never had a DUI, I no longer drink and drive.
The next morning, August 22 nd , I got up early and asked the hotel shuttle to take me to the mall to pick up my car. I returned to L’Auberge and gathered up my wife. We drove north up Oak Creek Canyon to the West Fork Trail Head to get a jump on the crowd.
I’m not articulate enough to describe the beauty that hikers encounter on the West Fork Trail. It’s friggin’ unbelievable. The trail is so magnificent that it’s worth the substantial price of parking, the tariff levied by the Forest Service for each hiker, and the hassle one encounters with large numbers of other day-trippers.
Since it’s four miles in and four miles out, it takes six to eight hours to hike the trail. Although West Fork in no way resembles the triple canopy jungle in the Central Highlands of Vietnam, I still had a flashback to less enjoyable times.
I remembered the awful heat, the stifling humidity, the difficult terrain, and the mal-designed, load-carrying equipment that the Herd issued to grunts in 1968. My time in the Infantry preceded the implementation of the Army’s so-called ALICE—All Purpose Individual Carrying Equipment—Packs.
On an operation in the field, we carried tons of shit stuffed into the diabolically designed and super uncomfortable LCE. The gear that I humped included an M-16, water in at least six plastic canteens, C-rations, socks, underwear, hundreds of 5.56 mm rounds for the basic weapon, two hand grenades, a belt of 100 7.62 mm rounds for the M60 machine gunner, a mortar round for the 11 charlies or claymore mines, a large hunting knife, entrenching tool, first-aid packet, insect repellant, a flashlight, compass, map, personal items, poncho liner, and towels to pad the straps and to soak up the torrents of sweat that humping the boonies generated. I’m sure that I’ve forgotten some of the other stuff that we humped.
In contrast to Vietnam, the hike through West Fork Trail was a joy. The trail sits at 5,400 feet above sea level. Even in August, it remained shady and temperate all along the beautiful trek.
My modern camelback pack allowed for a three-liter water bladder in an insulated pocket. I kept the water cool with a small frozen bottle of water stuffed into the pocket alongside the bladder. I had room to carry all the navigation, safety, medical, and comfort equipment that I could heft. Of course, my bride thought I’d over-planned the whole episode. Once we hit the trail, she began to complain.
“Anything that can be done, can be overdone, huh sweetie?” she asked.
“If we get lost, hurt, injured, or snake-bit, you’ll be glad that I prepared.”
“Sure, babe,” she said. “But how will you get lost? You have an expensive compass, good maps, and three different GPS apps on your phone. The trail is well-marked and it follows the freaking west fork of Oak Creek.”
“Expect the worst. Hope for the best. That’s my philosophy,” I said.
“You’re certifiable!”
“That’s why you love me.”
“No, it’s not. I love you because I’m certifiable.”
Despite Gretchen’s unfair and unfounded criticism, the hike was a glorious adventure through one of the most scenic trails anywhere on the planet. The modern equipment made carrying the load a breeze. I hardly noticed it.
That exertion through the canyons and over 13 separate fords across the serpentine creek satisfied my hyperactive wife for the day.
When we got back to our car, she told me that she wanted to go to Tlaquepaque to shop for presents for her girlfriends. She assured me that these gifts would not include jewelry, clothes, or shoes.
I wondered what she would buy for her posse. Resisting the impulse to engage Gretchen with questions, I agreed to drop her off so that I could go to the Chapel of the Holy Cross and begin my quest.
As she got out of the car, Gretchen gave me a knowing smile, but refrained from sarcasm or criticism about my obsession. My acquiescence to her
The next morning, August 22 nd , I got up early and asked the hotel shuttle to take me to the mall to pick up my car. I returned to L’Auberge and gathered up my wife. We drove north up Oak Creek Canyon to the West Fork Trail Head to get a jump on the crowd.
I’m not articulate enough to describe the beauty that hikers encounter on the West Fork Trail. It’s friggin’ unbelievable. The trail is so magnificent that it’s worth the substantial price of parking, the tariff levied by the Forest Service for each hiker, and the hassle one encounters with large numbers of other day-trippers.
Since it’s four miles in and four miles out, it takes six to eight hours to hike the trail. Although West Fork in no way resembles the triple canopy jungle in the Central Highlands of Vietnam, I still had a flashback to less enjoyable times.
I remembered the awful heat, the stifling humidity, the difficult terrain, and the mal-designed, load-carrying equipment that the Herd issued to grunts in 1968. My time in the Infantry preceded the implementation of the Army’s so-called ALICE—All Purpose Individual Carrying Equipment—Packs.
On an operation in the field, we carried tons of shit stuffed into the diabolically designed and super uncomfortable LCE. The gear that I humped included an M-16, water in at least six plastic canteens, C-rations, socks, underwear, hundreds of 5.56 mm rounds for the basic weapon, two hand grenades, a belt of 100 7.62 mm rounds for the M60 machine gunner, a mortar round for the 11 charlies or claymore mines, a large hunting knife, entrenching tool, first-aid packet, insect repellant, a flashlight, compass, map, personal items, poncho liner, and towels to pad the straps and to soak up the torrents of sweat that humping the boonies generated. I’m sure that I’ve forgotten some of the other stuff that we humped.
In contrast to Vietnam, the hike through West Fork Trail was a joy. The trail sits at 5,400 feet above sea level. Even in August, it remained shady and temperate all along the beautiful trek.
My modern camelback pack allowed for a three-liter water bladder in an insulated pocket. I kept the water cool with a small frozen bottle of water stuffed into the pocket alongside the bladder. I had room to carry all the navigation, safety, medical, and comfort equipment that I could heft. Of course, my bride thought I’d over-planned the whole episode. Once we hit the trail, she began to complain.
“Anything that can be done, can be overdone, huh sweetie?” she asked.
“If we get lost, hurt, injured, or snake-bit, you’ll be glad that I prepared.”
“Sure, babe,” she said. “But how will you get lost? You have an expensive compass, good maps, and three different GPS apps on your phone. The trail is well-marked and it follows the freaking west fork of Oak Creek.”
“Expect the worst. Hope for the best. That’s my philosophy,” I said.
“You’re certifiable!”
“That’s why you love me.”
“No, it’s not. I love you because I’m certifiable.”
Despite Gretchen’s unfair and unfounded criticism, the hike was a glorious adventure through one of the most scenic trails anywhere on the planet. The modern equipment made carrying the load a breeze. I hardly noticed it.
That exertion through the canyons and over 13 separate fords across the serpentine creek satisfied my hyperactive wife for the day.
When we got back to our car, she told me that she wanted to go to Tlaquepaque to shop for presents for her girlfriends. She assured me that these gifts would not include jewelry, clothes, or shoes.
I wondered what she would buy for her posse. Resisting the impulse to engage Gretchen with questions, I agreed to drop her off so that I could go to the Chapel of the Holy Cross and begin my quest.
As she got out of the car, Gretchen gave me a knowing smile, but refrained from sarcasm or criticism about my obsession. My acquiescence to her
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