Sixty-five and Climbing

Reading and writing about Carol Masheter being the oldest woman in the world to climb the highest peak on all seven continents got us wondering how old I was when I climbed up to the Radar Towers on Francis Peak. It took us awhile but we discovered I was 65 when I climbed up the last time.

"This is a once in a life-time experience," Brent jollied as we trudged to the top.  Ever since they have been here, he has wanted to hike up to Francis Peak, which we can see from our east windows.  I volunteered to tend the baby and I thought it was all settled until it got down to the last week and Jan conveniently caught a cold.  I don't mind hikes if they are on the level and do not last more than one hour.  That's my limit.  "You've hiked the worst part," Brent assured me, "and it only takes three hours."  "Three hours?  I thought it was all day."  That's what I remembered from the other kids journeying up there.  "No, I'm sure it's about three hours." 

What he didn't bother to tell me is that it's all the worst part.  It is steep from the bottom of Baer Canyon to the top.  What do you expect when you're gaining a mile's elevation--from 3400 to over 9000 feet?  Distance wise it's seven miles.

What he remembered as we passed their old campsite was that he was counting from the campsite that was half way up the mountain.  Sure.  Still, it was 4-1/2 hours from the campsite; somewhat more than three hours total for someone who can count--a mathematician, for crying out loud.  The total trip up took us 6 hours.  Get it?  Five plus six is 11 PM.  Darkness.  Cougars.  Glaciers.  Danger.

Crossing the raging stream three times was our first challenge.  I'm not good at logs but with Brent's firm hand, I made the first crossing.  The second crossing I stood in the middle while Brent rolled a huge rock into the stream to give me one more step because I couldn't make myself take one giant step forward.  Then he fell in himself at the next crossing.  He wouldn't have been so upset but he wasn't even crossing, he was just walking along the side trying to find a place to cross when he slipped on a rock and went in.  "Well, I'm already wet," he fumed good-naturedly as he sloshed across.  I couldn't have made it without slipping if he hadn't caught me as I leaped to a wet rock.  The only time we stopped, was to wring out his socks and eat half a peanut butter sandwich, made with DeRay's delicious just-out-of-the-oven homemade bread.

"We're higher than the airplanes," Brent muses.

"We're higher than the air," I wheeze.

"I can't believe we timed it to catch the sunset," Brent undauntedly marvels.

Excuse me, but I can watch sunsets without this much effort.  I'm too tired to talk.  I'm lightheaded.  I would rather be tending Jonathan.  Ten times rather.

Brent munches on sandwiches.  I feel like I'm going to throw up.  "Drink lots of water," he advises.  I know I'm going to throw up.  I didn't.  It was all a frame of tired mind.

At 8:30, Brent says he doesn't think we'll keep Dad waiting too long.  He had planned to meet us at 9 on the top.  Then we started on the switch backs that went on and on and on.   I felt like we were going up on one lengthy switch and down on the next but Brent assured me we were ascending steadily.  Whatever; it sure took us a long time to get to the road.  This trail was first constructed as a cattle run to move the cattle from Morgan and the ranches on the east side of the mountain to Salt Lake City for transport or slaughter.

It was 10:10 PM when we reached the road.  As we tramped down the road, thinking we had it made, we came across a jeep in the middle of the road.  "If a jeep can get to here, we can get back," Brent projected.  We didn't realize until we reached the deep snowdrifts that the jeep had been stranded there all winter.  We naively thought DeRay had sent someone for us.  Nope. Just an abandoned jeep.  We trudged onward toward the towers.  I'm glad I didn't know we would be hiking clear to the towers in the beginning or I may have been too fainthearted to try.  They looked perilously high.

"Wow, look at the Great Salt Lake; is that Wendover?  It's too far away for Grantsville and Tooele.  Man, look at the Salt Lake Valley?  It's huge.  It makes Kaysville look paltry." Because we could distinguish the lights around the Davis Area Vocational Center, we could tell exactly where our house sets. 

The church - our house is right behind it.

 We could even see the glow of the lights from Logan.  Where the Radar Towers set, you have to walk from one side to the other for the exalted views, but as we hiked across the saddle we could see the valleys on both sides of the mountain at the same time.  "That's Morgan down there!!!"  Brent was in awe.

"I don't care about Morgan," I snarl.  All I wanted to do was get in a nice warm car and get home and take a nice warm shower.

The first snowpack we encountered was on the level and we gingerly walked across it, but the next one was treacherous.  Steep.  Impassable.  We were directly below the towers but trapped.  Would we have to hike all the way down?   Sleep in our flimsy plastic ponchos so close to sanctuary?  Having no choice, we back-tracked a little bit then scrambled up this steep embankment on all fours, finally reaching a place where we could walk on a slice of the road that was not covered with snowdrifts.  There at the top of the steep incline was DeRay.  Nobody has ever looked so good - ever!  He was like a savior standing up there beckoning us on with his calm voice.

I felt like crying.  I didn't know if it was joy, relief, fatigue or a combination of all three.

We hugged when we stepped foot on flat ground at the Radar Towers on top of Francis Peak.  It was 11 PM exactly.   Jan called from home just as we reached the top to join in the celebration. 

It was midnight before we got home as it is a 45 minute drive in the car.  DeRay himself spent 4-1/2 hours on our little junket, having left home at 7:30 PM. 

I was wondering if I'd make the Guinness World Book of Records for being the oldest woman to hike up to Francis Peak after 5 PM on a Sunday evening?  "With 20 minutes notice," I might add.  Hiking to Francis Peak on Sunday is sort of like the Bishop who got a hole-in-one on Sunday but couldn't tell anyone.  But if it's in the Guinness World Book of Records, you'll know anyway so I might as well admit it.  I hoped my scratched and bleeding legs would convince everyone of my dangerous and strenuous mission, but when I showered, the evidence mainly washed away.  We weren't even stiff or sore to speak of the next day.  I remember when I hiked to the top of Timpanogos when I was 24 years old, I couldn't move for three days.

We took pictures all the way up, showing us closer and closer to the towers; and catching the vast array of wild flowers, lush terrain and the diminishing valley below.  When we finally got to the plaque on top giving the history of Francis Peak, we were totally out of film.  Too bad.  So sad.  When we got home, we found we had a new roll of film in the camera case all along.  Dang blast it!  Shall we start over???

"Brent has lost his credibility with me," I growl to Jan as I stagger into the house, truly exhilarated from having accomplished such an arduous hike after 5 PM on a Sunday evening at such an ancient age.

I have a totally different concept of the lighted radar towers when I look out of our sliding glass doors in our kitchen by day and our bathroom window by night.  I know those snowbanks intimately.  I got up five times to look last night and marvel, "Were we really there?   What a hike!  Wow!"  YES!  6.22.97

The next morning Eddy and I got up and went to the gym and Brent went to his Masters Music classes in Salt Lake as if we hadn't done a thing of note the night before.

 Exactly one month to the day after my once-in-a-lifetime hike up to Francis Peak with Brent, Amy exhorted me to make the hike with her.  Instead of getting up three or four times during the night after our hike and staring at the lighted radar towers and thinking, "Wow.  I can't believe we hiked up there," I got up several times during the night before our hike, thinking, "Are we really going to hike up there?  Again?"  I knew what to worry about and had plenty of time to worry.  Nevertheless, I couldn't resist going with Amy when she asked me the night before at about 10 PM.  She usually only gets one day off a week but she forfeited her day off last week so she could spend two days home this week.  It was her only chance.  But why?  Why couldn't Amy and Brent have gone together?  Amy at first said we would leave at 6 but when we got to bed so late, she decided that was a little ambitious.  We settled on 7.  We started on the trail at 7:10. 

It was like hiking with a botanist.  She was naming every flower, tree and shrub that we passed.  "Yarrow."  "Mint."  "Red Mountain Mahogany."  "Oregon Grape." I was quite impressed.  She told me how to identify the trees; why there are trees on the north-facing slope and none on the south-facing slope; which ones fungi grow on; how you can identify the trees by the cone.  She showed me the little brown balls on the branches and leaves of scrub oak.  Inside are aphid eggs.  How you can tell Chokecherries from other berries.  "Wild strawberry,-raspberries,-carrots,-peas."  "Primroses."  "Thistle." "Sage."  "Manzanita."  I can only remember the common names of the ones I had already heard before since she wouldn't repeat them for me when we got home, which I thought was rather rude.  How could she expect me to remember scientific Latin names?  Next time I'll carry a pencil and paper so I won't flunk the test!

She went right from being a Botanist into riddles.  Are you ready?  You can ask "yes" and "no" questions.  This fellow walked into a restaurant, ordered a salad and an albatross sandwich.  He took one bite; got a big smile on his face; paid the bill and walked out.  Why did he smile?

The person who sells it doesn't want it; the person who buys it doesn't use it; and the person who uses it doesn't know it.  What is it?

OK, Dick and Susan are found lying dead side by side on the floor in the house.  There is a cup of water beside them.  I also might mention that there is broken glass.  What happened to Dick and Susan?

By now we have crossed the stream three times, have had breakfast on a big rock beside the stream; it is still mercifully overcast; a perfect day for a hike.

The sun didn't come out until 10 AM.  We found a shady secluded spot for lunch.  After the first 45 minutes we didn't see another living soul on the trail.  Evidently this isn't too popular of a Mother-Daughter activity.  By the time we got to the switchbacks two hours later, it was cloudy again and just before we hit the jeep road it began to rain lightly.  Ah, raindrops falling on my sweat, blood and dirt!  Refreshing.  I later asked DeRay why my legs got so scratched up, cut and wounded while Amy's didn't.  "It's because you got fat legs," he says seriously.  "And the bushes scratch and hurt fat legs and not skinny ones, right?"  "There's more for them to grab."  Sure.  Amy said it was because she pulled her shorts down and her socks up to protect her legs.  I thought her answer was a bit more diplomatic.

I formed a different perception of the hike this time.  Last time I thought the whole thing was hard, every bit was the worst.  Leaving here at 4500 feet and climbing to 9515 feet in seven miles is no easy feat.  But this time, being experienced and having the benefit of knowing I can make it, I didn't think all of it was the worst; but about three places were much, much more difficult than I remembered them.  The most noticeable was the steep incline to the peak the towers set on.  Last time we were so glad to see DeRay, I think we forgot we were hiking, plus it was pitch black so we didn't have the visual cognition.  This time, DeRay also wiser, wasn't there yet and it took us 10 minutes of struggle to go those last 800 feet nearly straight up.  We hit the road at 12:45 PM; and arrived at the towers at 1:15 PM.  Because we didn't have to fight glaciers, we were faster once we hit the road but we stopped to eat twice so all in all, it took about the same amount of time.  Amy asked if Brent and I went faster than we were going.  "Amy, I'm going as fast as I can; how could we have gone any faster?"  

My clothes were soaking wet from perspiration, my heart beating wildly, I was puffing like mad and Amy was strolling along as cool as a cucumber; not even breathing hard.  (However, when we got home, she plopped in bed for five hours before she even had a shower.  I showered and relaxed for a little while AFTER I fixed Eddy lunch, did up the day's dishes, prepared dinner and put things away.)

A ranger followed DeRay and Eddy up.  He said no one mans it anymore; he comes by during the summer months as a security measure.  Everything is computerized.  There are signs warning you that if you fool around or touch anything you put lives in jeopardy as it is the air traffic control towers.  They should at least have an accessible telephone and bathrooms, I should think!

     Eddy didn't want to leave.  "We just got here."  We found the location of our house.  We studied Morgan and Salt Lake and Kaysville and Hill Field and Kennecott.  We took pictures from every side and of the plaque.  The battery was dead so we couldn't take pictures until DeRay brought us a new one.  Then when we got home I dropped the camera while getting in the trunk; it broke open and ruined all the pictures and ruined the $200 camera.  "Good," Amy said.  She always hated that camera.  She hates me to take pictures.  She hates the zusssss sound it makes.

    The radar towers on Francis Peak don't look so formidable when I look out my kitchen window anymore.  It's old hat.  I've done it twice.  The first time I thought it was a fluke I made it; now I know I can. 7.22.97  

(Did I have to wear the exact same clothes both trips and guess what?  Eighteen years later, I'm still wearing them! The shorts are my Clorox clothes that I wear when I clean the kitchen; the shirt my camping shirt.)   

 October 28, 2001 – three weeks after I turned 65.

We (Amy, K’Leena and I) hiked up to Francis Peak yesterday.  We had planned to call Brent and Jan from the top to make them jealous but it was too cold.  We were above the snow line.  I don’t know what went wrong but I completely enjoyed the hike this time.  The weather was perfect.  There was only one time - just after the middle - when I wished I were in church instead of hiking straight up that formidable mountainside.  To tell you the truth, I did better than the other two times even though I’m three years older.  My heart was pounding in my ear and I was somewhat dizzy but I was having the time of my life!  It took us six hours.  I wasn't even stiff or sore.  I was occupied a good part of the way looking for poison oak since I was in shorts.  Strange how that can consume you.

I enjoyed it more than hiking to Hidden Peak at Snowbird, which is only a 2-1/2 hour hike.  I didn’t feel exhilarated one step of the way on that hike.  I didn’t feel strong or safe or happy to be alive.

I wonder if it’s the green stuff.  The trikes?  Body Pump just kicking in?  Yoga?  A weight loss?

I just don't know why I had so much energy.  I guess my body was just in balance that day. 

For one thing, we didn't leave at 5:30 PM and no one told me it was only a 3-hour hike.

Even if Brent spews out erroneous information, we still wished that he and Jan were with us.  They are fun.  Earlier this Fall, Brooke took his Band Council up so he already served his sentence.  Right in the middle when I had my relapse, I was sort of envious of Elizabeth having three little kids to tend as an excuse. "The Great Salt Lake keeps moving," I tell Amy. We'd catch a view of it, wind up and around through the trees and when we'd see it again, it would be in a totally different place.

The sun set in the south too. DeRay even noticed it when he came to pick us up. "What is the sun doing setting in the south?" We all commented on it. Much further south than from our house. I don't know why.

Since it was the day we went off daylight savings, it was dark by 5:45 PM and we drove home in the pitch black.  (We left at 10:30-11 AM; conquering the peak at 5 PM.)

You can't drive right up to the radar towers anymore.  You can't even walk there, we found out after we climbed up over these mounds of dirt and rocks, unstable, terrifying, steep, slick.  We saw the sign on the way down to meet DeRay at the locked gate:  No trespassing.  Permit required.  And all these other official government warnings.  "They should have had a sign on the other side," Amy mused.  I guess they thought the truck loads of dirt and rocks were message enough.  Stubborn as we are, we thought it was for the cars only.

First you can't go in the airports if you're not traveling,

Now we can't walk around the radar towers.

What next?

(This was shortly after the infamous 9-11 attack.)

Remember the good old days?

I wasn’t even stiff or sore the next day.  I’m so proud of my body.  It works well.

Contrariwise, after an hour of yoga I am so beat I can hardly function for the rest of the day. I wonder why.

"Look at the snow on Francis Peak."

"Good thing you went when you did," DeRays muses.

A very good thing.  10/31/01 

Since we were there, they remodeled. Now one is black and one is white.

    The Francis Peak Towers serve two different functions. The larger 55-foot dome is officially named the Salt Lake City Air Route Surveillance Radar and is part of the Federal Aviation administration system. It tracks the movement of aircraft between airports. The CARSR-- pronounced car-sir; the Common Air Route Surveillance Radar--(inside the golf ball) probes the sky, sending out over 20,000 pulses of electromagnetic energy on every 360 degree rotation of its massive antenna. If there is something in the sky, these pulses will reflect off of the object and complete their round trip back to the CARSR. Combine this influx of pulsed energy with identification information aircraft transmit and the CARSR can paint a detailed image of the skies for about 200 miles in every direction. The smaller dome to the south is used by the Utah Air National Guard for microwave communications.

Francis Peak is named for Esther Francis, a pioneer woman who settled Morgan during 1863. She surveyed the site for Morgan City, and Brigham Young suggested she be honored by naming a high peak for her.

The Hard Way: From Baer Canyon the hike is around a 9 hour hump to the summit.  The trail gets pretty overgrown the last half mile up the side of the mountain, but it is impossible to get lost as Francis is visible most of the hike.