Meanwhile, down the trail at Glen Aulin, we had barely set up our tents when a mother bear and cub decided to visit. The bears of Glen Aulin are infamous for their persistence and these two had steak dinner on their mind. Each time we chased them away they came back. Over the years, I have had numerous encounters with bears and these guys were scary. A mother with a cub can be particularly dangerous. Finally I stacked up wood to build a teepee fire and waited. When the mother came strolling into our camp for the fourth time, I threw white gas on the wood, stood back, and tossed in a match. Poof! As instant flames lit up the night the bears hightailed it out of camp at sonic boom speed… and didn’t come back.
Unfortunately the bear did get Clay’s can of Guinness Stout that was cooling in the river. Clay asked me the next morning how I knew it was his beer and not mine. I told him it was easy. His was the can that had been punctured by bear teeth and was empty. Clay has kept the can forever as a reminder of his father-in-law’s sneaky ways.
The next part of my trip was from Devil’s Postpile National Monument to Bishop following the John Muir Trail. It was beautiful but without incidence. I was very careful, though. Once I was charging down John Muir Pass following Peggy and sprained my ankle. It was a long, painful 84 miles to the top of Whitney.
My nephew Jay joined me for the last section of the hike. He was 16 years old at the time and all legs. Our route incorporated a significant part of the same trail that I had hiked over when injured. It’s a lot easier without a sprained ankle. Believe me. Jay and I were zipping along by the time we reached Whitney. His youth and 50 miles of backpacking combined with my experience and 300 plus miles of backpacking made us just about equal. We caught a group of 20 to 30 year-old trail runners a quarter of a mile from the top and passed them. The runners were severely irked (or maybe it was impressed) that a kid and an ‘old’ guy beat them to the summit. They kept looking over at us and mumbling among themselves.
Reaching the top under any circumstance is a significant accomplishment. We broke out lunch, enjoyed the incredible views back along the trail, and looked down into the far-distant Owens Valley. Finally, it was time to hike down the mountain and meet Peggy and Jay’s dad, John, who were waiting for us at Whitney Portal. My 60th birthday celebration came to an end with two great gifts: a mouth-watering hamburger and a hot shower.
Curtis MekemsonCurt was raised in the small foothill town of Diamond Springs, California. So he escaped the confines of his small universe in the mid-60s and headed off to UC Berkeley where he learned that integration was good, war was bad, and that young people who held such views should be bashed on the head and thrown in jail.
He was waiting for his turn with the Oakland police while sitting on the floor of the UC administration building and singing protest songs with Joan Baez when he had an epiphany: he should join the Peace Corps. Berkeley and the Peace Corps ruined Curt from living the American Dream. He decided that obtaining an 8-5 job, moving to the suburbs, and buying a big house were not for him. “If you would only make babies and take up photography,” his father had grumbled. Instead, Curt became an environmentalist and a health advocate, happily making war on polluters and the tobacco industry.
Wanting to get back to nature, he created the American Lung Association’s long distance backpack and bike trek program. The Lung Association needed a new fundraiser; Curt wanted an excuse to play in the woods. He added wilderness guide to his ever-growing resume and spent two decades leading wilderness adventures.
Every three to five years Curt quits whatever he is doing and goes on an extended break. Traveling through the South Pacific and Asia, backpacking throughout the western United States, and going on a six-month, 10,000-mile, solo bicycle trip around North America are among the highlights. This lifestyle came to a temporary halt when he climbed off his bike in Sacramento, met the lovely Peggy, and decided to get married– in about one minute. It took a while longer to persuade Peggy and her two teenage kids.
Today Curt and Peggy live on five wooded acres in Southern Oregon where he pursues yet another career, this time in writing. He is presently completing a book on his African Peace Corps experience. Visit him at his blog Wandering Through Time and Place. He’d love to hear from you. Or you can send him an email