July 19

WE BEGIN.

The first part is a gradual downhill. At the end of the second mile we find Failes Creek. It looks worse than it really is. Not too quick of a current, not too deep. We change out of our hiking boots and into our water shoes. Mine are a beautiful minty green, not so good for walking on sharp rocks at the river bottom. But better than bare feet. We unstrap our waistbelts of our 40 pound packs and slowly, slowly inch across the creek, using trekking poles for balance. Only one point of contact moves at a time.
Once my brother had a brilliant idea to belay the packs across on a guide line. (Like the time I decided to leap across from rock to rock, not realizing that a 40 pound pack makes a starting 3-inch vertical leap into a minus 3-inch leap.) Into the drink. The packs dove after the immediate stretching of the line.

For 3 miles we lose 500 feet. The toes bump into the ends of our boots. All that weight at 11,000 feet MSL creates a compactness, and no place to keep a spare supply of oxygen. Then we climb up about 200 feet and another, steeper downhill awaits us.

Blue Creek is down in this second valley. Another water crossing, this one knee deep for taller people. It's thigh high for short hitters. The rain has not been too onerous this year, and the creek is passable. It is the lowest point of our hike, and is 9,589 feet.

Just another mile before we camp our first night in the wilderness. The dry climate is hard on bugs. Good darn deal. We will take our vitamin I (ibuprophen) and drink coffee before making a supper of Shepherd's Pie, I hope.

But first, crossing Blue Creek. Goob Luck.