Summertime, Gerschwin

La Plata Peak

Yipeeeeeeee! I finally climbed La Plata Peak! 14,336 ft, 9 ½ miles, 4500 ft. altitude gain. It’s not the tallest mountain in Colorado, or even the most challenging climb, but La Plata is special to me.

I started out trying to reach the summit of La Plata over ten years ago. I can’t remember now why I chose it, but I remember that it was after I had climbed all the mountains near Denver, as well as Long’s Peak, a much tougher climb, supposedly.

I remember driving over to the trailhead for the first time. It’s between Buena Vista and Leadville, about a two hour drive from Denver. I was pretty experienced by then, and knew I had to get started on the trail early to get off the summit by noon, when the clouds build up enough charge to produce lightning. So I took off down the road leading to the trail, but got confused. The trail goes left as the road curves to the right. I turned left alright, and somehow ended up in a marshy area, wading through a thicket of willows that eventually led back toward the road. I eventually got back on the trail, but by the time I reached the tree line I didn’t have enough energy left to go to the summit.

Now, I want you to realize that climbing a 14er is a big deal. I only try it about once a year. There’s a lot of preparation involved, checking routes, finding maps, trail descriptions, photos; getting gear together; making sure I have extra batteries, camera; checking the weather forecast. That’s in addition to running, hiking, training to get into peak condition for a major effort. Failing to reach the summit is like wasting a year.

It was a couple of years later that I attempted La Plata again. I wanted to be sure I got there early so I rented a room in Buena Vista to make sure I got an early start. This time when I showed up at the parking lot I met a young man from New York. He was a teacher, and said that every year he comes to Colorado to visit his sister, and while he’s here he goes on as many hikes as he can. He had already climbed Mt. Elbert, the tallest mountain in Colorado, and wanted to summit another 14er during his stay. He got me talking about my family, which distracted us both, and before we realized it, we had been walking on the road for almost an hour, and hadn’t seen the turn off. When we got back to the La Plata trail, it was almost noon, and my new friend decided to give up and go back to his sister’s house. Frustrated by failing the second time, I headed up the trail anyway, hoping to get as far as I could. Actually I got further along than the first time, but headed back down about 4 PM, not wanting to get caught on the trail after dark.

                                                       Ellingsworth Ridge, taken from Southwest Route to                                                                                                                  La Plata in 2009 where I gave up on my second try. 

                                                      Some people actually climb to La Plata on that ridge.

Now I need to say something about the La Plata trail. It’s very steep. There’s a 4500 ft altitude gain over only 4 ½ miles, which means you’re climbing at about a 30% incline for most of the hike. Also there’s a lot of slippery gravel and for about the last mile there’s no clear trail, just talus, big rocks, with only an occasional cairn, or rocks stacked on each other as a marker, to indicate the general direction you should go. Anyway, all this makes for a more difficult climb.

So here’s what happened on year three. This time I rented a camp site by Twin Lakes, even closer to the La Plata trailhead, and camped there the night before. Next morning I was on the trail by day break. I got to the tree line by mid-morning and was right on schedule to reach the summit by noon, but, climbing over the boulders I started to feel a tightness in my legs. It got worse and worse until finally both my legs cramped up so badly that I had to lie down on the rocks. I couldn’t go any further. I could see the summit from there. It’s hard to estimate distance on a mountain, but I think it was still about 500 feet above me, a long way still. So again, down I went.

                                                            La Plata Peak, 2010. That brown spot up ahead 

                                                               is where my legs cramped up, with an hour’s 

                                                                                    worth of climbing left. 

Another note about hiking in the mountains. It’s a lot harder going up than down. That sounds obvious, but the difference is dramatic. It must have to do with the difference in energy required. You can feel it immediately. When I’m climbing above 12000 ft. or so, I can only take one or two steps, and then I have to catch my breath. On that hike up La Plata, I got to the point that I literally couldn’t take another step, but once I turned around, I had no trouble walking the 4 ½ miles down to the trail head.

Anyway, that was about eight years ago. Since then I’ve climbed other 14ers, but steered clear of La Plata. I said to myself. “I’ve been almost to the top before. I’ve seen the vistas. I’ve got pictures. It would be a waste of time to go up there again.”

But this year I almost had no other choice. I had actually wanted to climb Humboldt Peak in the Sangre de Cristo Range. I tried it last year and failed the over 5000 ft. climb. This year I was planning to rent a jeep to park higher. That way I could cut 1000 ft off the climb and then if I camped out at the foot of Humboldt, climbing the rest of the way should be manageable. But time was running out this summer. The weather had turned cool and they were talking about opening some of the ski slopes. Then miraculously the temperature went up into the 90’s again. There was no time to arrange a trip to the Sangre de Cristos. I just tossed my gear in the car and headed out towards La Plata.

One thing I dread about backpacking is the weight of the pack. A couple of years ago I climbed 3000 ft. with a 45# pack, and I thought I would die before I got to the camp site. Now I’ve got a smaller pack, and I bought a one man tent that weighs only 3 pounds. I’ve been filtering water instead of packing it in, and I decided to leave out my camp stove too, and just eat energy bars and Twinkies. I also tossed out my air mattress. That was a mistake. What I ended up with weighed about 25# which seemed okay, at first.

The trip over was nice. I stopped in Silverthorne just on the other side of the Continental Divide, ate a big breakfast, and got a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches and some Twinkies.

The parking lot at the trail head was packed. The only spot left was by a van filled with teenagers. They had their gear scattered all over the place, so I had to wait for them to clear out before I could pull my car in. While I waited, I found out that they were from a high school in Steamboat Springs, the Steamboat Mountain School, where hiking, camping, and survival training is part of their school work. They were camping out and climbing La Plata the next day like me.  

I took off as soon as they cleared a place for me to park.  I was starting late, around noon, since I only planned on going up to the tree line and setting up camp. Walking along the road to where the trail branches off, I met a guy from Ashville, North Carolina. He and his wife were heading back to their car because she couldn’t make it up the steep trail to the tree line. He seemed disgusted with her, and I told him that La Plata was a pretty challenging trail, even for someone used to the altitude. Then he told me maybe it was because they had climbed Elbert the day before! I noticed that his wife didn’t stop with him to chat. He’ll be lucky if she doesn’t divorce him for expecting her to climb two 14ers in two days.

The sign where the trail to La Plata branches off still doesn’t say “La Plata,” but there has been a small improvement. Someone put up a sign informing you that there’s no such thing as a “Poo Fairy.”

                                                                         Sign at beginning of La Plata trail

I really appreciate that sign. I wish there was one at every trail head. It’s one of my pet peeves that dog owners bag their dogs’ poop and then just leave it by the trail, as if there were a “Poo Fairy” to come by and pick it up. Even if some animal doesn’t choke on it, it will still be an eyesore for years. I carry a trash bag to pack out trash, and I hope others do too. 

The La Plata trail goes along a stream for the first couple of miles. It’s very steep, and some one has actually installed steps to make it easier to climb. The steps are built from logs and rocks and are from 6 to 18 inches high so it’s still pretty tough climbing, but in the places without them it’s slippery and easy to fall. I’m always amazed by the people who maintain the trails. They clear out fallen trees, build bridges, drainage trenches to prevent erosion, and when a trail gets too worn, they will re-route it to allow the area to recover. The work is done by volunteers and they provide a valuable service. One of these years I’m going donate some of my time to help.  

I passed the kids on the way up through the forest, or, rather, they passed me. One of the boys asked if he could take my  picture, so he could include it in his report.  

After about a thousand foot climb through the trees, the creek levels out and goes into an area of thick underbrush. At this point the trail leaves the stream, so I stopped to filter some water. I wanted enough to last me through the night and the next day. I stop and drink water every 30 minutes, and if I don't my mouth starts getting dry after an hour or so. I see people on the trail with only one water bottle, and I can’t imagine how they can finish a long hike.

                                                      This is near where the kids from Steamboat Mountain 

                                                      School kids camped. The trail leaves the stream soon 

                                                              and heads up towards La Plata, on the left. 

The high school kids stopped to camp by the stream, but I went on. It was another 3000 ft. to the summit and I didn’t want to risk another failure. Above the stream the trail gets steep again. There are no steps, but instead, switchbacks. This just means the trail goes back and forth in a zig-zag fashion, so it won’t be as steep. The switchbacks up La Plata are pretty steep anyway, but they help a little. Nearing the tree line, there were breaks in the trees so I started seeing the surrounding mountains, and even La Plata, which didn’t look so high, even though it was another 2000 ft. above me.

View from the tree line. Mountains on west already in shadow

I usually occupy my time looking for unusual vegetation and wildlife, but this late in the year most of the flowers have wilted and for some reason I didn’t even see many marmots and picas. I did try and take some pictures of the fall colors. The contrast between the yellow and orange aspen leaves with the evergreen pines and spruce is pretty.

As I got above the tree line, I started wondering where I was going to camp. There was no place flat enough to put a tent until finally at 12300 ft. I found a flat grassy area and stopped. 

My “camp.” Ridge to La Plata on left, about 1000 ft above me

The tents they make these days are a lot easier to put up than the ones we used in the Boy Scouts, but they do require some assembling.  As I was threading the flexible metal support rods through the edges of the tent I suddenly noticed that the tarp I had spread on the ground was blowing away. It was moving pretty fast so I ran, and as you do when running downhill, I picked up speed until I was running faster than I wanted. Suddenly the tarp stopped and so did I, with some difficulty, and then realized I was standing on the edge of a cliff. You never can be too careful on a mountain.

After that adventure I sat down on a rock and ate one of my ham sandwiches, which sitting in guacamole all day, had pretty much turned to mush. It was getting dark pretty fast by now, so I got my stuff into the tent, arranged it so I’d be able to find it in the dark, put my food on top of that rock you see on the right, hoping that if a hungry bear visited me he would occupy himself with my remaining sandwich long enough for me to get out my bear spray. I tried to call Sarah on my cell phone before turning in. Sometimes I can get a signal, but usually not. This time was no exception. I don’t understand how cell signals work. It’s a satellite. How would it know the difference between a town and a mountain? I always turn off my cell phone on a hike to preserve the charge in case I get stuck out there, but sometimes I wonder why I bother, since it doesn’t usually work anyway. I might as well be using it to read a book or play solitaire.

Well, after my failed cell phone call, I got into my long underwear and undershirt, and got my tent and my sleeping bag zipped up just before sunset, when the temperature on the mountain suddenly drops down below freezing.

It was 7 PM when I got into the tent, and there wasn’t anything to do but go to sleep. It was a long night. The small tent and my thick padded sleeping bag kept me warm enough, but I spent the night trying to worm my way between clumps of grass, which got harder as the night went on, and I had a headache, caused by the altitude I'm sure. I had my pee bottle of course – no old man, or woman, for that matter, should sleep outside without a pee bottle – so I didn’t have to get out in the cold. Then there were the noises: scratching and thuds, as if little animals were trying to figure a way to get in the tent with me. Luckily there were no big thuds. I kept feeling for my bear spray, just in case.

My headache went away at some time during the night, and I finally got some sleep. I woke up about 5 AM, and was having trouble going back to sleep when someone walked by on the trail, and shined a flashlight on my tent. They must have started up the trail at 2 AM. What do you do at the top of a mountain at 7 AM? I figured it probably  involved ropes and pitons, but I wasn’t interested enough to get out of my warm tent to ask. I unzipped the tent a crack, and the air which rushed in was so cold I decided to lay there until the sun came up. In the meantime I started putting on my clothes and wishing I had brought something heavier than a windbreaker.

By 6 AM I was tired of waiting, so I rolled up my tent and sleeping bag and headed up the mountain, shivering, with two bottles of water and a package of Twinkies, leaving my heavy, 25# pack for the bears. 

People get up early to climb mountains so it wasn’t long before I had company. Two guys caught up with me at the top of the ridge at about 8:30 AM. They were experienced climbers but they’d never climbed La Plata. “How about you?” one guy said. “Oh, this  is my fifth time,” I bragged, exaggerating a little and not mentioning the fact that I’d never made it to the top. They asked how it was for the rest of the climb and I confidently told them that they had about 1000 ft. to go, and it was mostly steep talus, which was true. Before they went on ahead, one of them said, “by the way, how old are you?” When I told them 76, they congratulated me and said they were impressed that I could still get up a mountain. I didn’t realize my age was that obvious.

Climbing up big rocks – talus - with no trail really is difficult. My sense of balance isn’t what it once was, so I always carry a hiking stick, and I use my hands a lot. I’ve only fallen one time, but I really hurt myself. Afterwards my back bothered me for several months. I still can’t sit comfortably in a straight backed chair, so I climb carefully.

There are cairns placed strategically on the rocks, but they are hard to see from below so I got off the trail a lot. There were others on the rocks by that time though, so we were in a constant discussion about which way to go. About half way up, the high school kids passed me. I told them that I’d been waiting, and thought they’d never catch me. They smiled as they climbed past.  

When I finally made it to the top, the high school kids were still there. Their teachers gave me high fives, because they also knew how old I was, and one of them offered to take my picture. There were 15 or 20 people at the summit, resting, enjoying the view, and taking pictures. There’s nothing like standing on top of a mountain, above everything around you. It’s like being in an airplane, except that you climbed up there yourself. You’re above the clouds. Occasionally you even see a plane down below. People on the trail below you, if you can see them, are like dots. And the view. Every mountain is different, but from La Plata you see nothing but huge mountains in every direction. Elbert, Massive, the Collegiate peaks, and with the fall colors, the mountainsides look like watercolor paintings.

                                                              The view toward Mt Elbert, with some of the 

                                                                      Steamboat students in the foreground

After putting my times down in my log book, recording the track in my GPS, and eating my Twinkies, I headed back down. I even got off the summit before noon like you’re supposed to do. It’s easier going down, not only because you don’t have to go as slowly, but on the rocks it’s easier to see the cairns from above. I had my GPS recording for backup, but it wasn’t hard to follow the trail.

There’s not much more to tell. They say it’s harder going down than up, because the jolting is harder on your legs, but this one was hard for me just because I was exhausted. My pack seemed heavier going down. I was continually watching the trail, looking for something solid to anchor my feet so they wouldn’t slip, but I didn’t fall, even though I scooted on my butt a time or two when I couldn’t find firm footing. And I felt pretty good after I got back to the car. My legs weren’t cramping. My joints weren’t sore. I think I was the last person back to the parking lot because I’m so slow, but it was still light when I started home.

I’m ready to go again.

A Cry Out of the Darkness

Well, here I am with my annual, well almost annual blog post. It seems like I’ve given myself enough of a vacation from writing, almost two years, so that I could return to it again. It’s not that I don’t write. I still correspond with friends, and then I write a kind of diary, putting together my thoughts and organizing them as well as I can. I have never tried to post anything like that on the blog though. I doubt if anyone would be interested. The only people who can do that are famous people. If someone is famous, if they’ve accomplished something, people are naturally interested in what’s special about them. There's nothing special about me, so maybe I should continue to keep my thoughts to myself. 

Since my retirement, I've worked really hard to improve my violin playing, and I think I have improved, now that I have more time to practice. I’ve developed a repertoire of old melodies,  familiar to my audience, 70 to 90 year olds, whom I entertain at nursing homes and hospice facilities. What I've learned over the years about performing is that people want to participate. They want to tap their feet. They want to hear something that reminds them of their youth, their first love. They like for you to tell them a little about yourself, about the tune you're playing. Sometimes I think they enjoy the story as much as the music

That’s what I got from my historical writing. I got involved in the stories, and hopefully so did my readers. As I get older and think about what to do with the rest of my life, I really want to keep entertaining people, with my violin and with stories. I have plenty of music, and plenty of stories, stories about my adventures, family stories I couldn’t include in my book, stories about people I admire, people that interest me. I hope you will enjoy them. 

Singin' in the Rain

Toyland from Babes in Toyland by Victor Herbert

Return of the Native

Hi everyone. Probably no one notices this blog any more, so I doubt if anyone will read this, but that’s okay because it will give me a chance to get warmed up again. That is if I can get back into the habit of writing. I still can’t continue with my WWII project because of a fatal computer crash, which seems to have destroyed my notes – my backup and main hard drive crashed at the same time. The notes represent months of work so I’m pretty bummed out about it. I have one last thing I’m going to try, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll probably give up. I just can’t bring myself to go through all that research again.

I have been inspired to write again though, by a writers’ conference sponsored by the Chickasaw Press. I was asked to do a presentation myself, and so had to think of what I learned during the process of writing and editing Wenonah’s Story. Even though my motivation for writing was to record the events of my mother’s life and to honor her memory, I did enjoy the process, and learned a lot.

The conference inspired me by reminding me of some of the tricks, no methods I learned to make my writing more forceful and interesting, and also I really enjoyed listening to the other presenters. One was a writer of “creative non-fiction,” Rilla Askew, a successful writer and a dynamic and interesting speaker. The other was Towana Spivey, former curator of the military history museum at Fort Sill, Oklahoma.

In the past I have looked down my nose at writers of creative nonfiction. In the sample of those books I’ve read, I got the idea the author used the past to make up for a lack of imagination, distorting it in the process. Some even encouraged me to do Wenonah’s Story as fiction, but I refused, taking pride in being able to tell a story that was interesting without embellishment, a plot that made a riveting story, and was true at the same time.

But Rilla’s talk was all about creative writing, and expressing your feelings, and it got me to thinking. It’s important that someone reads what you write, so if you have to imagine some “alternate facts,” or fabricate a love story to grab the reader’s attention, maybe that’s not so bad, if it draws attention to an important time in history. Not everyone has a resource like my mother, who was not only an eyewitness to history, but also an eloquent story teller, and frankly I couldn’t have told her story any other way, because I have no imagination.

The other speaker, Towana Spivey, was a fascinating person to talk to, a fountain of knowledge about the history of the Southwest, in particular of the Native Americans, and of the military. What impressed me though was that he emphasized the same point as Rilla, the importance of engaging the reader, making your writing interesting. In his book he told the history of the region around Fort Sill from the perspective of a tree, a huge tree at Fort Sill, about 250 years old.

He said he avoided including too much detail in his writing, so that it wouldn’t be boring. In fact he tells forty or fifty stories in a book of only 80 pages, and includes lots of pictures. I got a copy. He doesn’t fudge the facts like Rilla, but he does what he needs to make his subject interesting.

So, now I’m humbled but inspired, and I’m going to try to restart my blog. I don’t know what I’ll write about, but hopefully, when a few of you begin to notice it, you’ll enjoy what I have to say.

Battle of Guadalcanal, Part II

Investigation into the events that took place on the night of Friday the 13^th of November, 1942, in Lunga Bay revealed a much different story than the one told by my uncle Everett and his crew mates. They of course had no idea what was taking place on the bridge of the USS San Francisco, and in the confusion of darkness and battle they couldn’t have had a clear picture of what was happening between the many ships involved. The complete story may never be told. The battle was later described as “A barroom brawl after the lights had been shot out,” but the following is the best description I could find of the battle, from Richard Frank’s book, Guadalcanal.  

On Thursday, the day before the battle, the USS San Francisco steamed into Lunga Bay, escorting a convoy of transports carrying troops and supplies for the little marine base on Guadalcanal. My uncle, Everett Gunning, must have been a little anxious that day. The week before, the San Francisco had been chosen by Admiral Callaghan as his flagship, and Everett must have known they were expecting some action. There were many more warships in the harbor than was usual for a convoy escort.

Everett didn’t mention it in his accounts of the battle, but Japanese bombers attacked the convoy that afternoon. The task force commander, Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner, was warned of the attack beforehand, so he was ready, as was a fighter squadron from Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. There were no direct hits on American ships during the attack due to some clever maneuvering by the Admiral, but the USS San Francisco sustained damage when a Japanese bomber, shot down by one of the other ships, crashed on the deck, taking out one of the gun batteries. Twenty-three men were killed, and forty-five injured. Everett had been on the deck manning another gun battery at the time. He knew many of the men. He could easily have been one of those killed.

After the transports were unloaded they left the harbor, but the San Francisco and the other cruisers and destroyers remained. Something bigger was coming.

That something was the beginning of Admiral Yamamoto’s final push to take Guadalcanal. His plan was to bring in a large naval force during the night of November 12 – 13 to destroy Henderson Field with big bombs from his battleships. The bombing was to be followed by convoys of supplies and troops for the final push, supported by an aerial attack from his carriers.

As in the previous battles of Coral Sea and Midway, it was superior intelligence that saved the US from disaster. American cryptanalysts managed to crack a new Japanese code just in time to alert Admiral Halsey, commander of the South Pacific fleet, about plans for the Guadalcanal attack on November 8, leaving him five days to prepare. 

Even with advanced warning, Admiral Turner, responsible for defending Guadalcanal, didn’t have much to work with. He had no carriers to oppose Japan’s five, and his only two battleships were too far away to make it in time for the battle. He only had an assortment of cruisers and destroyers, none of which had guns big enough to pierce the armor of the Japanese battleships sent to bomb Henderson Field. To improve his odds, he sent his transports away unguarded, raising his tally of ships to 13, five cruisers and eight destroyers, but then he made what some consider a disastrous mistake. He retreated with his reserve forces, leaving in command Admiral Daniel Callaghan, an officer with no field experience, chosen over Admiral Norman Scott, the hero of the Battle of Cape Esperance, because of seniority. (see post of Jan. 30, 2016)

In preparing to meet the Japanese, Admiral Callaghan then proceeded to make two major mistakes. First, he chose the USS San Francisco, Everett’s ship, as his flagship. The San Francisco had not only sustained severe damage the day before, it had inferior quality radar equipment. Secondly, he failed to take advantage of  Admiral Scott’s leadership and experience, placing his ship, the USS Atlanta, in the line of battle directly in front of the San Francisco.  

The night of the planned bombardment, the American ships waited in Lunga Bay while the Japanese force steamed down the channel. The Japanese met with a thunderstorm early in the evening, and their commander, Adm. Hiroaki Abe, decided to abort the planned bombing. He was heading back toward the Japanese base at Rabaul, New Britain, around midnight, when the skies cleared and he decided to proceed with the planned bombing.

As a result of the change in orders, the cloudy skies and the darkness of night, Abe’s fleet then became disorganized. Standing at the helm of the battleship, Hiei, he lost track of the other ships’ positions, and most importantly, the destroyers ordered to sweep the harbor fell behind the main group of ships. Unaware of the presence of American ships, Abe ordered the big guns on his battleships to be loaded with shells intended for the bombing, instead of the armor piercing shells used for sinking cruisers. When he finally sighted the American force, it was too late to reload.

So the American fleet had an advantage going into the battle. The Japanese were caught by surprise, disorganized, and unprepared, but the inexperienced Callaghan failed to take advantage of his opportunity. As the Japanese ships approached, the images on his ship’s inferior radar equipment were confusing. He tried to communicate with the ships having better radar, but was unable to get a clear line of communication due to undisciplined chatter on the radio. Finally he ordered the column to make a 45 degree turn to starboard, probably intending to position his ships perpendicular to the advancing Japanese force, but instead he put them on a collision course.

What Everett and his shipmates believed to be a clever plan by the admiral to take the Japanese by surprise was actually a foolish mistake.

To be continued.