First Day in the D.R.

From the time we left our house it took us almost exactly 24 hours to arrive at our B&B near Playa Dominicus in the Dominican Republic. We first drove to Las Vegas, boarded a plane to Los Angeles, then another to Miami, and finally a third to Santo Domingo. From there we found a taxi to drive us the final hour and a half to Playa Dominicus. It was non-stop moving. 

As we descended toward Las Américas International Airport I was fascinated by the neat, cutout plantations and miles of neighborhoods with dirt roads. The thought crossed my mind that there would be much of the D.R. that I would never see on this trip. Also, as I gazed down, I was mesmerized by the vast number of baseball fields dotting the landscape. I'll bet I counted at least twenty. Béisbol, as it is called here, is the national sport. 

A common mode of transportation in the D.R.

Our taxi driver made sure we got a picture of the national beer.

This trip was spontaneous for us. Usually I plan trips years in advance, but this one was dreamed up only a month or two prior. Hence, there were a lot of uncertainties on our path. For one, I didn't know which currency was most often used. For another, I didn't know how we'd get to our first destination, an hour and a half from the airport. 

All this was solved when a throng of soliciting taxi drivers approached and one offered to drive us for 110 US dollars. —I didn't want to worry any more, so we took it. 

Wilson, our driver of African descent, spoke both English and Spanish and in both we conducted our business. The more he talked, the more I could smell cannabis on his breath. He drove 5 mph below the speed limit while he read texts. But he was super friendly. I learned that both his mother and father had died, but he had five siblings. He was born and raised in a nearby town called La Caleta. 

First glimpses of the D.R. came through a taxi window.

It was in the back seat of his taxi where I got my first up-close glimpse of the Dominican Republic. It reminded me much of Mexico with the same style of tattered buildings and trash on the ground. We passed several fruit stands on the side of the road, some selling coconuts. I was fascinated with all the mopeds on the highways, some carrying up to three people and others carrying loads of lumber. 

Fields of sugarcane, or caña, lined the road. It was the first time I had ever seen sugarcane. It looked to me like giant blades of grass. 

Sugarcane field.

I was also impressed with their cattle. They had long protruding horns similar to Texas long-horns. They fed in pastures alongside the road. Once we saw them grazing in a sugarcane field. 

We finally arrived at our B&B where we checked into a small room with a balcony. After 24 hours on the move, we were excited to finally lay on a bed! Our bodies were exhausted and we had no idea of time. We had traveled back one time zone, then forward four with little or no sleep. 

Balcony view from our hotel.

With only three hours of daylight left we headed to the street. After purchasing a SIM card at a so-called mini-mart, I withdrew 15,000 pesos from an ATM machine. [Let me say that at this point, I felt like I was throwing money away left and right. I felt like I was getting scammed over every transaction and I didn't know what anything was worth. It was certainly a learning curve as far as money was concerned.] 

We then proceeded to walk to the beach, unfortunately having to circumvent a massive resort that claimed so much property. To get to the beach we had to walk the narrow Avenida Eladia, a street filled with gift shops and restaurants to lull the tourists. In front of every shop was a a black guy who usually asked if we spoke French. (My guess is that many of them were Haitian immigrants and mistook us for French tourists, hoping they could apply their common tongue.) 

They sold jewelry, including larimar pendants, ice cream, and who knows what else. It was like running the gauntlet and it was the only street we could take. But it wasn't our day to buy souvenirs, so we pushed through. 

Playa Dominicus.

At last we rounded the corner and onto the fine white sand of Playa Dominicus. What a paradise! The Caribbean-blue water lapped against the shore and a forest of palm trees dotted the beach. Never had I seen so many palm trees on a beach. 

A few places opened shop in shacks along the shore. They were of the same variety that we passed earlier, each with aggressive hustlers trying to get our business. 

Several resorts claimed property along the beach, with their clientele lounging in chairs along the water. We could pass through those private sections, but if one wanted to stop and lounge, he had to do it on the public section. 

Strolling here was a beach-watchers Eden. The coastline crawled with people wading in the water or cooking in the sun. Men lounged, some with tattooed tanned skin, while the women flaunted their bodies in bikinis. Somewhere off in the distance a rumba played and couples danced. 

Jenelle took off her sandals and walked along the shore close enough that from time to time the silky water came up and licked her feet. I, on the other hand, enjoyed the moment, but was foolish enough to wear Levi's and tennis shoes. That would change tomorrow. 

We timed our stroll just right to view the sunset. I have seen few better. As the sun approached the sea, deep colors of red and pink began to paint the thick clouds behind the palm trees. The sky above the sea radiated in orange and the pier darkened to a silhouette. We couldn't have had a more perfect evening!

Playa Dominicus at sunset.

On our way back to the hotel we stopped for dinner. It was funny that most of the restaurants served Italian food. That is probably to cater to tourists, but also because this little beach town has had tremendous Italian influence over the years. 

Jenelle ordered linguini and I the rice with habichuelas (one of the few Dominican items on the menu). Then we had one last surprise: 

A family of three pulled up to our table. The father played a guitar and the daughter strummed an instrument with a comb. Mother sang. —And while we ate they serenaded us with “Bésame mucho,” a song that made us smile. We gave them a couple bucks and they moved on their way. ♠

Evening serenade.

 

Somewhere Beyond Kolob

I spent the evening with Jenna and Kaitlyn eating supper in the park and playing cards under the lights of the pavilion. At 10 pm a city cop came and ordered us out of the park. We drove to the cemetery where we saw deer grazing around the tombstones. We parked there and slept in the back of the Trailblazer.

We woke early the next morning and at 5:45 we met Layney who drove us up that long sinuous road to the trailhead at Lava Point. We began our hike just before sunrise . . .

We finished our hike in nine hours, covering sixteen miles and descending approximately 3,100 feet. ♠

A Lesson Learned From Brittany

Brittany always had a huge heart. 

Shortly after entering the Young Woman's program of the church, Brittany became enthralled with the idea of visiting the elderly in a nursing home. She pestered me over and over until finally I decided to bite the bullet. We went to Emerald Pointe, a long-term care facility here in Cedar City. 

I knew this desire was indicative of her compassion. She was always tender-hearted and had a sensitivity toward the feelings of other people. Like the Savior, she loved little children. She enjoyed playing with them and making them happy. Now she was moving to the other end of the age spectrum. 

We went on a Sunday afternoon. I had in mind who we would visit—Marge O'Connell. 

Marge was a sweet lady with a frail body. Her short silver hair proved to be a mixture of white and gray strands. She wore a pale face with dark bags beneath her eyes, and a big smile behind her red lipstick. She was very friendly and could talk your ear off.

I knew Marge from my mail route several years earlier. Gradually her memory began to decline to the point she had to be put in a nursing home. She had no kids of her own. Her only brother lived in another state and rarely stopped by. 

Our visit went well. Marge sat with some other ladies in a commons room. Although Marge and I had several long conversations in the past, she couldn't remember me. But she still smiled and laughed and enjoyed our company. 

Brittany didn't know what to say, but sat quietly and smiled. The other ladies at the table adored her. Marge entertained us well, demonstrating that she had indeed lost her mind. At one point she claimed that someone was going to pick her up and take her to Cedar City. [We were in Cedar City!] Brittany and I had a good chuckle in the car on the way home. 

One year later at Brittany's death, I realized we had never returned to visit Marge O'Connell. I was very saddened at this realization. But I was very grateful at the same time, to my daughter, for teaching me the importance of actually getting on my feet and visiting those in need. Looking back, I wish I would have taken more opportunists to visit the old, the sick, or anyone with Brittany. But now I have to ask the obvious question: Am I taking those same opportunities with my daughters I still have with me?

There is no time to waste in life. That's a lesson I have learned the hard way and have to relearn all the time. We must decide which things in life are most important and then set out to do them. ♠

 

 

Snake Range (day 2)

Last night was much colder than I thought it would be. I didn't shiver, but the constant chill brought on a consistent restlessness. Of course, the crisp mountain air contributed to this, as well as damp clothing from the rain. I slept in a zero-temp bag with socks, pants, long-sleeve shirt, beenie, gloves and a good coat. None of it sufficed. 

As I crawled out of my tent and walked toward the lake I realized that my feet were sore and knees ached. My eyes struggled to focus. My body felt groggy and heavy. 

Johnson Lake.

The sun crept above the eastern horizon and no one else stirred. I decided to return to my tent and rest a bit longer. 

When I withdrew to the outdoors again (just ten minutes later), I made my way to the lake with an empty water bottle where I stooped down to fill it up, trying not to capture any small bugs from the water. There was no running water here, just the stagnant lake. I would use some iodine tablets to purify. 

Suddenly, a massive shroud of fog swooped down from the cliffs and enveloped the small basin where we camped. The vaporous cloud felt palpable, moist and misty. The fog shrouded the sun and the tall coniferous trees stood as silhouettes in varying shades from dark green to black.—Then, in a moment, the fog lifted and sun returned. 

Fog moving in.

Pine trees standing as silhouettes in the fog.

I felt a little better now. My feet and knees no longer hurt, but my stomach was slightly tender. As I stated earlier, this backpacking trip was a test for me, an examine to see how my body would react after acquiring my new disease.

Slowly, Dave and Devin rolled out of their tents and we ate breakfast and packed our bags. A distant thunder rolled through the valley. Wet, puffy clouds slowly passed over the saddle above us. We would have to cross that saddle to enter another basin. It was now time to get moving. 

With heavy packs now encumbering our shoulders, we ascended the switchbacks toward the saddle. I felt weaker than I had yet, focusing on my breathing and moving forward one step at a time. For me this was the most difficult part of the hike. We climbed nearly 500 feet in just a third of a mile, maxing out at a 38% grade. It doesn't sound too bad, but for a sick old fogey like myself, it about put me under. By the time we reached the saddle I was ready to lie down and take a nap. 

Up to the saddle.

From this point we wandered off-trail for about 45 minutes in search of an adit and old structure belonging to the mine. We had no luck. Perhaps the adit had been reclaimed and the structure swept away with snow. Who knows? 

We continued down the other side of the saddle toward Baker Lake. Did I mention that this whole area is a rock-hounder's paradise? Although I can't identify all the types, one of them is a quartz monzonite, a dalmation-colored stone. The only issue is that you'd have to haul it out . . . and it's a long haul! I picked up a couple smaller specimens and put them in my pack. 

The three amigos at Baker Lake.

Baker Lake was lower than normal, and less impressive—in my opinion—than Johnson Lake. But the rugged cliffs above were impressive. Nearby is Baker Peak, one of the highest peaks in the range. 

The trail switchbacks to lower ground below the lake. It is here we took a little break off the side of the trail. I just happened to look across a boulder field onto the hillside about two hundred yards away and saw something move. Lounging on the slope were nearly a dozen bighorn sheep. They blended in well with their surroundings and I'm willing to bet that most hikers passing by that day would never notice them. Although I forgot to bring binoculars, I could tell that the largest rams had fine horns that nearly made a full curl. Seeing these sheep was definitely a pleasant surprise! 

Bighorn sheep.

We continued down the trail. 

Water below the surface of the ground magically bubbled to the surface and suddenly we noticed a healthy mountain stream below us. Grass grew all around it with occasional flowers. It tumbled down the mountain in elegant fashion. 

Occasionally we were treated to a cluster of bright fall colors. I'm sure this place would be a festival of colors at the right time, but we were still a little early. 

As we made our way down the canyon, the vegetation changed and pine trees gave way to oaks and other small trees. I would say that our hike down was a combination of the ordinary and the impressive. 

A few fall colors were beginning to develop.

This stream appeared suddenly out of nowhere.

For one final treat we spotted four nice bucks in the vicinity of the trailhead. They nibbled at the leaves and bushes without giving us much thought. 

The largest was a massive four-point, with at least a 28-inch spread. His antlers were darker than the others, but what caught my attention was that they were smeared with blood. And upon closer examination, he still had a piece of flesh dangling from his right antler! This guy must have been in a serious fight. 

Nice buck with blood-stained antlers. Notice the piece of flesh hanging from his right side.

We finally arrived back at the vehicle where we fished the Mountain Dew out of the stream and I quickly cooked a jalapeño cheddar hot dog on the grill (because I was craving it). The wind picked up and the sky teased with rain. 

As you may recall, this backpacking trip was a test. It was my first such trip since my health issues arose fifteen months ago. We hiked 13 miles and climbed 4,000 feet in elevation. The part I struggled with the most was fatigue, especially during the grueling uphill portions. I had no major stomach pains. I think we chose the right size. Any more, I think, would have been too much. 

—I would say I passed. 

[After having returned home, this hike really wiped me out, and it took several days to recover.] 

Now, I know what I can do. Next time I will push myself a little further, until, little by little, I am doing beyond what I did before. This is my goal. ♠

 

The best way to end a hike!

 

Test of the Snake Range (day 1)

It was one year ago this month that we had an awesome backpacking trip planned to the Snake Range. I wanted to do it so badly, but I hadn't felt well for several months. My stomach was tender and I worried that the pressure and strain from backpacking would only make it worse. Mentally I was back and forth whether I should do it. Then, my decision was made for me. 

In the weeks leading to the hike, there emerged small clues from tests and symptoms that suggested I might have a rare blood cancer called polycythemia vera. Doctors felt they had enough evidence to give me the diagnosis, but as part of the process, they needed a bone-marrow biopsy to be sure it hadn't progressed to an advanced staged called myleofibrosis. The first phone call I received was from the oncology center discussing the diagnosis. The second call was to schedule the biopsy. It would be the same day as the hike. 

That settled that. Deep down I was relieved because I knew I shouldn't be doing a backpacking trip like that anyway. 

One year has passed and I have been in and out of doctor's offices like most devotees are in and out of church. I am officially diagnosed with polycythemia vera, but my stomach pains persist. The pain has subtly improved. I still get fatigued, but not as much as last year. Doctors can't necessarily connect my pains with the cancer. We have tried so many things, but nothing seems to work. 

A nice buck under the flashlight.

So here I am, a year later, and I am anxious to get out and do anything outdoors. Up to this point I have pushed myself on some hikes, but never a backpacking trip. Yet I needed to do one to test my limits. I had to push myself. 

With this in mind, my friend Dave and I planned a backpacking trip to Colorado. It would be a perfect challenge for my body—not too far and not too short. We were all ready to go, when just a week before departure, everything started falling apart. With just one day before leaving, we made the difficult decision to change plans and try something similar, but closer to home. We chose to replicate last years plans and backpack a 12-mile loop in the Snake Range of Nevada. 

I can't say I was completely confident. My stomach was still tender from time to time. Sometimes I had issues breathing. My white blood cell count was lower than normal. Fatigue was always an issue, especially with exertion. (And this hike would have no lack of exertion, climbing almost 4,000 feet in elevation!) 

With that as the background, we hit the road. 

The trail to Johnson Lake. Pyramid Peak is in the background.

The forecast for Garrison called for a 0% chance of rain. We knew that wasn't true as we witnessed lightning, dust storms and torrential downpours as we approached the border town. 

We tried finding a campground, but it was getting dark and everything was filled. We decided to take our packs and find a flat plot of ground to pitch our tents. We did our best to sleep in spite of howling winds ripping at the flaps of our tents. 

None of us slept well, but morning brought a new day. Perhaps the anticipation of a new adventure eclipsed our poor night's rest. 

We ate breakfast, then strapped on our packs. I had worked hard during the last year to make my pack lighter, and I certainly felt a difference. 

But as we headed up the mountain trail, I could feel my usual fatigue set in. My stomach was tender as well, but tolerable. I focused on breathing and continued forward, albeit at a slower pace than normal.

The mountains of the Snake Range are beautiful. It was now mid-September and the higher in elevation we climbed, a sprinkling of aspens began to change colors to yellow and bright orange. 

Final ascent near the Johnson Mining District.

We had the trail to ourselves. In spite of the masses in the campgrounds below, no one dared tackle the steeper mountain slopes. 

We came to a series of switchbacks which tested my energy levels and muscle strength. But I passed. At the top we entered a large meadow. Pyramid Peak loomed to our west. We were hiking a loop trail, but it was our goal to summit at least one, if not two peaks during our trek. 

After the meadow we climbed a small ridge, then beyond the crest we entered another basin. This was the Snake Creek Basin. Our legs enjoyed a brief downhill section. It was near here we spotted a four-point buck walking through the timber. 

Four-point buck walking through the timber.

Beyond this point, the trail was merciless. The steady uphill slope was full of rocks. I think fatigue began to hit Dave as he trailed further behind. 

As we made our steady climb, we came to the first remnants of the Johnson Lake Mining District, an operation that extracted tungsten in the early 1900's. The mine has long been abandoned, but artifacts from its existence are strewn across the mountainside. 

We first came across the mill, then a half-mile further, the cabins used for lodging. We removed our packs and spent ample time exploring the relics. I will go into detail about the mine in a later post. 

Cabin at Johnson Lake Mining District.

At last we arrived at Johnson Lake. This was our destination for the night (although it was only 1:30 in the afternoon). We had time to relax, pitch our tents, and perhaps hike a peak. 

Mother Nature would prod us along. The wind picked up and a light rain fell from the sky. We scrambled to set up our tents. The urgency proved to be a benefit and in record time we were good to go! 

Johnson Lake is a wonderful setting. At 10,732 feet in elevation it is higher and much colder than anywhere else in the area. The lake is surrounded on three sides by steep mountain slopes strewn with white boulders. High to the north is Pyramid Peak. A tramway cable for the mine is still strung on the hillside. 

The meadow around the lake is an ideal setting for a camp. Alpine tundra, including dwarf flowers, low-growing perennial herbs and grasses grow where soil will allow. The wooded area around the lake abounds with pine, fir and aspen. Although most of the moraine is strewn with rocks, there are still several places flat and smooth enough to pitch a tent. 

Johnson Lake.

I will mention only one other adventure from this day. As I have stated, we wanted to climb a peak. Pyramid Peak was our most eligible candidate, but the weather at the peak was sketchy at best. Storm clouds blew in and blew out, changing every ten minutes. Occasional booms of thunder rang in the distance and we knew from personal experience that a high mountain peak was the last place we wanted to be during a lightning storm. 

So we waited and took a nap. 

When I woke, to my pleasant surprise, I found the skies to be mostly clear. I woke up Devin and Dave and we decided to make a run for the peak. 

As a general rule of peak climbing, it is best to be off the summit before 11 am to avoid a higher probability of electrocution. It was now 5 pm, so we were obviously ignoring that rule. 

The ascent to Pyramid Peak.

The climb to the peak would be at least another 1,200 feet. But without heavy packs burdening our shoulders, the task seemed easy. We followed the trail above the lake and onto the saddle below Pyramid Peak. It was here that the weather began to turn. 

Both Dave and Devin wore shorts. Devin forgot his jacket, but brought a red poncho that flapped sideways in the wind. The gusts now came at near hurricane speeds. All we could do was put our heads down and focus on walking up the steep slope, over talus and tundra. 

As we got higher up the slope, we could see that it was storming on all sides. Below us to the southwest a bolt of lightning lit the clouds. Our speed to the top now became urgent. We had traveled this far and didn't want to turn back. I prayed that no lightning would hit the peak before we got there. I knew that if just one bolt hit, we would be turning around . . . running! 

Devin, about to be blown away.

The gales of frigid air nearly blew us over. We held on to our coats and hats with clinched fists. If the wind were to take anything, it would be long gone! 

At last we reached the summit, but here our misery doubled. Hard pellets of hail shot from the sky and stung our face and any other bare skin that we foolishly left uncovered. Dave sat down, nearly crouching in a fetal position to block the raging pellets. I was grateful I wore long pants, a long-sleeved shirt and beenie. 

The storm started and stopped in uneven intervals. When the hail stopped, the calm came. After the calm came, the rain started. When the rain started, the wind picked back up. In short, it was a fine and pleasant misery! 

Dave, huddled on the ground.

From the summit we could see all the major peaks, including Wheeler and Baker. On a shouldering slope we could see it was now white, covered in hail. 

We took as many pictures as we could, then began working our way down. Even when off the peak, we weren't out of the woods yet. If a lightning storm decided to move through, we would be exposed and vulnerable. 

But, we made it! 

Moi.

As we returned to the trail above the lake, we marveled at our new adventure and drew similarities to another adventure two years earlier in the High Uintas. We also marveled at God's creations and discussed how “hard things” help you through life. 

We made it back to our tents just as it was getting dark. We still had to make supper. It would be much colder tonight, especially wearing damp clothing. 

The sunset glow on Johnson Lake was replaced with darkness and above the steep slope beyond the lake the stars came out in all their glory.

 

(to be continued . . .)

 

View of Johnson Lake from Pyramid Peak.