Friday, November 3, 2006
Page 11
AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)
Mountain Climbing Mom Comes Up Short
By J’AMY PACHECO
I’ve probably mentioned this here before, but I’m not exactly an outdoor girl. I’ll mow the lawn if I have to, but that’s where I draw the line. If I’m going camping, there’s going to be a flush toilet nearby.
It is, therefore, sort of odd that I’ve bonded with an outdoorsy group of friends. Our children met in kindergarten, and we’ve gone on a fair number of outings over the years.
A few weeks ago we decided to go on an unusual day trip together, and headed out to a place called Kelso Dunes.
According to official sources, Kelso Dunes is an extraordinary dune system located within the Mojave National Preserve. According to me, it’s a big pile of sand located in the middle of nowhere.
The truth lies somewhere in between. Kelso Dunes is basically east of Baker, home of the world’s largest thermometer, and for those in the dunes area, the only flushing toilets and running water sinks in the region.
Getting there was just part of the adventure. We traveled north on I-15, past Barstow, and headed east on the 40 freeway. Although we’d packed a picnic lunch, we made plans to take the kids to a drive-thru at the end of the day for an early dinner.
My hopes of a drive-thru dinner dimmed as I looked out the window of my friend’s van driving across the 40. Not only were there no fast food restaurants, there weren’t very many buildings of any kind.
In plentiful supply, however, were piles of black, twisted rock that I remarked looked a lot like cooled lava. Turns out that’s exactly what it was.
By the time we reached our exit, I’d been in the car about an hour and a half, and needed to make a stop. Problem was, there wasn’t anyplace to make one.
It was, therefore, quite an experience to make the three-mile drive from the main road to the dunes via a bumpy dirt road.
I gritted my teeth as my friends laughed at my discomfort. Sighting a large pile of white sand in the distance, surrounded by a lot of nothing, I worried aloud that it was going to be a very long day indeed.
When we pulled up to the turnout for the dunes, however, I could have kissed the ground. There was a permanent structure housing two bathrooms that were little more than holes in the ground with lids. But they were astonishingly clean, and well stocked with paper, leaving me to laud those who apparently keep my tax dollars working hard for me.
That problem solved, we headed up the dunes. After about a mile hike over rolling dunes leading to the Big Hill, my calves ached. Thinking it was a remarkably cool day for making the climb, I’d foolishly left my hat and sunscreen in the car, and had lugged a small backpack and a sweatshirt. I was getting very warm.
At its peak, Kelso Dunes is about 600 feet high. I realized how high that was when, about a quarter of the way up one hill, I found myself stuck on a sharp angle. It was like climbing up a big pile of baby powder, and I was constantly showered by sand pushed down by the climbers above me.
At one point, the camera swinging from my backpack strap hit the water bottle in my jacket pocket and with an alarming “SPROING,” the batteries popped out and disappeared into the flowing sand. Somehow, my daughter managed to find them.
By the time I reached the top of that incline, the biggest dune still towered overhead. My heart beat alarmingly fast, and my head spun. I knew to go on would be dangerous.
So I stayed behind with the kids who faltered, while another adult took my daughter up the biggest dune. I watched with trepidation as she struggled up the monster sand pile, worrying about falls and earthquakes.
It was with some dismay that I saw her stop about three-fourths of the way up, sit for a while, and start sliding down on her backside. She couldn’t go on.
She was sad as we trudged back to the van, which was by then little more than a pinprick on the horizon. She felt like a failure, and seemed to feel that I’d somehow let her down.
She wants to go back and try again. So house-girly that I am, I’m trying to figure out how to condition myself for another climb up the big sand pile east of Baker.
I don’t know if either of us will make it to the top, but one thing’s for sure — I’m going to spend a lot more time mowing the lawn.
After all, you’ve got to start somewhere…
Copyright 2006, Metropolitan News Company