The Shakedown Carolyn and I are planning to hike the Chilkoot Trail in Alaska this summer (June 1997.) Inasmuch as I have not hoisted a backpack in 17 years I thought it might be prudent to stage a shakedown run so as to check out the equipment: both tangible and personal. This is an account of that "shakedown." The first step in preparing for our trip was to see if the various components of my equipment were still in functional order. I have a Camp Trails Horizon pack on an Astral Cruiser aluminum frame. Both have served me well in such places as the Pemigawasset Wilderness of the White Mountains in New Hampshire, the Superstition Mountains and the Grand Canyon of Arizona, and the Sierra Nevada of California. Both have been sitting dutifully on or against any number of walls since I last paid them any attention, graciously following me about as I changed backdrops between the chapters of my life. To their credit, neither has complained a lick. Both looked to be in fine shape, though the top-pocket frame of my pack had poked a hole in the nylon, (that's why God made Duct Tape I imagine), and the waist and shoulder straps of my frame seemed to be a little stiff after years of disuse. I could only imagine some of my muscles might be in similar condition. Of particular interest was my Svea 123 stove. I have owned this little brass beauty for (probably) 25 years. It has remained hidden away in my pack for the last 17 years, like some painted stick or conch shell tucked away in a cave awaiting the resumption of some relict ritual. I was surprised when I removed it from within its "nest of billies," (cook pots), that it were still full o' gas! Cranking the needle valve through the jet, and cradling the base in my hands to warm the gas and initiate its flow up through the venturi, I was delighted to see the gas start to flow. I applied the match, and the roar of its burner sounded like an old familiar friend. I was impressed, but, in all honesty not surprised, as the beauty of this antique is in its simplicity. So far so good. Not all of the equipment is to be original. We recently bought a North Face Stratos tent, (owning a North Face tent has been one of my life goals), and now sleep on Thermorest pads. An edge up on comfort with the disadvantage of a little extra weight. Well, I figured I had gained a little weight too, so I should be able to handle it, (or it will at least be good for me to try.) With the equipment loaded my pack weighed in at 47 pounds. Not as much as I anticipate hauling in Alaska on a five night trip, but close enough for the first shakedown run in 17 years! Carolyn conceded that my pack looked like it would hold more than her pack. I politely suggested that she not entertain any grandiose ideas. Our destination: the Owens Peak saddle from the Walker Pass Trailhead. For those of you unfamiliar with this quadrant, it is located in the southern Sierra Nevada above the Indian Wells Valley, wherein lies my home. The trail is 8.5 miles one way, and has a moderate (but significant) gradient. I suspect we were around 5-7,000 feet, which would be almost twice as high as any elevation we would attain in Alaska. As such I felt that should we be able to accomplish this trip, (a one-niter), we would be able to handle anything we encountered in Alaska, where our longest stretch would be just over 7 miles, and our maximum altitude will be 3,700 feet, (though we attain that altitude starting from sea-level!) Another disadvantage that we won't face in Alaska is that there is no water along this section of the Pacific Crest Trail. We couldn't have asked for better weather, or a better time to travel. The trail was a riot of flowers in bloom. If I wasn't a geologist I might be able to tell you what types of flowers I saw, but all I can say is that they smelled better than rocks by a long shot! We pushed off at 11:30 AM and arrived at the saddle at about 4:30 PM. Estimated mean velocity being 1.7 mh-1. Not bad for uphill with a pack after 17 years! (Hmmm, lets see...17 years....17 miles round trip....average velocity 1.7 mh-1. Any numerologists out there?) The camp was breathtaking, above and beyond the process of our arrival. To the west our vista was of the Dome Land Wilderness and Lake Isabella. To the east one could see the Indian Wells Valley, Searles Valley, and all the ranges out to the Panamint Mountains. We found a nice little firepit and sleeping terrace which had been recently groomed by the trail crew we had encountered on the way up. I made the mistake of lying down to rest my bones after dropping my pack and quickly found myself getting terminally stiff, so I made a point to walk around and gather firewood, which was plentiful. As the sun went down, we had a nice little fire to chase the chill that was whistling over the saddle, the Svea 123 roared its announcement that dinner was imminent, and Owens Peak cast a shadow over the Indian Wells Valley that looked as if it had been created by the pyramid at Gaza. As darkness ensued, the lights of Inyokern and Ridgecrest filled the basin below. We soon found ourselves nestled snugly in our sacks, (save the new tent for a rainy day!), watching the comet Hale-Bopp make its way toward the western horizon. One curious thing did occur that night. I awoke around 3:00 AM to make my nightly patrol, and reached over for my hat which contained my glasses. The hat had been overturned, (which didn't surprise me as the wind had been behaving as wind typically does), and when I located my glasses I found one of the temples had been doubled over on itself. I was pretty sure I hadn't rolled over on them, and even if I had, it would not have caused the temple to be bent half way down its length. I was fortunate to be able to straighten them, and went about my patrol, marveling at the lights of Ridgecrest below, whose appearance was as unlikely as sapphires in a pirate's cache. Later that morning I asked Carolyn if she had gotten up during the night, thinking she might have stepped upon the glasses. No, she confessed, she had not. I thought little more of it until we stopped to talk with a member of the trail crew on our return to Walker Pass. He had slept up on the saddle recently and confided that he had woken up in the middle of the night to quietly observe that he was being sniffed by a bear. The bear, having determined the man was not of his clan, had ambled on. We ambled on ourselves, amused at the possibilities, marveling in the day and the view, smelling the flowers, and after successfully completing the shakedown, looking forward to our trip north to Alaska.