Climbing the High Sierra Near Yosemite. A Wounded Dog, A Blonde, Her Bro and Me
Posted: Sunday, May 15, 2011
by Christofer French
Rain Dancer Associates, LLC
I looked into her brown eyes and kissed them. My dried lips seemed to give little comfort. I pulled a jacket over her face to guard her from the blazing sun. “There you go” I whispered.
She exhaled. Not a moist exhalation, but one of those dry-as-desert breaths that seemed to have no animating spirit. The tiniest whimper came from deep in her throat.
Scrawny Puny Pines and Lots of Low Blood Sugar To Go Around
When I came to a little stand of scrawny puny pines. There she was. Sitting under the trees, getting shade. She made one of those canine body motions that say, “I need help”. Then I made the decision to carry her on my back. I pulled on her legs with my arms to secure her over my shoulders. I did a test walk in a little circle. If I went slowly, I thought I could carry her.
Then we sat down to nurse her wounded paws. At about 8,000 feet in the High Sierras, my exhaustion and low blood sugar were starting to drain me. My adrenals were in overdrive. I couldn’t leave Lady on the Mountain. After all, none of this was her fault.
The Twins – A brother and sister from Pasadena had horrible sunburns. It was the spring of 1968 in ever clear California. “It Never Rains in Southern California” (Hammond 1973) had not yet been recorded yet, but we were all feeling the sentiment. We were city kids who had been guided by this new friend of mine, Dennis. He was our expert, but how we would dress or prepare seemed to be of little concern to him. He was quite a physical specimen and equipped personally to handle a three day hike near Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 states. I say “he was equipped”, because the rest of us weren’t. If we had died up there, the first CSI would have said: “These people ran out of food; got too much sun, experienced hypothermia and were basically poorly prepared. And it looks like they ran a dog to death.”
Yeah, but that’s not the story.
My stud mountain climbing buddy from Carmel did advise us that he would bring the food, and then we would rendezvous with one of his friends who would have “loads of food”. I was too young and naive to interrogate him or mistrust him. When he told us that, we were at Haight-Ashbury taking in the sights. Amazingly the streets were also crowded with skinny suffering kids who were pan handling and also needed food, higher levels of blood sugar, and some shade.
But that’s a “whole nother story”, as they say in Texas.
As it turned out, we ended up with Familia (a funny kind of oatmeal) and mountain water and dried fruit and some wonderful chunks of cheese from a tourist cheese factory, which made a great difference.
Our troubles came from eating way too much, too fast, not figuring that we would be burning tens of thousands of calories. We also missed our rendezvous, an unreliable friend indeed. This was the real key to this tragedy. We were counting on that food right away.
Junie Being Braless and Chris Singin’ the Blues
On this day, our Guide, Dennis was way in front of us. Not only was he stoic, but he was monosyllabic. A kind of Arnold Schwarzenegger with lederhosen, he had looked at our state that morning and declared a darker version of “I’ll be back”. He told us we were a “sorry lot”.
Never very reassuring, he left some cheese for Junie. Junie was one gorgeous 18 year old Pasadena pure bred who had just missed all the beauty pageants for the Rose Parade. Her parents didn’t want her competing. Her twin brother Jamie was a diffident intellectual who kept commenting on my lack of planning. I kept saying: “I didn’t plan.” He would say: “I know. Oh, but man, you can play that guitar. I still can’t believe you’re a ministerial candidate. Trying to get out of Vietnam, huh? And if you’re gonna be a minister, why were you fondling my sister last night?”
I guess you can tell: Jamie was not my friend. Junie was my friend. Jamie came along because he was the twin. I had sung some folk and Beatles tunes on the guitar, the first night. “Hot town, summer in the City, back of my neck gettin’ dirty and gritty…” Jamie changed it to “summer on Whitney” and managed to mock me all along the way. When I put the dog on my back, I strapped my guitar on his back. This made him quite unhappy. The Buffalo Springfield hit would never be the same to me.
To add to the unpleasantness, he did not like anyone touching his sister. I knew the trip was not going to be fun when he asked me to lower my level of affection for his sister while he was around. Ironically, it was this trip she chose to do a “first” and go bra-less. Her shoulder length blonde hair made her quite a sight. When we hit Haight-Ashbury, the pan handlers mobbed her. She looked like visiting Rock royalty, and we were her entourage. She was just a very healthy girl from Pasadena with a really honest smile. Being rich, she just handed the bucks out like they were candy kisses. We made quite a stir at “The Haight” for a few minutes.
The Third Day found us all close to sun stroke, nigh unto physical exhaustion without a Guide. And me with a bleeding Irish Setter on my back beating myself up for being a lousy vacation planner. My guilt was small potatoes though. I was really worried about Junie and her brother. If I had been smarter, I would have been worried for me. Maybe saving the dog gave me a focus.
The sun at 8500 feet has a way of making your hair hot , if you don’t have a hat. I did not. Carrying Lady on my shoulders was slowing me up. But that was good, because the twins couldn’t go any faster than they were. Since the three of us and the dog were sun blistered, hypoglycemic and physically exhausted, I sat us all down under the puny pines.
Dennis, the Bod and Chris, The Singing Starving Monk
The High Sierras. Stoney and vast, make you feel mighty small. We were a strange little group. I am the one who knew everyone and had brought everyone together. I had just fallen in love with and now was the only salvation of “Lady”, the Irish Setter, which the Twins had brought up from Pasadena. My affection for Junie was at this extreme moment impossible to express or realize. Jamie had already made me his “enemy for life”.
Our noble mountain climbing guide was an incredible physical specimen. Having grown up in Carmel, he was raised as a “mountain climbing fool who lived by the Sea”. I was in awe of him. But he was gone. I was the one who recruited the rest of the party. I felt responsible, and I was. It was no use to point my finger at “Dennis the Bod”. Jamie named him in his now forever memorable statement to me: “Dennis the Bod, has headed for the Hills, but the Hills are down from here. We are stuck in the Mountains with Chris, the Singing Starving Monk!”
The Three of Us get Upended, Lady has a drink!
If we knew we were crossing a stream, we would have taken it more slowly and daintily. But this was a series of flat rocks covered with green moss. If you’re ever in the mountains in the Spring, watch out for “flat rocks covered with green moss”. Jamie lost it first, he grabbed onto Junie, who grabbed onto me, we hit like bowling pins and slid on our backs to a rise. I managed to drop on my butt and pulled Lady into my chest and then landed on my side. Lady just drank water as we lay there in the super cold stream. Casualties? Jamie with a busted swollen nose; he had sustained falling flat onto the rock. Junie with a sprained wrist she placed to break her fall. Chris, less pride. Lady, washed and not thirsty.
I sensed Junie was losing her admiration for me. I bound up her wrist with some cloth. (I tore up one of my shirts). Junie fixed Jamie’s nose. I was glad because he could not stop his unrelenting condemnation of my character, my lineage and my presence on the planet. He was irritated, and if I had had to fix his nose, it might have sustained new injuries.
The Knee Punishing Descent
It is funny and ironic and terrifying to be up at 8500 feet and have your eyes filled with starkly blue skies, immense cliffs and breathe-taking peaks. You want to kick back and participate in a joyous scream at the wondrous views in these unforgettable Sierras of Northern California. But that was all lost to us now. I had happened upon a nice wide trail and kept on marching. The trail dropped quite suddenly and became difficult to navigate. Lady would lick my hand every once in awhile. I took it that she was cheering me on. Jamie would not stop the verbal tirades, but they made me laugh, because they were so nasal. His nose was swelling by the minute. But our knees. Oh, our knees would wobble in roundabout ways as we pushed and pushed. Our constant upward climbing was now fast downward walking. We were both hurrying and braking at the same time. It gives one an odd sense of calamity and fun. Luckily, the trail leveled out and we were in less danger. We stopped a couple times for rest.
Dennis the Bod and the Park Ranger
On our last stop, Jamie became almost hysterical. When Junie told him to “Shut your _____ mouth!”, I quietly rejoiced. Her alto tones echoed through the canyons; and then something echoed back. It was Dennis’s tenor voice. We looked down the trail and there he was with a four wheel Jeep and a Park Ranger.
But Jamie wouldn’t shut up. “See, now there’s a man. He went on ahead to save us, get us some help. What did you do but carry our bloody dog, cause our accident and patch up my sister with way too much personal attention. Damn you.”
Junie was smiling big now. “Jamie, I am going to kick you down this cliff if you don’t shut up!” He finally did. Even he was getting joyous.
Dennis, pecs and abs and all hugged my girl friend for all it was worth. The Park Ranger tended to them declaring: "You both are going to have to stop in our clinic, at least."
The Park Ranger went to work on Lady too. She would be fine lying in the back of the Jeep. I kissed her once again. She looked at me with doggie acceptance, and we closed the book on our relationship.
Being the Goat
Dennis grinned a big wide toothy one. “I am really sorry about my friend who did not show up with all of that food. We definitely had an emergency here. I had to go ahead and get a hold of my Park Ranger and his Jeep. I was kind of embarrassed and did not want to say much. Man, your girl friend Junie, she is something else man. “
“Well, Dennis, right now you are the Hero, believe it or not. I am the Goat. She will probably give you another one of those hugs you just maximized. Of course, you will have to deal with Jamie, the angry one.”
“Man, did he mess up that nose.” Dennis furrowed his brow in sympathy.
“He messed me up too. I learned a lot on this mountain trip. Planning is important.” I was sheepish.
“Yeah, but you had heart too. I cannot believe you carted that Irish Setter on your back all the way from up there.” Dennis was genuinely impressed by my physical feat. “You gotta back on you. Good thighs too.”
“We took a lot of breaks, Dennis. I had a lot of listening to do.”
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