Rawah Wilderness Adventure

The Trail Head

Backpacking is one of those activities I wish I would have done more of when I was young enough and capable enough to do more of such things like that.  Often I have dreamed of hiking across the Rocky Mountains or the length of the Appalachian Mountains, or hiking and canoeing along the Lewis and Clark trail...much the same as I have dreamed of flying to the moon...a great dream, but not very practical.  Even so, I have managed to make a number of backpacking trips over the years.  There is one trip I made back in the summer of 1996 that stands apart from the others; a hike into the Rawah Wilderness region of Northern Colorado.

First view of the lower lake - Elevation 10,200

For eleven months in 1995 and 1996 I worked a contract job in Denver, Colorado, performing various mainframe program job evaluations for an insurance company.  It was a great job, except I was away from home for extended periods of time when my boys were pretty young and I was only able to make it back to Edmond, OK one or two weekends a month.  I hated being away like that, but it was an obligation I needed to fulfill and in the long run it worked out very well.  On my off days I spent a lot of time just checking out the wonders of the Colorado Rockies...taking day hikes along the Colorado Trail and in the Rocky Mountain National Park or making fishing trips to the Colorado River and other locations, or just making ordinary Sunday drives to see what I could find.

One of my favorite places to hike into, and indeed I managed one backpacking trip into, was a place called Homestead Meadows, not far from Estes Park...the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park.  It's a great 4 mile or so day hike in where a number of old homestead ruins are located.  The trail head starts around 6,000 feet or so and climbs up to around 8,000 feet...but that's another story that I may write about someday.

My trip into the Rawah Wilderness area began with some research at the local outdoors shop.  I was looking for an isolated place that offered a degree of challenge but still very doable.  There were so many options I found it difficult to focus in on one location.  I ended up attending a program at one of the local branch libraries that was presented by one of the hiking clubs in the area.  It just happened to be a program featuring the Rawah Wilderness area...and it was exactly what I needed.  Rawah it would be.

My destination were some mountain lakes situated between 10,000 and 11,000 feet elevation and around 10 miles from the trail head.  They were stocked with trout so I was looking forward to not only the hike, but a chance to do some real mountain lake fishing.

Hiking in the mountains is a lot different than hiking in Oklahoma...a lot different...not only is the altitude an issue, but the weather and time of year play a significant role I was to discover.  My first attempt into the area ended in defeat as I made the attempt too early in the year.  It was mid-May and the day started off great, but after I had hiked a few miles in, I ran into snow pack.  The trail was completely obliterated and I had to turn back.  A month later...mid-June...I tried a second time.  This time I made it maybe 3/4 of the way in before the snow pack once again defeated me.  Frustrated...I decided to continue the hike cross country.

Campsite - See the Tent

Using a topographical map, I made a best guess as to where I was and where I needed to go...which was to follow uphill what I thought was the outlet stream from the lakes area.  A mile or so of following the stream, I began to realize my evaluation of the situation was flawed.  I stood on the crest of ledge with a 20 foot drop contemplating weather to backtrack back to the trail or continue on.  While standing on the ledge, underfoot was a hidden snag that suddenly gave way and I lost my balance and ended up sliding, bouncing and tumbling to the bottom of drop...landing with a rather undignified thud.  Fortunately various boulders, roots, and saplings broke my decent, but I did manage to slightly twist my ankle upon the hard landing.  After a few choice words, I took stock of my situation and determined the only thing seriously injured was my pride...and...er...my rear end.

I attempted to climb back to the top of the ledge but it was too steep and slippery with all the snow...so now I was stuck.  I was in no real immediate danger as I had shelter and plenty of food...So...I sat down..broke out something to eat...and contemplated what to do while my ankle swelled.  It became apparent that I would have hike cross country downhill until I crossed the trail again.  Eventually I headed off and finally did find the trail...headed out and vowed to try again.

A month later...mid-July...I made a third attempt, but this time I took a different much steeper route that zigged zagged across the southern facing slopes that lead up to the lakes.  I figured the snow pack would melt off these southern slopes more readily than on the other route.  There was one section of the hike that was really steep.  For a good two miles or so, I trudged up a 35 to 40 percent grade...huffing and puffing all the way with every foot gained in elevation.  My pack weighed in at around 30 pounds when I started the hike, and by the time I made it to the lakes it must have weighed around 100 pounds.

What a view though it was and a sense of satisfaction to finally arrive at the first lake...elevation 10,200 feet.
Once I setup camp I spent the rest of the afternoon just hiking around the lake trying my hand at some fishing and managed to catch a few small trout along with one really nice one...I released all of them.

One of the first things I noticed about the weather up there was just how rapidly it changed.  One moment the sun would be out and its heat would sear the skin, then a cloud would roll in and it would get cold...sun...cold...sun...cold...all afternoon.  By late in the day, clouds began to build and I experience my first mountain thunderstorm.

Storm brewing

Thunder in the mountains is different than on the plains.  Being from Oklahoma I was no stranger to thunderstorms...Oklahoma can have some real good ones...but at 10,000 feet, fully exposed to the elements..that first clap of thunder caught me off guard.  Where thunder on the plains tends to boom and rumble on for a while...thunder up there fired off like the crack of a high powered rifle.  Crack..Boom...it was over that quick...and I jumped about four feet when it hit.  Not long thereafter I retired to the relative safety of my little one person packer tent...and then the rain started.

There's nothing quite like lying inside a cramped one person tent during a mountain thunderstorm trying to read a book by Patrick McManus by candle light when lightning is flashing and sheets of rain threaten to drench everything.  It's quite an experience and adds a uniquely mountain flavor to the adventure...and by the way the title of the book fit well with the situation...'A Fine and Pleasant Misery'.

Sometime during the night, the storm abated and I fell into a deep fatigue induced sleep.  By sun up I rolled out of the sleeping bag and was greeted with 40 degree July temps, crisp mountain air, a bright blue sky, a stiff back, and a moose.  Yeah...that' right a moose.  I didn't even know Colorado had any moose...but there he stood all nine feet of him feeding in the hedge around the lake about 150 yards away.  I grabbed my little disposable camera and tried to take a picture but he was standing in the shadows and the sun was in my face.  When I tried to close the distance between us, he looked up, snorted with big cloud of condensed breath and said..."That's close enough.."  I didn't argue.  It was great fun to watch him meander around as I cooked breakfast and stretched my stiff back and legs.

I spent a little time fishing but to no real consequence.  Eventually, it was time to pack up and hike out.  I'm always sad when I must do that...but time was getting away and I wanted to make it back to my vehicle before it got to late.  My stay there was pretty much a solitary experience. Two other groups of hikers came through...one heading on up to a higher lake, and the other camping a few hundred yards from my location...I barely knew they were there.

By the time I made it down the mountain and back to the trail head late that afternoon, my feet were really hurting, my back felt like it had a 2x4 jammed in against the spine, and my legs ached something fierce...but if I could have turned around and hiked back in for another day, I would have done so.

I always hoped I could return, but as it turned out my contract job ended a month or two before it was suppose to and I returned to the flat lands of Oklahoma, home, and family.  Several times I have threatened to make that hike again...I've never lived up to those threats...I suppose time and age take a toll and I doubt I could make that hike today without doing some serious fitness training.  Back in 1996, I weighed in something under 165 pounds and was fresh off a training season of swimming, biking, and running.  Today, I weigh in something over 190 pounds and I'm fresh off the couch.  Even so, maybe someday I'll be able to experience once again the crack of a mountain thunderstorm...sit by the waters edge of a mountain lake and watch a moose graze his way around the water.  Until then, I still have the memory of a Rawah Wilderness Adventure...and it was truly a grand experience.

Anyone out there have a backpacking adventure they'ed like to share..I'd love to hear about it.

( All photos were taken using one those Kodak 35mm disposable cameras )

Keith

My First Quality 35mm Camera

Way back in the mid-1970's my initiation into 35mm photography took a quantum leap forward when I purchased my first quality 35mm camera,,,a venerable Fujica ST701.

The ST701 was one of the first SLR cameras that Fujica ventured into.  It was relatively compact and felt like a brick and all the functions were mechanical.  It came with a high quality 55mm f/1.8 M42 mount ( threaded screw mount) lens and I purchased an additional 135mm Vivitar lens and a basic Vivitar bounce flash.  It was the first camera using a silicon photo-cell receptor coupled to FET ( Field Effect Transitor) circuit for light metering.  Compared to other cameras of the day, the silicon photo-cell provided a higher sensitivity, instantaneous response and precise measurement of all types of light.  Basically, the metering system was visually transfered to the user via the view finder by the use of a needle inside the +/- exposure window that indicated when the exposure setting was set within acceptable ranges.

Taken with the ST701

When I purchased the camera, it was a substantial cost outlay from my meager finances at the time, but the value that camera added when it came to learning the basics skills of 35mm photography far outweighed the impact of that financial sacrifice.

With that little camera I took hundreds of photos...a good percentage of them being Kodachrome Slide (ASA 25) and for the first time I began to understand what all the exposure settings were all about...aperture, shutter, ASA (today ISO), type of film (indoor or outdoor...which today equates into white balance).

It was a great camera for its day, and if I were to teach a beginning high school or college course in photography, I would make sure all the students had the opportunity to use this camera simply because of its teaching potential.  This camera can still be found on the internet from $10.00 on up to maybe $50.00.  I purchased one for $10.00 a few years ago and it still works just fine. Its a great teaching camera because of how the mechanics of the camera visually demonstrate how everything works together.

Crater Lake - Taken with ST701 and Polarizer - Circa 1975

Although it did function with one of the first generation of built in light meters, you still had to set everything manually then visually verify the setting by checking the needle in the +/- window in the view finder.  By doing so, you became one with the camera...you had to think through the exposure process and visualize what the camera was doing and how it would react to various light meter settings.

One of the first things I learned about light and film was that print film was much more forgiving of exposure errors ( as much as one to two full stops ) than slide or transparency film.  I didn't fully understand why this was until years later.  With print film...your final exposure is actually made by the lab tech doing the processing who could compensate somewhat for errors made in the field where as with slide film, the developing requires a much more tightly controlled process and you pretty much get what you took...errors and all.  With print film, you could fudge a bit and still get a reasonably well exposed image, but with slide film, you really had to understand more clearly the exposure process and make adjustments within a tighter range.

Some years later after I purchased that old camera, I sold it thinking I would replace it within a short time...it turned out that wasn't to happened for many years.  A few years ago I graduated into the digital world and was captivated how the marvels of modern technology has transformed the world of photography.  Where the mystery's of photography was once where professionals roamed, the new technology has brought easy to use high quality equipment into our everyday realm.  Even so, that technology has spawned a generation of...may I politely say...lazy photographers who want the camera to do it all for them and they have not a clue as to how it all works.  The basic concepts that once were so important have been lost in the electronic circuitry built into the artificial intelligence of the camera.

I would not trade my days of using that old ST701 for anything as it not only was a good camera for its day...but it was the perfect teaching tool as well.  Today's technology is wonderful for the new school environment, but as for me...the old school ways just might have been a better teacher.

Keith

A Test of Character

The four years I spent in the U.S. Coast Guard almost 40 years ago now, were the most defining years of my young adult life.  It was an adventure beyond all measure...a time of challenge...a time of reflection...at times, a time of having to face life and death situations under extreme conditions. Our small crew of about 20 young men faced an unrelenting sea that showed no mercy to those who were caught unaware of the intensity and power of the Pacific where it collided with the continent. We averaged over 400 Search and Rescues a year during my time there...most were routine...some challenged us beyond what we ever thought we could endure.

The following is a true story I wrote a few years ago for the Coast Guard Channel as part of their Authors / Stories section.

http://www.coastguardchannel.com/index.shtml 


 I realize it is a bit long...but I believe you may find it a revealing account of one of the most important adventures of my life during those years. I also believe it will provide a closer insight into the perils and courage of the crews of this often overlooked and most distinguished of America's military services.

Photo by Keith Bridgman - Circa 1975

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On August 17, 1975, as a member of USCG Station Umpqua River, Winchester Bay, Oregon, I was subjected to a test of character I had never faced before, one in which I was forced to reach deep inside myself and confront the demons of fear and pain that threatened to undermine who I was as a person and my obligation as part of a U.S. Coast Guard search and rescue team. It was a test by which I purged myself from a mundane existence, and explored for the first ime those heroic dreams born from youthful ignorance, and ultimately it was a test that defined the essence of why I joined the United States Coast Guard.

BM2 Michael Dobbins, FN Michael Cullimore, and myself were on a routine bar patrol on the Umpqua River Bar aboard the CG44303..one of the stations venerable 44 foot motor lifeboats. It was an extremely busy day with hundreds of pleasure boats, charter boats, and commercial fishing rigs crossing the bar to take advantage of the moderated ocean and weather conditions. 

We received a radio call from the station to the effect that one of the crew members on the fishing vessel Poky had suffered a heart attack and they were about a half-mile west and south of the bar. We immediately swung into action, but there were so many boats in and around the bar area we had a difficult time spotting the Poky. The fishing vessel’s only means of communication was by CB radio. They contacted the Winchester Bay Harbor Office that would, in turn, contact our station by telephone, and then they would relay the information to us on the radio. We requested that the harbor office have the Poky raise one pole and lower one as a distress signal so we could more easily find them.

A short time later we spotted them about a third of a mile west of our location. Within in a few moments, Dobbins pulled the 303 alongside where we discovered three adults, two women, a young man, and one small child huddled inside the coxswains flat, and one older gentleman lying on the deck near the stern--the obvious heart attack victim.

The Poky was a small double ender, rusting, old and slow with a dangerously exposed engine exhaust pipe that extended about three feet straight up from the top of the engine cowling in the center of the boat. I boarded the Poky and rolled the older man over to check his condition. It was the first time where my first aid and lifeguard training from previous college years would be put to use in a situation like this. My heart was pounding and I was afraid I would not remember what to do, but I suppose the Good Lord and the Coast Guard had prepared me for this day and somehow I found myself reacting instinctively.

Internet Photo

The older man was not breathing. He had no pulse and had turned an indistinct gray. Where he was lying was so cramped, I could not effectively begin CPR as there was no room in which to work. Standing in the coxswains flat was the young man, maybe a few years older than I was. I yelled at him to give me a hand so we could move the older man who, I assumed, was either his father or grandfather.

Together we lifted him and placed him in a still somewhat cramped but more open area on the port side. As I stood to reposition myself to begin CPR, my feet were caught between the body of the older man and the engine cowling. At the same time, the boat rolled to port on a swell causing me to lose my balance. Not being familiar with the vessel, I instinctively reached for the nearest thing I could grab to keep from falling over the side. Unfortunately, it was the exposed, red-hot exhaust pipe. Before I realized what I had done, my right hand was seared raw as tender skin cooked on the hot surface. Instantly, I jerked it away grabbing it with my other hand staring in disbelief, but it was too late. The palm and all the fingers were severely burned causing my hand to curl inward as it reacted to the shock. It hurt like nothing I had ever experienced before.

My hand screamed at me as the pain shot up my arm and my gut churned from the intensity of the injury and odor of burned skin, but mostly from the fear and anger that boiled to the surface for having done such a foolish thing. In seconds, my hand and arm began to shake from the pain and shock, and my sailor vocabulary violently surfaced as I split the air with the piercing sounds of four letter words. That’s when I looked into the eyes of the two women and child huddled in the coxswains flat and I could see the fear, anxiety, and uncertainty etched across their expressions and I knew they could see it in mine as well. The child’s face was half-buried in the lap of one of the ladies. She was sobbing, not comprehending completely what was happening.

No one else knew what to do, as they were in a kind of shock themselves. My right hand was all but crippled by the excruciating burn, but a voice inside said I had to keep going, so I began CPR as best as I could. With each stroke and breath, my hand rebelled in protest. It quickly became apparent the effectiveness of my effort would not be enough, as I could not easily breathe for nor massage the heart of the older man from where I was. So while I continued to perform CPR as best as I could, I gave instructions to the young man on how to breathe for our victim and in a few minutes he took over that role. He did a pretty good job with just a couple of corrections in his technique as we progressed.

For several minutes, I didn’t realize that we were simply drifting on the swells and going nowhere until I tried to find the 303. Maybe it was the pain from the burn or the anxiety of the moment, but I’m afraid I wasn’t very polite when I yelled at the younger woman to call the harbor office and tell them we were returning to the Coast Guard fueling dock and to have an ambulance waiting for us, and for her to turn for home instead of just drifting around out there. The young man and I continued CPR for what seemed like forever as the Poky with its sputtering and coughing engine sluggishly made its way in. After we rolled across the bar and entered the channel, the Poky began to struggle up river fighting against the current. I realized then why the Poky deserved its namesake; it was terribly slow, much too slow for the seriousness of the situation.

Dobbins had placed the 303 about seventy-five yards ahead of us with the emergency light flashing and the siren blaring to clear the way as there were dozens of boats running in the channel. From my position, I couldn’t get Dobbins’ attention without stopping CPR. We needed to transfer the older man to the 303. Although somewhat slow in its own right, it was a much faster boat than the Poky. So I requested the younger lady call the harbor office again on the CB. A moment later Dobbins pulled alongside and Cullimore jumped across with the stretcher. We timed our CPR efforts and transferred the victim to the 303 in three quick movements where Cullimore, who did an excellent job, and I continued CPR. Dobbins throttled to full power and the 303 bit deeply into the channel leaving the Poky far behind. Once I heard and felt the staccato rumble from those powerful Cummins diesels kick in, I felt that we actually had a chance to pull this thing off. The next few minutes became a blur. I barely remember hearing the siren blaring, but from what I was told later, it was an impressive sight as dozens of boats moved aside like the parting of the Red Sea as we powered up the channel and arched into the harbor entrance.

Internet Photo

The speed limit inside the harbor was designated as a “No Wake” zone. Ignoring this, Dobbins powered the 303 down the narrow entrance channel at full throttle throwing out a huge wake that drenched several onlookers standing near the waters edge. Then, just before whipping the bow around the boathouse and into the fueling dock, he slammed the engines into full reverse and the 303’s transmission shuttered in protest as we lunged forward, turned to port, and slipped into the mooring--not exactly a  recommended docking procedure, but probably a world’s record for such a maneuver in a 44. And only Michael Dobbins had the grit to attempt, much less pull off, a stunt like that.

Waiting for us on the dock was the ambulance driver and one EMT, along with a good part of our crew, a large crowd of onlookers, and Chief Don McMichaels, the Commanding Officer of Station Umpqua River. The ambulance crew took over from there. As they were loading our heart attack victim into the ambulance, the lone EMT requested someone to assist him, and because my hand was burned and needed medical attention anyway, I went with the ambulance crew and helped administer CPR until we arrived at the emergency room in Reedsport, about ten miles away.

The older man, now under the intensive care of a physician, eventually began breathing on his own and appeared to have survived. And once all the excitement at the emergency room died down, the doctor treated my burned hand applying some antibiotic salve and wrapping it before releasing me. I was lucky. No third degree damage, just a huge second-degree burn that created a blister about the size of a baseball, covering the entire palm and across all of the fingers and thumb. I couldn’t open or close that hand for a couple of weeks. The doctor eventually had to cut the blister off to relieve the pressure and reduce the swelling and associated pain. I managed to get outof a lot of duty as a result, and spent time running the office and the communications room, and learning how to write and type with my one good hand.

A couple of days after the incident, the young man from the Poky who initially helped me perform CPR stopped by and personally thanked me and the crew for all our efforts, and asked how my burn was coming along. It was a nice gesture. It took some time, but eventually my burned hand did completely heal. Cullimore and I were credited with sustaining the gentleman’s life until medical attention could be administered, but I was to discover that this episode had not been his first heart attack, but one in a series of attacks through the years and this one proved too much for him. He succumbed to the stress of it all a few days later.

Photo by Keith Bridgman - Circa 2007

Eventually, Cullimore, Dobbins, and I were to receive commendations for our efforts, but in retrospect what I received from this ordeal was not something that can be displayed in an awards case. It was a hard-earned, well-served lesson about life, qualified through trial and fire, which proved a valuable test of character, one where the demons of fear and pain were engaged, then defeated, and once heroic boyhood dreams evolved into a reality befitting of a young man’s life. What happened on that day and the long-term effects it produced, became a far greater reward than what a medal worn on the chest could ever provide.

I’ve learned over the years how there are moments in time and places along the way that become turning points in our lives, turning points full of emotions that we too often tuck safely inside “out of reach” just for ourselves. Until that August in 1975, I never knew how I might react if I ever truly faced that kind of life and death situation. Although I did not fully realize it at the time, the test that resulted in the defeat of those demons on that day and in that place became the defining moment of my Coast Guard career, and ultimately, my young adult life. I knew I had passed a difficult trial.

Although I have on occasion spoken candidly of the incident in general terms, the emotional saga of that event is a personal insight of which I rarely speak.

Keith R. Bridgman

USCG 1973 - 1977

Umpqua River - 1973 thru 1975