VN 66-67, Part 3: Psyops and the Hill Fights

So in (I think) March I went to Danang, to the weird world of the rear, where you couldn’t carry a loaded weapon! Where people saluted, wore rank, urinated inside! But it was the greatest thing (except for the unloaded weapon part, which made me a little nervous). There was this little psychological operations (psyops) base somewhere in Danang and a few miles away from that was an old hotel – very, basic – where we stayed, two racks to a room, ceiling fan. Mind-boggling when you think about it. Needless to say, we had some good parties there.

We were in the hotel at least 3 days a month. The rest of the time we were on operations or staying in a hooch in Dong Ha or Phu Bai. We had to go to Danang every month to get paid. That shouldn’t take more than 2 days, if that, but we squeezed all the extra time we could. Being in Phu Bai between operations and under no control at all from our nervous English major Michigan State Army lieutenant meant that we had a lot of freedom. I went to Quang Tri, a really neat provincial town, several times and also to Hue. It’s hard to believe I was walking alone around the deserted palaces and forbidden city with just a .45. But I had great confidence and paid attention – still … I walked along a street, trees, everything green, colonial buildings all along both sides – an image that was to stay with me the rest of my life. Photo: At Con Thien

The main thing we did was hump big, powerful loudspeakers to wherever, haul them up in trees and play tapes that were supposed to affect the enemy psychologically. We had some Buddhist funeral music, nostalgic love songs, and verbal harangues – all designed to get the other guys to surrender – and if they did, they were supposed to be met with “chieu hoi” (i.e., open arms). We also had some Rolling Stones. It was fun to play the funeral music and propaganda and then Paint it Black, Have You Seen Your Mother Baby, Standing in the Shadows, and so on. The troops dug it and the officers always got agitated.

CK at the rear - hanging out with Hermanson at his recon unit

The way it worked mainly was that the Marines on TAD to the Army psyops unit would be sent on big operations with Marine units. We were also sent to Marine “civic action platoons” which were about 15 men living in or next to a village. Potentially it was fairly dangerous duty for the troops who stayed in these places, though I don’t know of any those units being overrun. With the civic action units I remember …

Going on a night patrol out of one of those units, except we only went about 200 meters to an elevated railroad track and laid around for several hours drinking warm tiger piss beer (333 brand).

The men in a unit taking me to see a Marine who’d “gone native” – living in an isolated ville in a little hooch with his Vietnamese wife.

Hearing a gunshot and running toward it and finding a woman and her daughter moaning and crying with the husband dead on the floor, killed by VC for supporting the government.

Staying in an old stucco school that served as barracks for the unit.

Accompanying medical and dental units to villes as part of convincing the people to support the government. At the time, in the rural villes (20-100 families) people lived in traditional peasant houses, chickens and pigs around, water buffalo if the family had money and I’d be there, in the richness of the smells of food and people and all. Someone would bring a generator and there’d be a movie and the people sitting there watching, entranced, wondering if someone was going to toss a grenade into crowd. Map: Lang Vei - see below

I liked Vietnam a lot. Beautiful, green, rich, dangerous. I liked when I would go to Danang and walk the streets, getting coffee at a stand under the huge trees in the wide median with soup, coffee, noodle, bread stands selling food and bicycles, motos, cyclos, trucks passing.

And there was the DMZ and the Hill Fights.

I spent a few days at Lang Vei, at the Special Forces unit 8 klicks west of Khe Sanh (a few months later Lang Vei was overrun). I went on patrol with the SF troops and thought on patrol and back at their camp that they were not squared away, for example they walked too close together (Marines call it “cluster-fucking”) on patrol and depended too much on ARVN and tribal fighters. They had a room with a refrigerator and cold cokes and beer. I was in there having a coke (aahhhh) and an American woman walked in! I was stunned. She was an older woman with a toothy grin, pretty nice, and said her name was Martha Ray. Of course I had no idea who she was. She had a drink and we talked a little and she left to walk around talking to the troops. She flew out on a helicopter in the afternoon. At night I slept in a bunker where a lot of supplies were stored and a lot of rats lived. That’s the only time I know of that rats have ever run across my body. Photo: Hill Fights

We were based mostly out of Dong Ha, in a hooch behind the aid station with Danny, my mate from Houston and some others. Later we moved away from the aid station to a hooch next to a trench (a good thing) and near an air force NCO club in a shack, which we burgled for liquor at the first opportunity (so a very good thing). Photo: Air strip at Khe Sanh - you can barely see the German shephard

We were in the Hill Fights (the “First Battle of Khe Sanh”) with 1/9 and 3/3. Though what I was sent there to do was a joke (the loudspeaker doo-dah), I fought with the 1/9 and 3/3 Marines and that was no joke. I was (slightly) wounded up there – the 2nd time and this one I reported. It was just a piece of shrapnel in my wrist. Here is a post from my journal:

It's a challenge to talk about being in the Corps - it's really easy to say the wrong thing, something gross or inappropriate. Someone saw the Purple Heart license plates yesterday and a conversation ensued that included the idea of a million dollar wound (which I did not have) and ended with something that was maybe a little out of place ... I came in on a helicopter with another man to link up with 1/9 on an operation at the DMZ. 1/9 (1st Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment) which may have been the same unit we'd replaced in Dodge City - where I was told they got their name, the walking Dead. When the helicopter came in to where they were in those dry hills the LZ was getting hit with mortars. I didn't know what was happening and it was a complete surprise when the chopper was about 10 feet off the ground and the crew chief put his boot in my back and pushed me out, followed by a rain of ammo, C-rations, etc. and there were a lot of mortars coming in and I made it to a little hole that was full of Marines. When I dove in on top of them some lieutenant was telling me to get the hell out and I was just burrowing into the pile. I was in on an operation in the Hill Fights and I wasn't actually part of a unit with a job to do. And that's how it came to be that I could take photographs. What I said to two students was ...

I was at the DMZ once and there was this guy with a true million dollar wound and he was lying on the ground waiting to be put on a chopper out of there and he says "Hey man, take my picture." So I took a photograph of him lying there, covered in blood, grinning, shooting me the finger.

I was telling it as humorous and I'm not sure they got the joke. I guess you had to be there. Photo: at the Hill Fights

What I saw of the Hill Fights was something like when we landed at the DMZ 8 months earlier. With 1/9 we battled through the same sere hills and misty forests further in, being mortared and running down and killing the mortar teams. 1/9 was a hard-charging, bad luck battalion. They fought well and hard and destroyed all opponents, but took really a lot of casualties. They were good guys, machine gun teams always welcoming me to a fighting hole, happy for me to stand watch with them (“as long as you don’t turn them mfing speakers on”).

That one series of battles (above) was pretty horrific. We were after them, fighting through the hills and they were ready, except it was too much for them and they broke.

I don’t know if it’s anywhere close to accepted definitions, but to me a firefight has always been a fairly short and brisk exchange of fire. A battle to me is protracted, with any number of firefights or maybe just a protracted firefight, and usually some kind of ordnance.

I went on a river operation, on the Cua Viet River near Dong Ha. There were 4 or 5 Vietnamese boats with a couple of .30 cal machine guns (!!!) mounted on each boat. It was interesting, a little worrisome, and in the end, uneventful. Then when it was over we were taken to the Vietnamese commander’s home where we were treated to a huge feast at a long table outside their home. I don’t remember what we had except there were countless little bowls and many things were pretty fishy and it was good. It was a supreme time, relaxed, beautiful, friendly.

I was with 3/3 in a more jungley area than when with 1/9. I came in on a helicopter at dusk on a dark, misty day and they told me, go over there. Stay out of the way. They’d been fighting all day and so I was just hanging near the CP and it was later and I rolled up in my plastic near where some other Marines were sleeping and slept all night. In the morning I realized I was sleeping among 3/3’s KIA. I found some C-rats, notably a cinnamon roll (they came in cans) and I’d just gotten the can open when some Marines came over to carry the corpses, so I lent a hand and we were lifting a dead man up to the back of a tracked vehicle with twin .20 cal AA cannon and I had the cinnamon roll in my mouth and as we were lifting him up (men on the back of the vehicle pulling him up and men below pushing and I was below) and he was tilted and water and blood were running out of the poncho he was wrapped in and down my uplifted arm and even down my side. I couldn’t eat any more of the cinnamon roll. Photo: Near Danang

So we had bodies on the back of the vehicles and were moving to a place where helicopters could come in to bring ammo and take out casualties. The vents on the back of the vehicles were too hot and they started to burn the ponchos and bodies and you know, how can it be? Is this shit really happening?

I was flying out of an operation, in a chopper with a lot of weapons and several bodies. We were flying low, coming up on any enemy too fast for them to hit us except they did, bullets banging into the chopper and it started spinning except the pilot flared it some and though we slammed hard into the ground, it wasn’t a disaster – except for the fact that we had just been shot down by people who were undoubtedly headed our way from not very far away. We set up some guns and in just a few minutes the bullets and another chopper got there. My impression was that they were going to leave the bodies, but I wasn’t going back without them so in the end we dragged the bodies to the other chopper and got out of there (calling in arty on the downed chopper).

***
I saw a photograph today, taken at Khe Sanh – showed the Witch’s Tit – one of the (better shaped) mountains rising up above the base to the west and north. It wasn’t cold (as witches’ tits are reputed to be). It was hot, hot and extraordinarily dangerous (There’s no place in Iraq as dangerous as that place) – death in the mountains – when I hear, “these mist-covered mountains …” it sends chills through me. I was with 1/9 and we were in the hills around Con Thien northwest of Khe Sanh. But I hung out some at Khe Sanh and I was in them forests and mountains. Photo: Con Thien - thanks to Vets With A Mission

I was at Dong Ha and was wanting to go to Khe Sanh to hang out with Jeff and whoever was left of 1/26. I was at the airstrip (or was it Phu Bai?) looking for a plane or chopper into the base and someone told me that a C-123 starting to taxi away was going to Khe Sanh. So I ran up to the side door to get on and the guy pulled me up into the plane. Whew! It stunk of aviation fuel and that's exactly what it was full of in 55 gallon barrels and I'm flashing on the fact that there is always someone using a heavy AA machine gun to shoot at planes landing at Khe Sanh (guns set up to fire at planes coming in from either way). You know, it's not really a major deal for bullets to go through a plane - but if they hit a person or engine or something explosive or flammable, well that's bad and of course this whole plane was flammable. But we were already taking off - it ain't enough that I'm hiking around in these bleeding bloody hills literally from one gunfight to another and now I'm riding in a giant torch just waiting for a match. As I recall we did some pretty serious juking coming in - Hold On!

***
9th Marines history, Wikipedia: In April and May 1967, elements of the regiment defeated two NVA Regiments in the Hills north of Khe Sanh. In Operation Buffalo, elements of the 1st Battalion, 9th Marines made contact north of Con Thien with regimental-size NVA forces in an engagement that lasted through May, accounting for over 1300 enemy dead.

***

Another random post: I was in and out of Dong Ha, the furthest north big base in South Vietnam. This was before Dong Ha was built up. From there we would go to places like Gio Linh and Khe Sanh and out in the hills to the Hill Fights. I’d been in the Hill Fights for several weeks with 1/9 and some of my gear was lost or damaged, like someone had bled all over my flak jacket and it stunk. So one evening I was going through the discarded gear outside the aid station, which consisted of several shacks with sand-bag walls and stretchers with wounded men lined up inside on something like saw horses. I was shuffling around in piles of bloody flak jackets, helmets, web gear, bayonets, ammo and so on and it was dark and misty and evil with the guys inside and the smells and the mud and I felt like a ghost or ghoul or something and was pretty freaked out. I found what I was looking for though.

Leaving
I remember coming home from VN in 1967. We flew from Danang to Okinawa, where we stayed for a couple of days. One night Carver and I were in a little house where there were some women. There were also 5 or 6 other Marines there - we were sitting in a circle passing a bottle around. I remember looking at the other men, every one of them rear-echelon types, sergeants and staff sergeants, some of them tanned or muscled up or chubby, and I was hating them. I hated them for being in the rear, for being jovial, for being muscled up, for being chubby, for being tanned, for being. One of them noticed me staring at him and said something, and I answered (I remember clearly), “Well, fuck you then.” In one of the great moments of my life I hit him in the face with everything I had, perfectly, and he went right through the wall. A melee followed and the Shore Patrol was there in what seemed like moments. Carver and I got away, but the next morning they lined all the VN returnees up to look at our hands to see who was involved. I slipped into the already-inspected group for a clean getaway. Photo: Marines doing what they do

We flew into California where we stood in our final formation. That was the saddest thing - 30-something men left from the 180 who started out in C Company, 1st Battalion, 26th Marine Regiment 18 months before. The rest were dead, wounded badly enough that they were sent home, wounded three times (automatic go home), or (the truly lucky) sick with malaria and hence guard duty at Subic Bay, and so on.

I remember so clearly sitting in a huge mess hall (I think at Camp Pendleton) full of other men home from the war. Every time I was there I loaded my tray with a ton of food, then all I would eat was chocolate cake and glass after glass of cold milk. Unlike all other Marine Corps mess halls, this one had a juke box and the song they kept playing over and over was Groovin' by the Young Rascals "... couldn't get away too soon ... doing, anything we'd like to do ... all the happy people we could meet ... we'll keep on spending sunny days this way ... we're gonna talk and laugh our time away ..."Mostly it was all a blur.

What did we look like? The ones who weren't "in Vietnam" - but the ones who fought in Vietnam? We were the skinny ones, the pale ones, the nervous ones, the sick ones, the ones who didn’t want to look at you and who you didn’t want to look at.

War, Our Way of Life & Death
One night we went into L.A., drinking in a Filipino bar close to a freeway. At some point we were running across a bridge over the freeway, a couple of us running balanced on the handrail (it was a wide oval handrail) and a couple of the other guys stuffed into a grocery store basket rolling down the street. Somewhere along the way I was thinking, "At this stage of the game it doesn't make sense to be killed falling off a bridge onto an LA freeway." It was a good time.

Photo: Our Proud Heritage

I flew from California to Dallas Love Field. Nobody said anything to me - it seemed like nobody would look at me. There were already stories going around about people saying things to men coming home. I can't imagine anyone saying anything to me. How crazy would that have been? My father picked me up. I had nothing to say to him or anyone else.

Moving through these trying times

I received this message the other day: Your words were very poignant, moving and pardon the slight selfishness, validating. I will remember them as I move through the rest of these trying times. I also hope to carry them with me as I go forward in life.

Then this evening, reading something by Eric Andersen, writing about Ginsberg, Dylan, others: Their lives and writings have sustained me and given me confidence. Their words are my treasures. They are the eyes of the jewel. I am lucky to have gotten to meet and know some of them. They are spirits who illuminated my path, who provided the lantern I carry within, in the hope that one day a light will shine for others, as these great souls have shown for me.

That’s not to compare myself with Dylan(!), but to say that all around are people who can sustain us, give us treasures, illuminate our paths and so help us to sustain others, give others treasures, illuminate … In other posts I’ve named some who have done this for me: Dan Foster, Leslie Kemp, Stephen Gaskin, Stephen Levine, Nora Avila, Lay Rith, and others. Photo: people who sustain me; also see 1st paragraph in this post for a person who helps sustain me.

I’ve started working on an account of my 13 months in Vietnam.

Angry post

Dallas Morning News (10/21/2009): “Texans had less access to the (H1N1) flu vaccine last week than residents of all but one other state, according to the (CDC). Federal officials said the explanation is simple: Texas got fewer doses because it asked for less than other states.” Of course Texas officials are shuckin’ and jivin’ about this, but the fact is, Texas is in the bottom 3 states on virtually every measure of human services and has been for many years. When I first posted this I had a good bit more to say about vicious hypocrites, but discretion ...

Oink Oink pas de deux: dancing with Miss Piggy, dreaming of the alpine

See links at right/down for backpacking and Asia travel entries
Oink

It’s the year of H1N1. Irma, Pat, and I work the fever and cough hall (Photo at left). Yesterday I was thinking, well, ____, every day is a lot of exposure for us; and two of us at some degree of >risk, due to age. But it seems like a reasonable risk, given whatever and all. If I get it bad, I’m guessing I won’t be as cavalier, but in the meantime, here we go again. And don't believe that BS about "First responders are first to get the vaccine" - at least these first responders. Pas de deux.

2009 – Oh what a year this is! (copied from something I wrote)

2009 – When a secluded hallway at Grace UMC is lined with people with H1N1 influenza (photo); when our regular patients with diabetes, hypertension, depression, etc. keep coming; when people who never imagined that they would seek healthcare in the basement of a church started coming; when the nurse practitioner knelt in front of the woman with kidney failure and at least one gangrenous toe, cleaning the wounds, asking,
“Does it hurt?’
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I have to get it clean.”
“God bless you.”

2009 – When Eagle Scout candidates painted and decorated exam rooms and the back work area in ways that only 16 year old boys/young men would; when new volunteers included two pediatricians, a gynecologist, an ENT specialist, and two RNs; when ______ said they would continue to provide lab services at no cost; when several churches renewed their commitment to financial support for Agape; when the NP asked, “Does anyone want to work in the cough and fever hall with me?”
The young promotora said, “I’ll go.”
And Pat, the pediatric nurse practitioner said, “I’ll take care of the children.”

Photo at left above is a spacer for young patients with asthma - Nora makes them and they cost pennies vs. >$20 for manufactured. Photo below is Jackie, someone who always elevates us

2009 – When we received this email from a graduating medical student who volunteered at Agape for several years: “I'm very excited about starting a new chapter in my life and wanted to thank you for the opportunity you gave us to work at Agape. To me, it was the constant reminder that beyond all the books and the tests and (other stuff) there were people in need, people we wanted to help.”
***
2009 – When we looked back and saw that in the 1st three quarters of 2008 we treated 2,382 patients; and in the 1st three quarters of 2009 we treated 3,476 patients; when donations decreased; when commitments to keep serving were renewed.

The Wind Rivers
The Winds reverberate in me. I’m still processing the 2 weeks on the trail. The need to go into the high alpine even greater now than before. What I wrote yesterday: Where I went was not fun - it was harsh and challenging, beautiful beyond my imagination, there were several days of mild altitude sickness, there was some danger, and ultimately it was a true peak experience. That wasn’t my goal. My goals were to be in the alpine and to make it over the col.

One thing that’s helping as I consider where next in the Winds is to realize that all Winds treks start in a forest and that it always takes at least a day to get to the alpine. So, if I have to go through the same forest more than once, well, okay, after the first mile, trees in one place aren’t all that different from trees in another place. Photo above is along the Highline Trail. After I got home, I was in touch with the person who took it. Photo below was taken at Island Lake, looking back to the place I was, far away in the misty peaks.

All that to say, I may head back up the Pole Creek Trail (camp 1) to Seneca Lake Trail past Island Lake (2) to somewhere on the Indian Pass Trail (3) across the Continental Divide to Knife Point Glacier (4) and see where I might go; also up Freemont Peak (13,745),* a 3rd and 4th class scramble (5), back down, up Titcomb Basin (6) and over Knapsack Col to Mammoth Glacier (7) and then past Peak Lake to Glacier Trail NW and maybe camp at Dale Lake (8) and around to Highline south to Summit Lake (8) to Elbow Lake (9) to Big Water Slide (9) to Lost Lake and on to Seneca Lake Trail (10) and then one more night on the trail, maybe Eklund Lake or Miller Park (11) and out.

*From peakware.com: “Sitting in the center of the vast and remote Wind River Range, Fremont Peak represents a fine climbing challenge in arguably the most beautiful alpine environment in the United States.” What more could I ask?

Wind Rivers 2009 - North

(For travel in Asia, go to 11/2008-1/2009 & see link below right. For backpacking, see links at right: Wind Rivers 9-20-09, Grand Canyon 4-7-09, Winds 9-12-08, Maroon Bells 7-21-08, Bandelier 5-23-08, Big Bend 3-12-08)

Friday, 8/21 (More Wind Rivers photos here)
I left the clinic at 11:15, had lunch with Leslie at Whole Foods, home, packed car, and on the road about 1:15. Driving along, having all these sad feelings and after Wichita Falls, feelings of dread. I was out of cell range, but near Clarendon checked phone and was able to call home. What an enormous relief to talk with Leslie. Photo: clouds and rain in the trees

With a happier heart I drove on through Amarillo with Texas seeming endless. I stopped near Clayton New Mexico and slept fitfully for a couple of hours. I was dreaming something about Rabbit in the Moon and then heard this big noise and awoke as a train rumbled by. Back on the road ~3am and drove to Walsenburg and pulled off again at 5 to sleep soundly until 7 and drove on into Denver. Photo: chipmunk

Saturday, 8/22
I stopped at the big Denver REI in an upscale “old town” sort of area where waiting at Starbucks for REI to open I was surrounded by outdoor-type people – fit and tanned with bike and climbing stuff all around. I heard at a conference a month or so ago that Colorado has the highest level of health in the US. I was inspired to (plan on) ramping it up when I get home. I bought an ice axe and drove on to Fort Collins – one of the places of my dreams – a place where people look like me vs. Dallas, where I always feel a little like a minority. I went to a food fest where there were easily more than a hundred artisan food producers (chocolates, breads, salsas, soups, etc., etc.), musicians, and other entertainment. It was the best sampling ever. Got a decent room at Motel 6, thanks to Leslie’s Trip Advisor search. Pored over maps, read, watched CNN and Cops, went to sleep early, and slept well. I had planned on getting up at 4:30 so I could be on the trail around 1pm, but fortunately came to my senses and slept until 7:15. Photo: camp site 1 in trees to left of pond

Sunday, 8/23
Had a leisurely drive into Wyoming, through Laramie, across the high desert, and finally the mountains coming into view. Big! Got into Pinedale around 3pm, glad that I hadn’t pushed it to get on the trail today. The sky was heavy with steel grey clouds and by the time I got to then trailhead, rain … and here I sit, in my Campry, dry and warm as can be. Slept fitfully, dreaming of Judo climbing a wall and going after something and someone asked, “How does he do that?” I answered, “That’s just what he does.” What a great dog. It rained all night and I was cozy and semi-comfortable. Photo right: junction Seneca Lake & Highline Trails - classic Winds topography

Monday, 8/24 (day 1 on the trail)
Woke early and slowly got my stuff together in the misty morning. Basically I had a sense of dread about the whole thing – and anger at my friend for leaving me hanging and then alone on this trip. Yesterday, talking with Leslie I committed to being cautious and not going forward regardless of risk (is not going forward really an option?). Photo: hawk catching fish from Freemont Creek

Today was hard – as 1st days always are, because, of course, it’s all uphill, even if not steep – and I just drove here from Dallas @ 500 feet above sea level and now I’m at 10,000 feet and I’m 5 days from having 65 years and I’m carrying 12 days of food and it’s raining all day, with a little sleet now and then, and I’ve been nauseated most of the day and forcing myself to drink, grumble, mumble, groan, blah blah blah. By the time I got to my goal campsite up the hill from a tiny pond past Eklund Lake it had stopped raining. It took more than an hour to get the tent up and filter water. I felt really bad. Many mosquitoes. I lay on a piece of blue tarp outside the tent for about 30 minutes and finally felt some better. It’s 6:10pm and I still have no desire to eat. I think I’ll force the granola bar I didn’t have for lunch. And at last I’m completely set up and cozy in the tent. Photo right: camp at Lower Jean Lake; Left: Lower Jean Lake

People I met today: 77 year old man from Wyoming who passed me by – sheesh – and a serious talker; man from San Diego; medical student from Seattle; group of 4 men from Pittsburgh.

Tuesday, 8/25 (2)
Slept okay. Got up a few times and the stars were out, but many trees so the stars partially obscured. In the morning it took forever to fix breakfast (splurged on dehydrated eggs, cheese, and tortillas – too much food) and break camp. The tent was really wet and though I shook and shook, packed up wet. On the trail about 8:30, grateful that I got the Spot tracker to check in with Leslie and call for help in emergency. Photo right: Lower Jean Lake in the morning

The trail still mostly up – trudge trudge trudge, past Hobbs Lake, past Seneca Lake, Little Seneca, unnamed tarns, up switchbacks and I’m sucking air and not getting all I need. Basically wasted. Finally over the last little saddle at 10,600 feet and I’m where I want to be: alpine country, above the treeline, glacier-scoured granite domes, tarns, creeks. The Highline Trail cuts off to the northwest and I walk about ½ mile on the Highline and go off trail for a little way to find a good campsite next to a boulder about 10’ high and 20’ long and between several tarns with a few twisted alpine pine trees. I set up the tent and lay the rain fly over a rock to dry. I’m tired, but not sick like yesterday – just lounging around on a rock, enjoying the place, the breeze. The mosquitoes are still swarming – flying to within about ¼ inch before repelled by the DEET. Photo: Elbow Lake in the distance

After I filtered water I came back to the campsite and kind of went through the motions of cooking. Despite no enthusiasm, I ended up with a tasty dinner of pasta with chipotle cream sauce (Wagner’s, from Central Market), cheese and tortillas. After dinner I walked up the hill a ways and enjoyed the view. Back at camp I fixed a cup of orange tea, which wasn’t very good. The DEET started wearing off and so here I am, in my cozy little home away from home. Photo: icy tarn along the trail

People: the only people I talked with today were a father and son from Duluth. They have exactly the same plan as mine – Peak Lake, maybe Mammoth Glacier, Knapsack Col. I took their photo, thinking about what a treasure a photo like that is. The man told me about two people who were caught by weather at Knapsack Col and had to be rescued by helicopter.

I’m sticking with my original plan to camp as high as I can above Peak Lake and if the weather is good, make a dash (haha) over the col. If weather is bad, maybe head to Mammoth Glacier and try the col the next day. Photo left: Peak Lake

Wednesday 8/26 (3)
Everything remains just this HUGE effort. I’ve made it to the lower end of Lower Jean Lake and though that’s only a few miles from where I started, I’m still happy – happy to be here by this lake, in the raw alpine. There’s a snowfield ~100 meters from the tent and the lake less than 100 meters the other direction. One of the factors that decided me to take this route is the presence of Upper and Lower Jean Lakes. That was my mother-in-law’s name: Jean. She was a good person, a good m-i-l, and a great mother. Her last several years were unhappy and her mind slipping away, but those aren’t the years that mattered. They are the years that cloud memories of her, but what really matters is the other 60+ years. Anyway, I’m dedicating this trek to Jean Shirley. Photo: camp at Peak Lake

I always think of the Corps when I’m on these hikes – especially the 20-30 mile forced marches in landing force training with full gear (flak jacket, helmet, food, water, weapons, etc .– for me, a 23.5 pound machinegun). And I always think about Gunny Evans, a superman, a bad man, a good man, an ultimate Marine, a warrior. He had super strength, abnormally long arms, and he could see in the dark. We made a landing up near the DMZ where we were in about 5 days of off and on true battles (vs, firefights). At one point me and Charlie Parker were getting it on with some automatic weapons at the right flank point when like some kind of hallucination Gunny Evans comes charging toward us from the front carrying a wounded Marine. How he got there I have no idea, but there he was, Gunnery Sergeant Ernest Evans, USMC. Photo: from tent, Stroud Peak

People I met today: man from Wisconsin, a prodigious hiker; man from Utah, another strong one. Animals: eagle catching a fish out of Freemont Creek, marmot, chipmunks, squirrels, mosquitoes. Photo: a great dinner

I just realized that on this trek my legs hurt less than on previous ones. Later I awoke with my legs hurting enough to take an ibuprofen.

Thursday, 8/27 (4)
A good day – hiked from Lower Jean Lake past Upper Jean, past the trail to Elbow Lake, on to Shannon Pass Trail, over the pass, up to Cube Rock Pass, and off-trail to Peak Lake where I discover that the reports of a rock slide over the trail on the north side of the lake are true. It looked unstable and like a slide into the icy water was possible. So tomorrow I’ll head around to the south into a most amazing boulder field.
My campsite is on the south of Peak Lake in a tiny space among boulders and directly below Stroud Peak. Dinner tonight was great: mashed potatoes, bacon, cheese, and three cheese toast. Excellent!

Leslie, you’ve been deep in me this trip. I think about this and that hiking along and resting, but the steady stream is you. Even in this grandeur I miss you – sometimes thinking of being in Hong Kong with you (of all places). What a time we’ve had. Traveling, working together, David, still working together! And of course the whole thing of being married to you – in love for so many years.

People: saw the father and son again – they decided not to try Peak Lake Basin; man from Boulder – just getting back to backpacking and this hike the big one for him. Later I thought I should have asked him if he’s on BP forum. After passing trail to Elbow Lake I saw a three people off in the distance and that’s all. Photo: THE boulder field

Friday, 8/28 (5)
This has been a tough day. The trail around the north of Peak Lake is covered for about 50-70 feet from a fresh rock/earth slide, which is likely to be unstable, so rather than risk a slide into the icy lake, I went through the boulders south of the lake. It’s a huge maze of piled up rocks ranging in size from cottage on down (some shifting, even a few big ones). Quite a challenge, with my backpack creating balance and space issues. At one point I was resting and smelled a chemical. Uh-oh, denatured alcohol, my cooking fuel leaking from the newly cracked Nalgene bottle. I chugged my small water bottle and poured what alky was left into that. Hmmm. Think I’ll start carrying 2 small Gatorade bottles of alky. There were a few patches of dirt up high in the boulder field and I made my way that way, only to find that the dirt was completely unstable and I was better off in the rocks. Probably also should have stayed lower in the field as well.

Finally I got through the rocks and into a pretty meadow with scattered boulders and rock alongside a rushing mountain stream and on up into the basin to a waterfall with a milky blue/white pond (color from glacier ground rock) and a sheltered campsite above. It was ~2pm – good enough!

Clouds were gathering and I got the tent up faster than usual. Then the clouds blew on by and I’m resting in the shade on a rock platform with the waterfall cascading down a few feet from my feet and between the rock I’m sitting on and the rock I’m leaning against is a smaller rivulet running into the main fall. Quite a day.

I’m guessing I’m at about 11,000 feet with Sulphur Peak above me and the back sides of Bow Mountain and Mount Arrowhead on the south. Across the basin are Mount Whitecap, G-4, Split Mountain, and then Twin Peaks on the north side of Knapsack Col and Winnifred Peak on the south side. I had thought I might go up between Split Mountain and G-4 to Mammoth Glacier. LOL! I don’t think so! It’s doable, but I want to get over the col while the getting is good.

Doing this solo really changes my mindset. What would be a challenge with a companion seems a major challenge alone. There is also a lack of mutual motivation. Instead of hiking all over the place at the end of the day, I’m staying close to camp. Basically, I’m in a risk reduction mode all the time. Photo: alpine flowers, late season color

I can see four waterfalls from my campsite and there was a nice little water slide on the way up to here – all are glacier run-off. I’m thinking that not that many people have been in this place and seen what I’m seeing.
I like my little tent. It’s an REI ¼ dome UL 2 person tent. I could have saved a pound by getting a one person tent, but I sure like the extra room. I’ve slept in some pretty bad places in my day: pool halls, troop ship, cars, Garden Guest House in Rangoon, rice padi, VN cave with rats – the first 7 months in VN I slept on the ground, usually without air mattress (we called them rubber ladies).
It’s raining, windy, colder, and I’m worried about tomorrow. If the weather is too bad to try the col, it’s not like I can easily go back through the boulder field if it’s iced or wet. Hmmm. People today: none.

Saturday 8/29 (6)
I got an early start, dehydrated eggs ham & cheese for breakfast, and hiking a little after 8am. Contoured an easy start and then up, up, ever up. There was no trail except from time to time I’d come across a faint one, then lose it in the rocks and snow. I stayed to the right and it got steeper, with a few stretches of clambering. I took my gloves off for a better grip on the rocks, which felt good since when I’m at the clinic I wash my hands 30 or 40 times a day. The steep, unstable scree was most challenging for me. Getting close to the top I used the ice axe on a steep snow field – chunk, kick, chunk, kick, chunk, kick … I was really working and had to rest more than I’d like (even more than usual!) – especially considering the lowering clouds. Finally, Knapsack Col at >12,000 feet. Photo: Peak Lake Basin, Stroud Glacier in distance

Now the descent. There was a kind of rounded cornice at the top, so I went around to the north on a talus slope, then to the snow-covered glacier for a long, beautiful glissade. Made an arrest, then down again, then on my butt (but who was there to see?) – snow in my pants via the tear in the seat gotten from an ignominious fall in the rocks above. Altogether a long and fun slide. Then the long trudge through scree, water, and so on. I fell again somewhere along the way, from fatigue and loss of focus. Man, am I happy.

At the very head of the Titcomb Basin, I found what I guess is a climber’s camp – who else would be there long enough to build a 1-2 foot wall/windbreak on 2 sides of the site right beneath the big walls of either Forked Tongue or Mt. Helen? Looks like home to me!

I don’t want to overstate things, but this was a crux day for me – the most challenging day of the trek. I’m really glad to be here. Photo: challenge to cross this snow field

As always, thinking about Leslie. Having been to the moon today, Standing on the Moon comes to mind. Standing on the moon
With nothing left to do
A lovely view of heaven
But I’d rather be with you
Somewhere in San Francisco
On a back porch in July
Just looking up at heaven
At this crescent in the sky.

These backpacking trips are, in part, vision quests and you’d think I’d get the picture/vision – because it’s always the same. Like in the Dedication to my terminal illness book: I lay dreaming and there was a band setting up to play, tuning, and then in a beautiful clear voice a woman sang, “Who knows where the time goes” and in that moment I awoke and said aloud, “To Leslie.” People today: none. Photo at left: looking waaay back down Peak Lake Basin

Sunday, 8/30 (7)
Slept in to 7:30 or so. Sleet on the ground. Leisurely breakfast, leisurely packing, and head on down the Titcomb Basin, past the lakes. At the 2nd lake I encountered the first person I’d seen in several days. The hiking was easy, mostly level and downhill alongside the Titcomb Lakes and then around the south side of Island Lake, my planned stop. I found a nice, sheltered place to camp with Titcomb off in the distance. Happy 65th, CK. Photo right: Twins Glacier; left: looking down the glacier into Titcomb

A storm was developing out to the west and here it comes: big wind, lightening, thunder, rain sprinkling, splattering, now sleet, hail, BIG wind. Glad I’m a little sheltered. Much cooler now, rain steady and lightening and thunder passing. Rain slacking, wind rising. Hongry.

Storm on past and I jumped out to fix dinner – chili with pasta, cheese, and the whole $.99 bag of Doritos (at home I stuck a pinhole in the bag and squeezed the air out and smashed the chips some to end up with a small bag). Mmmm, Doritos. My appetite is returning – the last few bites not a chore.

People: young man from Oregon filtering water, down from mountaineering with his uncle – “on the front (crampon) points. Awesome.” Yeah, awesome all right. A man back from 20 years in France. And at Island Lake, probably 15-20 people. Photo right: happy man in Titcomb Basin

Monday, 8/31 (8)
Hike today took me from Island Lake, where the trees begin again, through sub alpine meadows and basins, and on into the forest and through the meadows. Even though the trend is downhill, I still hiked tired. Some would be “trail hardened;” I’m trail worn. I got a little past my objective and am camped in a meadow at the junction of trails to Sweeney Lakes and Pole Creek. I started out in the woods, but couldn’t hack it in there and moved to the edge of the meadow next to a big patch of salvia. Dinner was alfredo, pasta, basil, pepper, Italian toast. Yeah! Photo left: Island Lake

Tuesday, 9/1 (9)
I’m tired. Thinking that you don’t know your limits until you find them.
There’s much more wildlife in this lower area. In the evening yesterday birds singing and screeching and this morning a cacophony of birds. Carnivore scat on the trail. Got to trailhead about 1pm. Sitting on a planter in front of the general store in Pinedale, talking with Leslie (she was in Central Market) – happy day, talking with my wife.

Tue/Wed/Thu/Fri
Had a fantastic cheeseburger & fries at Wind River Brewing Company. Got a room for two nights at the Sundance Motel, an unremarkable, but fairly cheap place. Showered. Showered. Ate. Sorted gear. Watched TV. Washed clothes. The next two nights I stayed at the Signal Mountain campsites in the Grand Tetons. Some people had travel trailers, campers, RVs, and some had tents. I was thinking, these are my people – my tribe. Quiet, friendly, respectful, families, couples, retired people – no urine on the toilet seat – just your basic nice WASP scene. I’m enjoying it. Last night man at next camp site brought over some cornbread and honey. We hung out, talking – somewhere in middle America. Photo: taken from my last camp site


(More Wind Rivers photos here)

Wind Rivers 2009 - Cirque of the Towers

(For travel in Asia, go to 11/2008-1/2009 & see link below right. For backpacking, see links at right: Wind Rivers 9-20-09, Grand Canyon 4-7-09, Winds 9-12-08, Maroon Bells 7-21-08, Bandelier 5-23-08, Big Bend 3-12-08)

Saturday, 9/5 (1) - more Cirque of the Towers photos here

Headed to Jackson to pick up Mike H, my trekking partner for the Cirque of the Towers in the southern Winds. I was early to the airport and got some completely wrong information from the woman at the Frontier Airlines. Thanks a lot. Picked up Mike, drove to Pinedale, sorted food, stopped by outfitter, and headed to Big Sandy. It’s a long drive through Wyoming high desert over a steadily worsening road and finally into aspen and then pine forests where the road was pretty bad, at least for a Camry. Saw several herds of pronghorns, some up very close, and actually had to slow for two bucks in the road. Photo above: Along Big Sandy Trail; below: badger

We were finally on the trail about 3pm. It was a lovely slightly uphill walk along the Big Sandy River. Uneventful except for seeing a badger. We made it to the junction of the V Lake trail, about 3 miles. Found a nice camp site in the woods next to a huge low granite dome.

Sunday, 9/6 (2)

Back on the pretty forest trail until we got to Big Sandy Lake about 11am. Then the fun started with switchbacks up, up, up and after a lovely park-like section of trail, the trail pretty much quit being a trail and we ascended through well-cairned steep rocky shelves, gaps, boulders with first Sundance Pinnacle, then the mighty Warbonnet Peak looming over us. Around 3pm we’d made about 3.5 hard miles and huge clouds were blowing in, so we found a decent camp site right under Warbonnet. We had a good 15-20 minute rain just as we got our tents up. Photo: Mike on the "surprisingly awkward" trail to Jackass Pass

Monday, 9/7 (3)

The trudging scramble upward continued. On this, as on previous days we met some nice people. I’d say I’d like to know at least 90% of these people. Most were young (younger overall than I met in the northern Winds), all strong, ready to hear about our trek and ready to tell about theirs. The women reminded me of when my mother realized Leslie and I were going to marry. “None of her friends,” my mother said disapprovingly, “wear makeup.” Everyone we saw – women, men, dogs – looking good. Trudge, trudge, pant, pant. We’re at about 10,500 feet – a 10,000 foot gain in 24 hours for Mike, gasp, pant and finally the last descent to Arrowhead Lake and then the long ascent to – at last Jackass Pass. Being as how donkeys, etc. can’t get to the pass, I wonder which jackasses they named it after. I gave a raspy, sorry yodel, unappreciated by my partner, and then we were over the pass, over the Continental Divide and down into the awesome Cirque of the Towers – from Pingora Peak to Warrior 1, the most amazing array of big walls in the Rockies and we are here! Photo above: Jackass Pass; right: The Cirque of the Towers

We headed down the trail, then west toward Hidden Lake, through (what else?) more boulders. It’s important to understand when I say boulder field, I’m not talking about a field with some boulders, but great jumbles of boulders of all sizes – but not as taxing as the Peak Lake boulders. We got through these, stopped to filter water, headed up a small ridge pretty far above Lonesome Lake, and stopped for the night at about 10,400 feet (just inside tree line). Warrior 1, Warrior 2, and Pylon Peak are close above us, but we still haven’t gotten to Hidden Lake.

I feel good about our progress. One full day of hiking plus two half days have gotten us well into the Cirque – not bad for a combined total of 126 years of age! I can see myself returning, making a wider loop, Jackass into the Cirque, Lizard Head Trail north out of the Cirque, Bears Ear, Washakie, and south, past Marm’s & Dad’s Lakes or over Texas Pass for a smaller loop. On the other hand, the northern Winds are higher and I love the alpine … Photo: Warbonnet, Warriors

Tuesday, 9/8 (4)

Today was a rest day. We got a late start and hiked for less than 2 hours, mostly downhill (through a few boulders, of course), to a dell in a grove of old pine trees above Lizard Head Meadows at about 10,200 feet. Leisurely set-up, hung out talking for an hour or so, wandered down to Lonesome Lake where we watched 12” trout swimming in the shallows. Mike caught 3 cuttthroats and threw them back in. He taught me some about fishing, but I caught none. Photo: trout in the shallows

Found myself thinking about the Drop Inn on Sukhumvit Soi 20, coffee on the patio, the pad see eu place around the corner, hanging out in the aircon … Got back to the camp site about 4, fixed Thai noodles with lemon grass, chilis, and chicken. Ate in a sunny place on the side of a hill. Ahhh, the wilderness ain’t all harsh.

Yesterday a girl told us about seeing a moose cow and calf in the meadow, and we found fresh tracks close to our camp site, so we have high hopes for that. Now that Labor Day has passed, this prime Wind Rivers area is almost deserted. A couple hiked past us earlier today and we saw three men across the lake while we were fishing and that’s all. Photo: Pingora

Wednesday, 9/9 (5)

We headed back up to Jackass Pass. As we walked (up, of course) we looked back and saw three moose (bull and 2 cows) standing in a marshy area of the lake. Getting up to the pass from this side is much easier than from the other side. We were resting at the top when who should appear but the man from France who I’d met at Island Lake a week ago. Had a nice time talking, then down, down, down, up, up, up, so on and so forth, clambering down the rocky areas. Dedicating this hike to the cairn makers – Thank You! Pretty tired by the time we got to a camp site at the bottom of the switchbacks. Set up tents, filtered water, dinner. I walked a way up the hill to pee and out of nowhere some people appeared. What? Oh, I forgot that there were switchbacks, so I’d walked almost to the trail. Oops. Photo: morning in the Cirque

Saw an eagle soaring across the lake toward us. Photo: Mitchell Peak

Thursday, 9/10 (6)

I got up early with a song in my mind. Sat on a granite dome and wrote:

In the early morning sun,
Wishing you were here with me
Knowing we’re together soon
Knowing that’s forever more

I’ve loved you for these many years
I’ll love you many more
We’ll be together now
And forever more

Sun coming up (now) over foothills
Like it’s come up these past days
Over mountains stark and grey
How can I be here
In this place so high and wild

All these years passing by
Not like a dream, not like a mist
Like treasures one by one
Passing through my life enriched

Working hard to make it so
Lucky that it’s turned out like this.

When I finished writing I cried, for the beauty, for life. My life.

The hike out along Big Sandy River was beautiful: the river, meadows, forests, dells, mountains, and sky. And finally the trailhead and now we’re on a cheeseburger and fries mission. The Wind Rivers Brewery did not disappoint. Back to the Sundance for a shower, another shower, and sleep in a big bed. Then on the road to Dallas, through huge storms in Kansas, rain in Oklahoma, and home.

More Cirque of the Towers photos here