It happened in a split second.

I misjudged the slipperiness of a boulder as I was tempting a log crossing in the Owens River Gorge in a steady rain on Thursday.

I slipped, flew sideways, striking my forehead on an overhanging rock as my left knee slammed into the boulder that proved to be my downfall. My right leg went into the river nicely lodging between rocks below the surface.

I wasn’t seriously injured but the only way out due to the way my leg was stuck so I wouldn’t twist my knee was to go ashore in one of the thickest clusters of poison oak I’ve ever seen.

Ninety minutes later with dried blood on both my forehead and knee while my legs felt as if they were being pricked by 1,001 pins, Garrison — my 17-year-old nephew I was hiking with — and I decided to get out of the gorge early to reduce the long walk back to the car that was at least three miles away. That meant going up a steep, sketchy gorge wall blanketed with loose rock. Some 300 feet later as we were standing on the gorge’s edge I told Garrison that it was a great hike.

He looked at me as if I were crazy as my legs were coated with red spots and raised bumps. Obviously the rock to my forehead didn’t knock any sense into me.

Most people would not have been happy campers. But I looked at it this way: I was 59 years old and fortunate to be in good health and in shape enough to be able to hike to places that 30 years ago would have given me a heart attack just thinking about it.

The previous day I had made by second trip to the top of Mt. Whitney and back— it was Garrison’s first. The 22-mile trek took16 hours, included a net elevation gain of 6,131 feet to reach the summit at 14,495 feet along a trail that had snow and ice along four miles of the route. Topping it off were snow flurries on the descent.

I had hiked Mt. Whitney 20 years prior. I can say without a doubt that on Wednesday that I was stronger, in better shape, healthier, and more sure of myself than I was in 1995 when I made it to the top with Mike Davis and his children Kyle and Hillary.

Twenty years ago, it was just the hike up Mt. Whitney and nothing else. This time around it was the middle hike of seven over seven days covering 76 miles and a net elevation gain of 19,800 feet. Mt. Whitney—  save the Owens River Gorge — was the easiest in terms of feet gained per mile. The toughest was the final day up to Glass Mountain’s 11,200-foot summit with commanding views of the White Mountains, Sierra and Long Valley Cauldron gaining 1,865 feet during the 1.3 miles to the top. The trail is accessed by 13 miles of dirt roads off a section of Highway 120 I had never traveled before near the highway’s terminus with Highway 6 in Benton.

The seven days of hiking included dodging lightning, hail, rain, and snow as well as 90 degree heat in the lower elevations. As usual, I did my Dick Van Dyke act. I went down six times — four times while descending on fairly steep  icy trails. The other ones were my impromptu dip in the Owens River and when we went off the trail coming down Glass Mountain and were forced to slide down about 60 feet due to the loose scree and steepness.

Glass Mountain was probably my favorite hike. Besides only passing one other person — he was in a car on the dirt road as we were going out and likely headed to Sawmill Campgrounds — the summit registry showed someone was there the day before but prior to that 31 days had passed since a soul had stepped atop the summit.

Being able to savor views that few others have is rewarding but not as much as the solitude and vastness that puts things in perspective.

You could see mountains and valleys well over a hundred miles away with the only sign of civilization being a repeater atop a nearby mountain.

It is a clear reminder that man’s mark on the planet is truly minimal. It’s hard to see that when we are stuck in traffic jams on a Bay Area freeway or even walking through Yosemite Valley on Memorial Day weekend.

While mankind has done some major transformations by redirecting resources — California’s Great Central Valley is a prime example — civilization is no match for most of earth’s deserts, mountains, and oceans. The wilderness is ultimately what gives man strength.

John Muir perhaps said it best: “thousands of tired, nerve-shaken over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity.”



This column is the opinion of executive editor, Dennis Wyatt, and does not necessarily represent the opinion of The Bulletin or Morris Newspaper Corp. of CA.  He can be contacted at dwyatt@mantecabulletin.com or 209.249.3519.