We returned home recently from a three-day, two-night trip to northeastern Oregon’s Ice Lake with my grandsons, Levi and Colin, friend David and daughter, Laura.
Trip highlights included seeing up close a dozen mountain goats, with a couple of kids in tow. I’ve been to Ice Lake many times. Last year I saw one beautiful goat. Never before have I seen more than a couple and usually from a distance. Not so this time.
I first spotted them when off on an evening walk alone and summoned my gang to see the wondrous sight. But before long the goats showed up in our campsite, seeming entirely comfortable with us.
The other highlight was the wildflowers. Mock orange was blooming in fragrant profusion. Lots of Indian Paintbrush, Mariposa Lillies (next photo), Lupine, Shooting Stars, Shasta Daisies. The aroma of Yarrow and Sage provide a more pungent counter to the sweet Mock Orange.
Also in profusion, alas, were mosquitoes. Well, what are you gonna do? Take the good with the bad. Which is sort of the nature of backpacking itself. “No pain, no gain,” to quote an axiom of the coaches of my youth. More recently in the great book Dopamine Nation, the physician and addiction specialist, Anna Lembke, writes about the glut of pleasurable, dopamine-stimulating things available to us — and the results in overstimulation, addiction, obesity, and other health problems. Too much pleasurable stimuli will result in a painful rebalancing, a hangover being the classic example. Better to find your own balance.
So backpacking has the balance built in. You’re huffing and puffing and pushing your muscles for the joy of spectacular scenery and the absolute stillness of sunset on a glacial lake.
Here are a few notes on insider features of the experience:
Pads. An inflatable pad is what is between you and the usually hard ground, with maybe a thin tent floor under the pad. For years any pad would work. But for the last ten years I have been on the search for the perfect pad. Probably because a lot of other aging boomers are doing the same thing, the types of pads and the promises accompanying them have multiplied many-fold in those years. Instead of one pad, I now own 4 or 5 as I try different pads in pursuit of comfort. Research conclusion: the problem is not the pad, but the aging body!
Zippers. Are a little-noted, central feature of the backpacking experience. Zippers on tents, on sleeping bags (the worst), on packs, on pants, shirts, and shorts. Zippers on bags. Why is it that zippers are forever getting caught, stuck and snarled? Particularly when you are trying to zip yourself into your tent with a swarm of mosquitoes eager to join you.
Freeze-Dried Meals. Have improved a lot over the years. Even my foodie grandson, Colin, finds them quite good. Of course, he is never not hungry. We recommend Mountain House Yellow Curry or Pesto Chicken and Pasta. But there’s a wrinkle. Instructions now have you adding boiling water, stirring, resealing for eight minutes, opening for more stirring, resealing for another eight minutes. For perpetually hungry teenagers, that’s a lot of delayed gratification. (See Dopamine Nation above.)
Boots. The difference between a demanding hike and an awful one is your boots. It took me a long time and a fortuitous consultation with a specialist to get the boot that was right for my feet. Result: no more blisters. Worth every penny. The people in the REI boot section are pretty good at advising on fitting boots as well.
Packs. The whole deal as you age is to carry less weight. Or at at least that’s my whole deal. Used to be 40-pound pack, now 20. Although it was up on this last trip because young teenage males — did I mention this already? — require constant feeding.
Five years ago I managed a four-day, three-night trip with a small pack, carrying just 15 pounds. I did that by not taking a tent or a sleeping bag. Pad and cover. And late enough in the season that the mosquitoes weren’t awful. There’s a whole sub-culture of “Ultra-Light” backpackers whose wisdom I’ve leaned into in recent years. The real devotees are pretty much fanatics (“break your toothbrush handle in half to reduce weight”), but you can learn from them without drinking the Kool-Aid.
That’s everything I know.
One more Mountain Goat photo, in which the goat looks like a sort of satyr from Narnia. The glow of the sunset on the log adds to the effect.
