Summer! Summer! Where art thou Summer??? Well maybe that’s a little too dramatic but with late snows and cool weather it certainly seems to be the case. Let’s see now. When was summer? Oh yes!! The second week in May!!
Bobbie and I chose that wonderful weekend to unleash Max. Knowing Max can be a little temperamental we chose to make an easy run along the King River. For the first mile or two, the road is accessible to almost any vehicle. Our thought was that if Max did break down we could drive the truck in for the retrieval. So off we go on a sunny May morning. Max is happy to be free and roars down the road--for about a mile--then suddenly dies! Ha! I’ve been here before, says I. I’ll bet the gas filter’s plugged up. Yep! No problem! All intrepid explorers carry extra filters so off with the old, on with the new. A happy, purring Max once again springs into action, zooming down the road at terrifying speeds (say 15 or 20 mph)! Now it’s up the hill and through a couple of small puddles. What’s this? A mud bog! No challenge for the robust Max! So, Max, why are you sputterin’ and coughin’ about? Another clogged filter? It can’t be! Ahh but it is. Now what? The Intrepid Explorer Handbook didn’t say carry extra filterSSS. Let’s see. It is downhill. I’ll push while Bobbie steers. Off we go through the--Bobbie! Bobbie! Turn!! No not the tree! Turn ri--All right, Bobbie, I’ll steer. You push.
Once again, we saunter-- Huh? What ditch? Can’t you watch where you’re pushing!!! This doesn’t seem to be working according to plan. Maybe if they’d take these silly turns out of the road? How about a little improvisation? Max is, after all, Max. Max don’t need no stinkin’ gas filter!
True enough. Max purred (and sputtered) like a kitten back to the truck--filterless all the way. Being a conscientious owner, I took Max to the Max doctor on Monday. Tuesday I’m presented with a bill. Across the face of the invoice the mechanic--uh, make that doctor--had scrawled the patent’s condition--"Carb Full of Crap!" He also prescribed a higher octane for Max’s next meal!
Bobbie decided to stay home and quilt the next weekend. I’m not sure why but Max had eager volunteers. Curvin Metzler and John Troutman joined me for a second trip up King River. We had looked at other areas but extremely high water in all the streams countered that thought. For this attempt, we started at mile 71.8. That’s about four miles beyond the mouth of the river which meant we wouldn’t have to cross the lower (and deeper) section of the King. Max was almost humming with her clean carb and high octane diet.
The weather, unlike that of our first outing, was cold, foggy, and wet. Curvin kept telling us how beautiful the scenery was but all John and I could see were low clouds, trees, and mud.
About ten or 12 miles in we hit the first minor challenge--an old rock slide. Curvin said, "Take the first right!" OK. Oops! Hey, Curvin! I have a 3-foot-road and a 4-foot-Max. Ya’ll want to step out and watch? The passage was VERY narrow with a four foot drop if Max couldn’t squeeze through. Max, I should never have doubted you! Next time, Curvin, we take the second right.
We hit the second tongue of the slide about 60 feet later. A quick dip down into the gully and a steep trip out brought us to the first ‘rock stop.’ A walk up the gully (which rapidly became a canyon!) produced a couple of copper stained rocks, some thulite, and some small but nice epidote specimens.
We finally ran into the King River about three miles beyond the slide. The crossing looked, in a word, uncrossable. We decided to follow an older trail upriver in search of a better crossing. The trail promptly dived into the alder thickets. Max wasn’t the least bit concerned about the alders. She plowed through, over, or around, completely ignoring the low branches that beat against her roll cage. For the most part, I was able to do the same (though I had to bend double to see ground through the slashing branches). Curvin and John were sharing the back seat. That meant they were not only further from the roll bar that offered me some protection but were also sitting on the ends of the seat while I sit in the middle. Such small differences can lead to differing perspectives. After taking one too many bashes across the nose, I stopped Max and said over my shoulder, "No more, guys. I’m going to head back to the crossing." No response. Then I realized both Curvin and John had abandoned Max, choosing to walk rather than suffer further bruises and abrasions from the gentle alders!
On the return, we ran into a couple of 4-wheelers that had found a viable crossing; however, they indicated an avalanche had blocked the trail less than two miles from the river. We decided to call it a day and Max decided to pop a bead in a nice soft mudhole on an otherwise uneventful trip back to the truck.
Max’s next outing was supposed to be an exploration of the trail from the Chickaloon into Boulder Creek. However, Curvin called to say the streams were still running high. He proposed an alternative trip to Alfred Creek via Ballenger Pass. Max and I would be solo this trip since Curvin and a friend would be on 4-wheelers. (Bobbie was still avoiding Max.)
I arrived at the parking area near Gunsight at 9PM and decided to get a head start. Max may be almost unstoppable but she’s also a lot slower than a 4-wheeler. I got within a quarter-mile of the pass before I ran into snow. Max does NOT LIKE SNOW. There was only about 20 or 30 foot to cross so I plunged in then tried to winch Max across. Not so good! The anchor held and Max held and the winch tried to depart Max for the anchor!
Back to the basics. Cart buckets of rock and gravel and armloads of cut brush to throw under the wheels (after I shoveled the snow out!) "Nope! No! Go away! I ain’t moving!", declared Max. OK. Let’s try this, Max. I put you in reverse, then stand in front and push while I hold the control sticks and hit the throttle. YES! That was refreshing! I really needed that shower after an hour of standing in snow, runoff, and mud. And no, the boots are not waterproof!
Back at the truck, Max jumped back on her trailer, content to hitch a ride back to the highway.. We met Curvin and company on the way out. Following a short discussion, we implemented Plan B--a tour of the Albert Creek area via the Little Nelchina Trailhead. We made camp about 1AM.
At 5AM, I’m ready to go but my companions are busy snoring. Well, I’ll just relax for an hour. 6AM and the situation remains the same. Same report for 7AM. At 7:30, it’s time to noisily close the truck door and start unloading Max. What’s this I hear? Movement!! After a lengthy (20 minutes) breakfast, they start unloading the 4-wheelers and by 8:30 we’re on the road. The 4-wheelers embarrassed Max almost from the first. Off they go, scampering down the road at twice Max’s top end. To give Max credit, she did her best to keep up but at top end on a bumpy road a bucking bronco has a smoother gait than Max. Still, Curvin always stayed close enough to make sure we stayed on the right trail and occasionally drop back and say, "Don’t go there; the water’s to deep!" I carefully committed each of these spots to memory. We finally came to a split in the road--rockhounds left, tourist right. Now I’m not much of a tourist but Curvin was very convincing.
With a promise to return to the correct trail, we sped off for a visit to a mountain top. About half way there we ran into a small creek. It looked high (and was) so Max and I got to test the waters. Yes indeed, they are deep. I moved about ten feet upstream for the return and found the crossing much shallower but still deep enough to get your feet wet if you’re not in a superior vehicle like Max!! After a brief period of reflection, Curvin and crew joined me in Max. Three miles later we topped the mountain. Curvin was not wrong. The view was spectacular.
The tour over, we returned to the ‘Y’ for some rockhounding. What followed was three or four miles of some really rough trail. The highlight was a gully that used to be a road. Max dropped in and jumped out without so much as a groan. The 4-wheelers on the other hand required a little help! HA! Speed is not all!!!
A normal Curvin-trip entails ten to 20 miles of hiking over mountains, across rivers, through snow, etc. You can imagine my surprise when we arrived at our collection point after a easy half-mile walk up a gentle hill! Of course some things don’t change. To do any collecting we had to climb down a near vertical 200 foot bluff. The effort was worth it. The area was strewn with numerous clam and oyster shells along with belemnite and ammonite fragments. Although somewhat scarce, we found several more or less complete ammonites and a Jurassic Ceratitide.
With full packs, we returned to the vehicles. The trip out was a repeat of the inbound leg. Once again, the poor 4-wheelers required some assistance navigating the gully that Max blithely sprang across. But of course they failed to see the lesson and left Max and I to squint through the dust of their departure. Max, however, wasn’t quite finished with lessons. I caught up with the 4-wheelers at one of those innocent looking mudholes Curvin had warned us of on the outward journey. By now the trail had been hammered by several dozen 4-wheelers, all taking slightly different routes through the hole. I told Curvin I’d play pathfinder and drove Max straight into the deepest part of the bog. We cruised through and turned to see if Curvin would follow. No such luck. Admitting the 4-wheelers couldn’t handle a little mud and water, Curvin and crew detoured around the pit.
Oh, well. Maybe next time Max will get to extract them from the mud! Ha!!
Bobbie and I chose that wonderful weekend to unleash Max. Knowing Max can be a little temperamental we chose to make an easy run along the King River. For the first mile or two, the road is accessible to almost any vehicle. Our thought was that if Max did break down we could drive the truck in for the retrieval. So off we go on a sunny May morning. Max is happy to be free and roars down the road--for about a mile--then suddenly dies! Ha! I’ve been here before, says I. I’ll bet the gas filter’s plugged up. Yep! No problem! All intrepid explorers carry extra filters so off with the old, on with the new. A happy, purring Max once again springs into action, zooming down the road at terrifying speeds (say 15 or 20 mph)! Now it’s up the hill and through a couple of small puddles. What’s this? A mud bog! No challenge for the robust Max! So, Max, why are you sputterin’ and coughin’ about? Another clogged filter? It can’t be! Ahh but it is. Now what? The Intrepid Explorer Handbook didn’t say carry extra filterSSS. Let’s see. It is downhill. I’ll push while Bobbie steers. Off we go through the--Bobbie! Bobbie! Turn!! No not the tree! Turn ri--All right, Bobbie, I’ll steer. You push.
Once again, we saunter-- Huh? What ditch? Can’t you watch where you’re pushing!!! This doesn’t seem to be working according to plan. Maybe if they’d take these silly turns out of the road? How about a little improvisation? Max is, after all, Max. Max don’t need no stinkin’ gas filter!
True enough. Max purred (and sputtered) like a kitten back to the truck--filterless all the way. Being a conscientious owner, I took Max to the Max doctor on Monday. Tuesday I’m presented with a bill. Across the face of the invoice the mechanic--uh, make that doctor--had scrawled the patent’s condition--"Carb Full of Crap!" He also prescribed a higher octane for Max’s next meal!
Bobbie decided to stay home and quilt the next weekend. I’m not sure why but Max had eager volunteers. Curvin Metzler and John Troutman joined me for a second trip up King River. We had looked at other areas but extremely high water in all the streams countered that thought. For this attempt, we started at mile 71.8. That’s about four miles beyond the mouth of the river which meant we wouldn’t have to cross the lower (and deeper) section of the King. Max was almost humming with her clean carb and high octane diet.
The weather, unlike that of our first outing, was cold, foggy, and wet. Curvin kept telling us how beautiful the scenery was but all John and I could see were low clouds, trees, and mud.
About ten or 12 miles in we hit the first minor challenge--an old rock slide. Curvin said, "Take the first right!" OK. Oops! Hey, Curvin! I have a 3-foot-road and a 4-foot-Max. Ya’ll want to step out and watch? The passage was VERY narrow with a four foot drop if Max couldn’t squeeze through. Max, I should never have doubted you! Next time, Curvin, we take the second right.
We hit the second tongue of the slide about 60 feet later. A quick dip down into the gully and a steep trip out brought us to the first ‘rock stop.’ A walk up the gully (which rapidly became a canyon!) produced a couple of copper stained rocks, some thulite, and some small but nice epidote specimens.
We finally ran into the King River about three miles beyond the slide. The crossing looked, in a word, uncrossable. We decided to follow an older trail upriver in search of a better crossing. The trail promptly dived into the alder thickets. Max wasn’t the least bit concerned about the alders. She plowed through, over, or around, completely ignoring the low branches that beat against her roll cage. For the most part, I was able to do the same (though I had to bend double to see ground through the slashing branches). Curvin and John were sharing the back seat. That meant they were not only further from the roll bar that offered me some protection but were also sitting on the ends of the seat while I sit in the middle. Such small differences can lead to differing perspectives. After taking one too many bashes across the nose, I stopped Max and said over my shoulder, "No more, guys. I’m going to head back to the crossing." No response. Then I realized both Curvin and John had abandoned Max, choosing to walk rather than suffer further bruises and abrasions from the gentle alders!
On the return, we ran into a couple of 4-wheelers that had found a viable crossing; however, they indicated an avalanche had blocked the trail less than two miles from the river. We decided to call it a day and Max decided to pop a bead in a nice soft mudhole on an otherwise uneventful trip back to the truck.
Max’s next outing was supposed to be an exploration of the trail from the Chickaloon into Boulder Creek. However, Curvin called to say the streams were still running high. He proposed an alternative trip to Alfred Creek via Ballenger Pass. Max and I would be solo this trip since Curvin and a friend would be on 4-wheelers. (Bobbie was still avoiding Max.)
I arrived at the parking area near Gunsight at 9PM and decided to get a head start. Max may be almost unstoppable but she’s also a lot slower than a 4-wheeler. I got within a quarter-mile of the pass before I ran into snow. Max does NOT LIKE SNOW. There was only about 20 or 30 foot to cross so I plunged in then tried to winch Max across. Not so good! The anchor held and Max held and the winch tried to depart Max for the anchor!
Back to the basics. Cart buckets of rock and gravel and armloads of cut brush to throw under the wheels (after I shoveled the snow out!) "Nope! No! Go away! I ain’t moving!", declared Max. OK. Let’s try this, Max. I put you in reverse, then stand in front and push while I hold the control sticks and hit the throttle. YES! That was refreshing! I really needed that shower after an hour of standing in snow, runoff, and mud. And no, the boots are not waterproof!
Back at the truck, Max jumped back on her trailer, content to hitch a ride back to the highway.. We met Curvin and company on the way out. Following a short discussion, we implemented Plan B--a tour of the Albert Creek area via the Little Nelchina Trailhead. We made camp about 1AM.
At 5AM, I’m ready to go but my companions are busy snoring. Well, I’ll just relax for an hour. 6AM and the situation remains the same. Same report for 7AM. At 7:30, it’s time to noisily close the truck door and start unloading Max. What’s this I hear? Movement!! After a lengthy (20 minutes) breakfast, they start unloading the 4-wheelers and by 8:30 we’re on the road. The 4-wheelers embarrassed Max almost from the first. Off they go, scampering down the road at twice Max’s top end. To give Max credit, she did her best to keep up but at top end on a bumpy road a bucking bronco has a smoother gait than Max. Still, Curvin always stayed close enough to make sure we stayed on the right trail and occasionally drop back and say, "Don’t go there; the water’s to deep!" I carefully committed each of these spots to memory. We finally came to a split in the road--rockhounds left, tourist right. Now I’m not much of a tourist but Curvin was very convincing.
With a promise to return to the correct trail, we sped off for a visit to a mountain top. About half way there we ran into a small creek. It looked high (and was) so Max and I got to test the waters. Yes indeed, they are deep. I moved about ten feet upstream for the return and found the crossing much shallower but still deep enough to get your feet wet if you’re not in a superior vehicle like Max!! After a brief period of reflection, Curvin and crew joined me in Max. Three miles later we topped the mountain. Curvin was not wrong. The view was spectacular.
The tour over, we returned to the ‘Y’ for some rockhounding. What followed was three or four miles of some really rough trail. The highlight was a gully that used to be a road. Max dropped in and jumped out without so much as a groan. The 4-wheelers on the other hand required a little help! HA! Speed is not all!!!
A normal Curvin-trip entails ten to 20 miles of hiking over mountains, across rivers, through snow, etc. You can imagine my surprise when we arrived at our collection point after a easy half-mile walk up a gentle hill! Of course some things don’t change. To do any collecting we had to climb down a near vertical 200 foot bluff. The effort was worth it. The area was strewn with numerous clam and oyster shells along with belemnite and ammonite fragments. Although somewhat scarce, we found several more or less complete ammonites and a Jurassic Ceratitide.
With full packs, we returned to the vehicles. The trip out was a repeat of the inbound leg. Once again, the poor 4-wheelers required some assistance navigating the gully that Max blithely sprang across. But of course they failed to see the lesson and left Max and I to squint through the dust of their departure. Max, however, wasn’t quite finished with lessons. I caught up with the 4-wheelers at one of those innocent looking mudholes Curvin had warned us of on the outward journey. By now the trail had been hammered by several dozen 4-wheelers, all taking slightly different routes through the hole. I told Curvin I’d play pathfinder and drove Max straight into the deepest part of the bog. We cruised through and turned to see if Curvin would follow. No such luck. Admitting the 4-wheelers couldn’t handle a little mud and water, Curvin and crew detoured around the pit.
Oh, well. Maybe next time Max will get to extract them from the mud! Ha!!
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