What's a middle-aged Jackson dad doing taking a month-long backpacking trek through some of the most rugged vistas in the U.S.?
"I didn't have enough sense to do something like this after college,'' explained Raymond Clothier, co-director of Millsaps Work and Faith Initiative, as he prepared recently for his hike.
While many of us in the Southeast are familiar with the 2,175 mile-long Appalachian Trail that stretches from Georgia to Maine, Clothier was preparing earlier this month to trek a section of its west-coast cousin—the 2,650-mile Pacific Coast Trail.
It runs from the deserts of Southern California through the mountains and rainforest of Washington state. It is among the most stunning and challenging of the nation's cross-country trails. (The Pacific Crest Trail Association has a wealth of information at http://www.pcta.org)
"I just looked at the elevation profiles, and they are ugly,'' he e-mailed shortly after I interviewed him. "They look kind of like jagged teeth. I start at Glacier Point at 7,200 feet and hike down to Little Yosemite Valley at 5,800 feet. Half Dome is 8,800 feet. I might day hike to Vogelsang Pass, which is 10,600 feet. Cloud's Rest is 9,500 feet, and Sonora Pass is 10,900 feet. The ending point at Lake Tahoe is 6,250 feet. It will certainly be a challenge, and I hope it's a good story. "
By way of comparison, the highest point on the Appalachian Trail is Clingmans Dome in the Great Smokey Mountains, at 6,625 feet. The highest point in Mississippi is Woodall Mountain in Tishomingo County—a mere 806 feet.
Backpackers know that such elevations bring not only stunning vistas, but oxygen-deprived climbs, altitude sickness and bone-rattling descents. Clothier will be carrying a 35-pound pack with food, clothing, tent, socks, stove fuel and even a canister to protect food from hungry bears.
Clothier discovered his love for backpacking years ago with his wife, Darby Ray, in the mountains of upstate New York. He still enjoys weekend trips in Mississippi, Alabama and Arkansas, but it was actually his wife, he said, who suggested he bite off part of the summer for an extended trip.
"I wanted to go to high mountains—someplace I haven't been,'' he said, explaining his choice for the Pacific Crest Trail. Clothier spent the winter and spring researching trail sections and selecting gear. He is bracing for the challenge of negotiating a region entirely new to him, forging streams swollen by the melt of this winter's unusually heavy snows. He has loaded six audiobooks onto his 8-ounce PDA. Even with the solar re-charger, it's lighter than hauling the actual books. And with a portable miniature keyboard, he hopes to keep a journal.
Tommy Smith, backpacking expert at Buffalo Peak Outfitters here in town, says he will typically get one or two backpackers or would-be backpackers in each winter or spring who are starting to think about a major trek like Clothier's.
Smith, an expert backpacker himself, begins not by giving them a gear list, but a trail personality primer. Before focusing on which flashlight or sleeping bag is appropriate, would-be distance backpackers need to assess their own personality traits. Do they have a tolerance for discomfort, an ability to self-diagnose mood swings and the ability to act in spite of those feelings? Smith's two-page personality inventory (written by Phil Heffington at Oklahoma Christian University) also recommends a tolerance for risk, an ability to innovate and even the ability to get along with others. Even on these solo treks, backpackers are likely to strike up relationships that can last hours, days and even years.
Ultimately, knowing yourself before you start packing your gear makes sense.
It's easy to imagine the joy of standing atop a 12,000-foot peak in clear weather, gazing at a stunning valley below. But the realities of backpacking also include significant challenges of topography, weather, exhaustion, bugs, bears and more. It can be downright miserable at times. "It makes me focus. You are aware of the natural rhythms of the day: sun up and sun down. You have a clear goal," Clothier said.
That range of challenge brings an indescribable texture to the experience. I recall standing alone atop a peak in the Colorado Rockies 20 years ago. I was looking down at a glassy dark lake on one side and a valley thousands of feet below me on the other. The wind was blowing 30 or so miles per hour as I gazed upon peak after peak.
That indescribable beauty made me feel unexpectedly melancholy. It didn't make sense to me until talking with Clothier.
"You are a little piece on a grand scale. You're a small part—and it goes on and on and it will go on without you,'' he says. "There is some spirituality there … being a part of all that is. It de-centers you. You're not the center of everything. That is abundantly clear."
Contact JFP outdoors columnist Reed Branson at: [e-mail missing]
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