Insanity on Vose Spur

OK - insanity. That is our only excuse. Last weekend, with relatively little compass know-how, and no real bushwhacking experience, Pat and I tried to climb Mendon Peak. We got as far as the 3rd cairn on the logging road, but once in the woods, blanketed in 6 inches of snow, it took us all of 30 seconds to figure out we were in deep trouble. We turned around and climbed Killington instead.

One week later and our plan is to climb Vose Spur. We STILL have no compass expertise, although I know Pat has been reading a book and looking on the Internet for information. I however have done nothing. Pat's GPS is STILL in its original box. I know, I know...what are we thinking? We're not.

We climb up the Signal Ridge Trail to the Carrigain Notch Trail. We see the boulder that everyone has been talking about and know the bushwhack turn is coming up on the left. We have about ten seconds of euphoria when we see the herd path. I am thinking this is going to go way easier than last weekend and I smile to myself. We immediately lose the herd path no more than ten feet in. I look at Pat who is fingering a broken branch, a sign to her that others have passed this way. I am thinking we are in deep doo doo and start saying words to myself that I am not allowed to put in these reports. Pat takes a few more steps and pauses. Not a good sign. She has her compass around her neck - which may look, to any unsuspecting hiker, like she knows what she is doing. But there are a few problems with what at first glance looks pretty darn impressive. The strap on the compass is too short and to actually SEE the compass, she has to take it off and hold it arms length from her eyes. I look at Pat and she is standing wedged in between two trees that are dripping raindrops all over her and her paper map. She is holding the map level and twisting the compass this way and that way, talking to herself, a look of consternation on her face. I think: oh boy, here we go again. I quickly walk up to her wet perch to be of assistance and look at the compass and the map, like I have some clue how to interpret what I am seeing. But then I realize I'm not fooling anyone. I have NO IDEA what I am looking at. But, I think, maybe my presence will give Pat a brain boost and she will say, OK - this way. Pat moves off in a direction and I follow. But I can tell that she really has no idea what she is doing either, so I get out our surveyor's tape and start tying neon orange tags to tree branches. Pat turns around and says to me, "Are you going to tie one here?" pointing to a branch next to me, clearly not happy. Yup, another clue this is going to be a very long afternoon. I start tying tape just about everywhere. Pat is worried we are going to run out of tape but doesn't say anything.

It is slow going because I'm tying tape every 10 yards and Pat is fiddling with the compass. We both keep looking around hoping we will stumble on the herd path. It starts to rain harder and we get out our rain gear and put it on and continue up the slope, trying to find the path of least resistance, having now given up all hope of a herd path.

Have I told you I hate bush whacking?

Every tree branch is holding five times its weight in water, just waiting for me to walk by so it can drop its load on me. Oh, and how are you supposed to see where you are going AND avoid being whacked in the face and eyes by every branch you pass? This clearly requires all kinds of new skills that I have not yet developed. I look up to get a bearing on where Pat is. I wipe my face off with my wet rubber sleeve, try to wipe my runny nose, but that doesn't really work, and spit a few pine needles out of my mouth. I see Pat fingering another broken branch like it is a clue to finding the Holy Grail. I don't know why I don't laugh out loud, but I don't (although I am laughing now!). I look down at the ground and continue making my way up the slope, shaking my head and silently praying for the herd path.

We are soaked. My stringy hair is glued to my face - which is why my trail name is Slick. Pat's trail name is Curly - she's looking a heck of a lot better than I do! I am fighting my way through the woods, verbally assaulting each tree as I pass, stopping often to tie tape onto a wet branch as it dumps its load of water down my back or onto my face or into my boots. Pat keeps looking up, as if she is going to see the mountain or the talus field which we are supposed to be headed for. Instead we can see only grey clouds, mist and rain all around us.

Pat turns around and looks at me. It's forty-five minutes and maybe 200 yards into our bushwhack. "This is miserable," she says. "I say we turn around." She doesn't have it say it twice. We immediately do a 180 and begin following our surveyor's tape out. It takes me forever to untie the tape because I hurt my thumb in weight class and I tied the buggers too tight to boot. I start breaking the branches instead of untying the tape. Get me out of here! We arrive back on the Carrigain Notch Trail, bummed and feeling stupid.

We both have energy left in our bodies - although our brains are pretty fried. So we decide to climb Carrigain. Up we go, and in no time we are sucking major wind, sweating profusely, using our muscles and letting our brains rest. We get to the ridge around 3 p.m. and turn around.

It gets dark before we reach the river crossing which we bushwhacked around at the start of the hike. We meet a couple on the trail who tell us they lost the trail and think we are supposed to cross the river here. So we all cross - totally unsuccessfully and I end up just walking in the water, no longer caring since I am soaked anyway. Well, we get across the river and …no trail. Again I start saying words under my breath that I am not supposed to include in these trip reports. We turn around and manage to get ourselves back across the water and finally find the trail. We continue down a ways and find the real river crossing and walk on across. We arrive back at the car soaking wet and very happy.

I decide I HAVE to change my clothes. I am bare bottomed, trying to get my underwear on, when a group of hikers come into the parking lot, shining their headlamps my way. I'm laughing so hard I can't get dressed and I get all turned around in my underwear. I can hear Pat laughing her head off from the other side of the car.

As Pat later wrote to me in an e-mail -- We salvaged yesterday in a really positive way. We are great when we can do that - wet and disappointed, we found a way to suck out the best that the mountains had to give us. And we found the best in ourselves.

We have 12 mountains left on the 100 highest list and we are committed to bagging them. But we'll never get them this way - that is for sure! So, according to Einstein, we better try something different.

So, we're putting ourselves out there. We're looking for some bushwhacking buddies! If you love to bushwhack, are great at using a compass and GPS, have a few hundred highest you still need to check off the old list, and want to share your knowledge with a few new hiking friends -- we are your girls!