout dinners. The first night was Cajun style, the second was lemon-pepper, and the third was Shake 'n' Bake. After dark we'd build a fire and cook biscuits on a stick. The moon would appear over the distant ridge and illuminate the glassy lake, casting distinct shadows of ponderosa pine across our campground.

Each fishing day involved a day hike along either a trail that crisscrosses the stair-step streams up through marshes and canyons to the next lakes, or across a ridge where we could see distant mountain tops. Either way, we took our time and lots of pictures. One day we stopped near a creek to soak our feet and fell asleep in the grass.

We didn't fish the last day. We walked over to the south rim of the Grand Canyon of the Toulumne River, where we could see down 3,300 feet, and lay out across the white polished granite. At last, all four of us were together at the Grand Canyon. We whiled away the afternoon free associating. That night we ate pesto pasta and drank Mylar wine.

Susan and Jane led the hike out. Ron and I followed, walking our normal pace, but couldn't catch them. They talked about what and who they would bring next time. They looked strong and rested. We made the car in under three hours.