Chapter 4 02／Starting point

Mountains are the means, people are the goal.The purpose is not to get to the top, but to improve people. Italian mountaineer, Watt.Walter Bonatti * In August of 1987, when I was twelve, my family was preparing to move from Indianapolis, Indiana, to Colorado, following my dad's work ties.When we visited a family friend in rural eastern Ohio in July, I found an encyclopedia of the fifty states and checked out the future home.At that time I had never been more than sixteen kilometers west of the Mississippi River.Facing an imminent move west, I wanted to know what awaited me there.I admit I'm biased, preconceived impressions of riders, skiers, and lots and lots of snow covering Colorado year-round.

What I discovered in that book, not only deepened those concepts, it terrified me.There’s a photo of Pikes Peak, and according to the caption, the view was the inspiration for the song “Beautiful America.”To my twelve-year-old eyes, that mountain was so austere that it seemed an amazing work of nature.Little did I know that the train and the road had already reached the summit of that mountain, ending in the parking lot next to the restaurant and gift shop.At my age, the so-called great outdoors were limited to the woods behind my house and past my friend Chris.The bike trails near the Landis home, and Eagle Creek Reservoir on the outskirts of Indianapolis.In my world, the outdoors does not include mountains, especially mountains above 4,000 meters above sea level.So I flipped through that book and it opened my eyes.

I've seen people ski down steep slopes at deadly speed.I've been able to drag my back foot to the brakes though I've worn my roller shoe flywheels all over the banks, waterways, and streets of our Indianapolis area, and even down a sizable hill in our community north of our home .But I don't know how to stop on the skis? I continued to turn the pages, and the last photo shook my heart.It was a picture of people cross-country skiing on the streets of Denver after a winter storm.There is no traffic on the road, just lines of people on skis.I'm terrified, pat!Close the book with a bang, and continue to complete the plot with imagination.Imagine Colorado, where people don't drive, they just cross-country ski to get to school, work, the grocery store, and snowboard everywhere like some Nordic wonderland, even in the summer.To a kid who was born in Ohio and grew up in Indiana on baseball, basketball and racing cars, skiing, even on flat ground, was as foreign a concept as riding a camel.

When I further imagined the place my family was going to, I believe that the entire state of Colorado is full of skiers, the scenery is all ski trails, and social groups are separated by ski ability. How to fit in?After reading that book, I cried alone in bed every night for a whole week.Even though the parting was sad, my friends were excited that I was moving to Colorado.They told me how much fun skiing would be without understanding how scary it was.One night at dinner, my parents noticed my red eyes and stuffy nose, and they got worried.You look like you just cried.what happened?my dad asked.

I am afraid.I'm not telling the truth.I wasn't just scared, but the idea of ​​moving to Colorado terrified me. My dad tried to comfort me by saying: I know moving is hard.We are all leaving our friends and relatives.But you'll make new friends, right? Yeah, but that's not why I'm scared. Then why are you afraid? I explained about the book and my parents laughed and reassured me that it wouldn't snow so much that I had to ski to school, which put me in a better mood.Before we moved, we flew over to have a look. Except for the sunburn in the hydrophilic park, I found that Colorado was not as desolate as it seemed at first.As soon as we moved over, I joined the ski club and that December, at the end of my second day on the skis, I burst onto the intermediate course, passed all my new friends, and even challenged Winter Park / Mary The most difficult terrain in the Jean area, this ski resort has since become my favorite of all the ski areas in the world.

I continued my acclimatization the following summer and had a developmental outdoor experience on a backpacking trip in Rocky Mountain National Park.That time, I entered the remote area of ​​the national park with several other children aged 13 and 14 for a two-week trip. It was the first time I went out with a heavy backpack and stayed at night. There are homes and transportation within a few minutes of walking.A full season of skiing has tempered my fear of mountains, and before I knew it, I had almost fallen in love with them. On the first day of our backpacking trip at the end of June, being in this majestic location on the west side of the park filled me with interest and kept hopping up and down the trails regardless of the weight of my backpack.Insane physical strength quickly earned me the moniker of the monster.The two facilitators in our group are busy enough just to keep me from jumping ahead of the group.After lunch, I had an extra bucket of peanut butter in my backpack for five more lunches for our group of fifteen before resupplying, but even so, I would run down the trail to the next turn, There was nowhere to be seen for an instant, until I heard one of the leading men yell: Monster!Wait for us!

As dusk approached on tiptoe on the first night, we spread out across the prairie campsite at an altitude of more than 2,900 meters. Each of us had a notebook, and we were encouraged to describe anything we wanted. Write it down or draw it. I sat in the tall pastures in the prairie and played with water, because next to it was a shallow stream with gravel at the bottom.After staying on the shore for a few minutes, I saw a black-tailed adult deer calmly coming out from the shelter of the trees, walking towards the creek, twitching its ears and shaking its head to drive away the bugs. When the doe ostentatiously walked into the grassland from right to left, I was completely stunned and deeply intoxicated.I was the only one who saw it because everyone else stayed near the tent.It walked to the water's edge, and I leaned over to get my notebook, opening the cover carefully, afraid that any noise might startle it.The next five minutes felt like five hours and five seconds as the doe drank by the creek while I drew her image in my notebook until she turned and walked back into the forest.

At the end of the fifteen minutes of self-reflection time, everyone else was quiet and withdrawn, until I stormed into camp to report the deer encounter, the other kids were deeply moved, and I showed off my sketch, whatever it was Looking at it, that is not an excellent work, but as a souvenir of my awe, it is enough.Two nights later, on boulders at an altitude of 3,300 meters, I experienced the joy of climbing on rocks the size of houses.We dipped our bodies into a pool so cold that there were even snowdrifts extending into the water by the side of the pool.And that same night, I also learned firsthand the lesson of not leaving sweaty boots outside a tent when porcupines are around, and they eat the leather top, laces, and tongue, leaving the Only the bottom of my boot is left.

The following year, I took part in a statewide backcountry adventure camp that included rock climbing near Este Park, rafting the Colorado River near Grand Johnson, and horseback riding near Gunnison.I didn't become a real expert, but something inside me was growing.Four years later, when I left home to attend Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, it felt as if I had established myself in the West. I was a Coloradan at heart, an immigrant native.When I'm homesick in Pennsylvania, I think about space, the sun, and the mountains out west, and I love seeing people's eyes light up when I tell them I'm from Colorado when they ask me where I'm from.For two years, I was the only student from Colorado at Carnegie Mellon.I want to share the Rocky Mountain longing with snow-covered ski slopes every so often.

In July 1994, I climbed Longs Peak, my first mountain above 4,000 meters, with my best friend Jon, which is fifty-nine mountains above 4,000 meters in Colorado. One of the mountains of the thousand-meter magic line.Longs Peak overlooks the northern half of Colorado's Full Range Mountains, northwest of Big Boulder.This 4,335-meter-high mountain is the sixteenth highest in Colorado and one of the most famous.Although its spectacular east face, also known as the Diamond, attracts world-class dedicated climbers to its steep granite line, the fairly easy standard hike through the Keyhole , but thousands of climbing backpackers can successfully attack the summit every year.

Jon and I took the advice of our friend Brandon's father, Lee, a former Boy Scout leader who himself had climbed dozens of mountains over 4,000 meters.Brother Li told us the principle of climbing the peak on foot: start early, bring water and food, rain gear and a map, and leave the peak at noon to avoid the lightning brought by the heavy thunderstorm that falls almost every afternoon. As a result, these advices us Most of it was ignored afterwards. Jon carried a four-litre jug in his travel bag; our backpacks were stuffed with sandwiches, candy bars, and our ski jackets.By the time we reached the tree line (the critical line above which trees stop growing) at an altitude of more than 3,300 meters, we had stripped our shirts and smeared generous amounts of sunscreen on our chests.We compared the trail map we had picked up that morning at the Forest Service, noting our progress and writing down the time we arrived at each landmark.We're a long way behind management's recommended uphill time, but should be able to turn back easily before dark.The trail leading up to the nearly 3,600-meter-long granite pass is quite wide, and after passing through five or six long Z-shaped mountain roads, the trail itself circles up several times and reaches the round stone field , I saw boulders the size of a sofa nearly one kilometer square stacked on top of each other.We had a snack under clear skies on a steep jagged notch in the north ridge of Longs Peak called the Keyhole, and then I climbed the rocks on the north side of the Keyhole to about nine kilometers above Jon's head. Foot-high jutting pinnacle, with feet dangling from the summit, he took a photo of me, and then I climbed down, and Jon climbed up, and I took his photo too. The most difficult part of the day was yet to come, first crossing the dangerous granite slab that slops down the west side of the northern ridge, and then climbing up a small steep rocky canyon called the Deep Valley, about 150 meters high, where It is not uncommon to meet a group of backpackers, and their breathing becomes more and more short of breath when they are struggling to climb up a deep valley. The oxygen decreases accordingly. ① small canyon: couloir, a funnel-shaped or funnel-shaped gully filled with snow, usually exposing rock or snow and ice falling into it. Jon suggested we sprint up to the top of the chasm, one at a time, and see how many we could pass.He went first, and in the end he overtook everyone in the ravine.When Jon was almost halfway there, I started to set off, using my own speed, and when the rocky steps about one meter high in the deep valley narrowed, although I surpassed two people, I also felt that my breathing gradually accelerated. I had to stop on a rocky step as I wasn't used to the height.As a result, despite overtaking the other backpackers, I was a few minutes behind Jon.Pushing myself to the point where my whole body hurts and yet still feel so good means a lot to me. It was the first time we had approached the 4,000-meter altitude on our own, and the summit experience made Jon and I dizzy with joy.But first we went around the outer corner and looked up at the end point. It was an open platform about 90 meters high on both sides formed by the crease of the ridge, which is equivalent to creating an inner corner by two peak walls, just like a open book. The last job before climbing Longs Peak is to use both hands on this rock to climb up the smooth stone slab.The rock wall below us slops down into a canyon about 600 meters deep, from which occasional strong winds keep our mental state sharpened.Jon and I stopped to watch a summit climber in blue jeans come down from the finish line above us.He looked out from the mountain wall, put his feet down in turn, and slid down with the soles of his feet scraping, looking for his shoes.We are quite disturbed by such an attempt in such a dangerous place.We joked that if he slid, it would knock us both off the finish line, like bowling a climber.At a safe point behind a thin slab of rock that forks off the face, we finally pass the man and continue our journey.Three minutes later, the two of us reached the open rocky plateau of Longs Peak and hugged each other in celebration.Jon made a mark on the back of our map saying I love you for his girlfriend, and I helped him take a photo of him holding that piece of paper in the breeze and smiling anoxically. Although we started late, we left the summit and climbed down to the finish line before 2:00 pm.Some clouds are gathering to the northwest, although we are lucky to have good weather.Descending to the keyhole again, we stopped for a snack and looked to our right at an open slope on the east side of the North Ridge.I think that thought must have come to Jon and me at the same time, because we looked at each other and said: Let's go skiing!Although I don't think the two of us know what downhill is, we still climbed up the longest snow slope of more than 180 meters long, and then put on ski pants.It was a slope steep enough to cause an avalanche, but in midsummer conditions we were more concerned about sliding all the way over the edge of the valley and into a field of boulders. Jon took the lead, skating for thirty seconds, plowing and splashing the soft snow with the heels of his mountaineering boots, yelping with delight.I yelled for him to take a picture of me when I got close enough, and then plopped into the snow, accelerating towards Jon at breakneck speed. Using the pistes Jon had created and my low-friction nylon ski pants, I was quickly descending beyond my control.Bounced on snow-covered obstacles, sprinted down in a split second, and if I hadn't slowed down, I'd have ended up bloodstaining the rocks.Filled with fear, I dug my hands into the snow on my sides, shoveled my heels down, and immediately had my face covered in melting snow.As the angle of the slope narrowed at the bottom of the snow, I raked the snow more tightly with my fingers and kicked my boots until, half blind, I stopped right next to Jon, only a few centimeters from the rocky patch. distance.We immediately laughed out loud and yelled at each other: Here we go again!Climbing up to the place where the backpack was placed, I tried to restore my numb hands and wipe off the ice crystals, and this time I figured out how to hold the small sharp stone as a brake. After we had scared ourselves half to death, we descended to the Granite Pass and crossed the east side of Lady Washington.By the time Jon and I reached the tree line, the clouds had started to move in and we switched to running to fight the impending rain.In our boots we plodded down the trail, which we jokingly named the Rapid Mountain Downhill, the trail we descended on our first run.By the time we got back to the buggy, the first full ascent of a mountain over 4,000 meters had completely affected me, and I knew I would have many more of it. I went on a week-long boat trip with my dad in 1993, loved it so much, and two years later, I was with him again at the Buvinavista Boat Company in Colorado. An acquaintance of mine got a summer job as a rafting instructor a week after returning from his sophomore year in college.In late May 1995, I moved into my boss, Bill.Blake's houseboat.We are one of the smallest companies on the river, only running two or three boats a day, compared to some of the larger sporting goods stores, who may be ten times as many in number.But with only three instructors, that meant my new friend, colleague, and dorm mate, Pete, and I, had jobs almost every day.I originally wanted to take seven days off that summer, but the job was so much fun that I didn't feel like doing anything else. Thanks to the 400 percent snow cover in the surrounding area, the summer of 1995 was the largest water season in the river's history.The rapids are usually grade 3 to grade 4A, and even accelerated to grade 5, which is already the highest grade for rafting. Three people lost their lives on that stretch of the river that season, two in their own boat and one with another rafting company, and we're seeing more than 200 cubic meters of water popping up in the canyon every second The peak, that's almost four times the average peak and double the peak of the last flood year.With water like this, I feel like I'm missing out if I don't plan a trip for myself. When the bosses decided it was too dangerous to have guests, together we would hop aboard a raft full of instructors and tackle the most unfriendly routes in the canyon, or even take a midnight voyage under the gaze of a bright full moon. One afternoon in July, my third instructor, Steve, and I went to the hardware store in Buvinavista and bought two inflatable kiddie pool toys.These children's rafting boats are like 90 cm long boats with 30 cm high buoys around a thin, elastic plastic bottom. They cost US$10, which is not at all commensurate with the river.We've been joking about using it for the Brown Canyon voyage since Pete brought it to our attention, but we ended up driving to the south entrance of town and picking up a 1-2 Twelve kilometers of regional rapids.Although it was the smallest rapid, it was big enough for our boat.Armed each with an inflatable life jacket, a milk jug with the top cut open to serve as a bailing bucket, and a paddle for a dinghy, Steve and I went on this mission not to try at home, successfully making our A gimmicky, inappropriate dinghy sails one of the state's largest rivers. In late August, I took three of my best friends, all new to the river, on a midnight boat ride through Brown Canyon.It was much better than sailing multiple rafts with the other guides.The biggest surprise was that I planned to take them on a new moon, not a full moon as usual.In such darkness, where the river, banks, canyon walls, and sky all merged into pitch blackness, navigation became of utmost importance; for a sudden collision would have knocked my friend into the river, disappearing entirely in darkness. In areas of calm water, stars will mirror the body from the river, while where there is no star reflection, there are ripples, rocks, or rapids.Sometimes there was only a little light to make out the white crests of the waves, but once we entered the canyon, the high canyon walls reduced the light around us, and the remaining fourteen kilometers were a memory game.Right on the first rapid, Ruby Rapids, a short-course secondary rapid, my boat was scratched by a large rock on the left forward corner.But after that, it was an amazing, dreamlike experience to navigate the next thirteen rapids, including some big Class IIIs and technical Class IVs, all of which we sailed expertly.Breaking the silence is uncomfortable when the river is calm, so instead of talking, I looked up at the vibrant stars floating in the sky, and for the first time I realized that the universe is not a flat blanket, but A 3D birthplace.I think I can know that the stars are made layer by layer just by admiring the stars. In May of 1997, I graduated first in my class with a Bachelor of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering, plus a double major in French and a minor in Piano Performance, which resulted in a degree near Phoenix, Arizona. Intel Corporation mechanical engineer job.I ended up moving first to Tacoma, Washington in March 1999, and then to Albuquerque, New Mexico in September of the same year.But then, in 1997, right after graduation, my long-simmering passion for the American wild west was just beginning to sprout.Before moving to Arizona, I was rewarding myself for my accomplishments in school and a job with decent prospects, so I planned a super vacation. It was the road trip to end all road trips.I'm going north in my 1984 Honda SUV to Grand Teton, Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks, then into Canada to visit Banff National Park and Icefields Parkway, to Vancouver and down Enter Custeque, Olympic, and Rainier National Parks, and finish with Crater Lake, Yosemite, and Zion National Parks.A total of 30 days, ran more than 9,600 kilometers, and visited ten national parks. As a result, I didn't go very far because it was only late May and the snowline was still high, which limited me to hiking at lower altitudes at first.Thanks to my early expedition into Lake Phelps in the Tetons, I was able to camp at one of the top campgrounds by the lake.At dusk on the first day, I saw the silhouette of a cow moose sprinting before sunset; the next morning, I saw a pair of bald eagles soaring above the waterfall; A grizzly bear. I drove around and took pictures of the Tetons reflected in the broken windows of the abandoned farmstead in Antelope Flats.That same afternoon, I was planning my next excursion, a trip to Lake Bradley, where I was going to set up a base camp and try to climb Middle Tetona, the most technically difficult of the main peaks in the park. . When I asked a park ranger how to scale one of the Tetons, his puzzled eyes foretold what was to come.That look seemed to say: If you must ask, then telling you how to get there is tantamount to violating my judgment. Still, he pointed to the map and told me how to get to Lake Bradley, explained that the trail was buried several meters under the snow at the moment, and concluded by saying: If you don't wear snowshoes, you will be like piling up buried up to the waist.I don't know what a stake is like, but I still filled out the permit. In the afternoon, I packed my three-day travel necessities and set off. This was my first overnight trip alone.I keep my camping tools and clothes in a large backpack, and my food and cooking supplies in a small backpack that I carry on my chest.I had only walked more than one kilometer from the trailhead of Target Lake, and the snowdrifts were so deep that I couldn't walk an inch.There was no sign of any trail around, and apparently for a while, maybe all winter, I was the first backpacker to hit the trail. I carried a heavy backpack and tried to move forward. When I gradually came up to the round moraines left by glaciers in the Ice Age (the moraine left on the ground after melting glaciers, usually piled up into small hills), the snow Deeper and deeper.After walking slowly for an hour, I finally approached the moraine-topped forest and an apparent snowdrift.With every step, the boots sank tens of centimeters, and the sharp ice crystals of medium-sized snowdrifts gradually scratched my shins.Another fifteen minutes later, I was numb from the knees down as snow poured into my boots and filled my trousers, but that made the mutilation less annoying at the same time.After I fell into the snow a few times, I changed tack and climbed the last six meters to the bump where I spread my feet and slapped astride the tight edge of the snowdrift, feeling exhausted, Breathing heavily, looking back at the series of deep potholes I've left behind, knowing full well what it means to be piling up. I checked my map and saw that I had about 400 meters to go before I reached the south side of Lake Bradley, and walked around the lake back to camp, about a kilometer more.I was on the edge of the forest where the snow seemed to be relatively solid. There was a short downhill on the right side. I slid down with my back. I just took the first step when I stood up, and found that the snow was waist deep.Oh, it's going to be a long way.I said it aloud, thinking that the snowshoes are really good to use, even though I have never worn them and I am used to them. It took me two hours of grueling travel, struggling through waist-deep snow, to a short footbridge on the north side of Lake Bradley.Clouds hung over the treetops, and I could only see a few meters up the western side of the mountain, where the evergreen forests were lost in the mist. A few hundred meters past the bridge, I found a camp signpost about six meters away from the lake shore, most of which was buried in the snow.Relieved to arrive before dark after an unexpectedly four-hour trek on foot, I pitched my two-person green tent on the frozen pine needles next to the signpost. My feet were so cold that I sat in the mouth of the tent and unbuttoned my soggy hiking boots, which even splashed a lot of melted snow when I took them off.Exhausted, I peeled off my socks, not caring that they were dripping in the tent, and just as I was rubbing my soaked toes, I froze for a moment from a nearby sound, the sound of a branch snapping.I listened intently, and heard the splashing of the lake coming from a few meters to the left, on the other side of some thick bush.I thought maybe it was another cow moose out at dusk, like the one I saw at Phelps Lake.Curious, I bent forward and peeked through the tent lid, only to see a medium-sized black bear coming out of the bushes.It weighs about ninety kilograms, is not very old, and is shiny black all over. I quickly grabbed my camera from my backpack and took a picture.The spotlight reflected off the bushes, and I feared I'd scare the bear away before I could see through it for a split second.However, instead of fleeing in panic, it calmly changed its course and walked directly towards my tent.One step, two steps, three steps it came straight towards my tent.I thought maybe I had been downwind so the bear hadn't smelled me yet.I tried whistling to alert the hulking beast of my presence, but I was too scared to pout properly, only to splatter a few drops of drool on my camera. Now I'm only eight meters away from the bear, and I know the bear can see me, and it's not just a polite greeting.He looks skinny and wants my food for his first supper after hibernation.I left the small backpack with food at the tent door, in sight of the bear, and I knew I had to do something. I grabbed my food pack and escaped from the tent, only four meters away from the bear, and sprinted to the right.As I ran in panic to the back of the tent, my bare feet slapped the ground, leaped over a fallen tree, and landed directly on the snowdrift, piercing the ice with my left foot, then my right.The pain knocked out my left foot momentarily, and when I pulled it out of the snow, I saw the top of my foot cut by a protruding branch.But I knew that I didn't have extra time to do first aid, so I could only jump into the snow-covered forest, and my feet were constantly bruised and my senses were paralyzed while walking. I looked around for places where I could hang food, but couldn't see anything suitable.Normally I would drag the bag up a tall, strong tree with a rope, but I don't have time for that right now.I went around in a clockwise direction, finally went around to the tent, and then walked west a few steps.The bear followed my every step in the forest, and we were never more than nine meters apart.Finally I noticed a big tree that had been down for a few years, it wasn't too tall to reach, and I figured I could at least strap the bag to the root and go back and put on my boots and come back for a better one. Good place to put food.So I rushed to the fallen tree, wrapped the harness around three gnarled roots protruding 1.2 meters into the air, and wrapped the bag under another root so the bear couldn't easily get it.After that, I walked back to the tent carefully with my numb feet. Sitting at the door of the tent, I briefly checked the wound on my left foot, then stuffed it into my soaked boots, turned off the light, and walked near the fallen tree again.During the thirty seconds I was gone, the bear had its teeth in my food bag, jerked it back and forth, and shook the harness off the tree roots.When I saw the bear easily bite the root of the tree where I hid my backpack, I finally realized that I was in a very dangerous situation. I've used up a lot of energy trying to get back to the campsite, and I need food before I try to get back to the car.If that bear stole that bag, I could be in trouble.At that moment, I risked my life and decided that I must get the bag back by any means necessary. The bear was already six meters away from the recumbent tree trunk, and the purple bag was biting into its mouth. I broke off a 90 cm long tree root, held it in my left hand like a bat, jumped up the fallen tree with one foot, and swung it Holding his weapon, he roared at the top of his lungs: Give me back the food, stupid bear! I wasn't sure what response I was expecting, but I was shaking with fear when the bear stopped and looked back, then it spun its rear feet to face me about ten paces away, and it noticed me.OK, now we have a showdown. I growled loudly, waved my stick, and roared louder: Give me back my food! Like a dog questioning its owner's commands, the bear tilted its head to the left, and I think I could even see its brow furrow.When it hesitated, I mustered up my courage, started to step on the wood vigorously and yelled again, took a sudden step towards the immobile bear, another step, and then a third step, ordering: This time you stole the wrong hungry bear. Backpackers, put down!At the last word, I jumped up, slapping both boots on the trunk. The bear dropped the food bag and lumbered away from the side of the tree, ready to walk into the forest.I couldn't believe it, and couldn't help shouting behind it: Shh, stupid bear!Then went to my purple knapsack, and first threw the broken boot at the bear, and picked it up again; but the boot hit some pine boughs on his head, and it fled westward in a panic. Five minutes later, I boiled a pot of lake water on my camping stove, anxiously waiting for the water to boil, imagining that the bear would return at any moment.Two minutes after the water finally boiled, I set a personal fastest time to finish a bowl of ramen.When I put the food, the bowl and the small stove in the backpack, I inspected it carefully and saw four holes made by the bear's teeth.Next, I hoisted the backpack to a safe location. Night fell.I was huddled in the tent, in the darkness, lying in my sleeping bag, terrified that even the faintest sound in the woods would induce paranoia.For seven hours, whenever a leaf fell onto the snow, a pine needle fell into a lake, or a tree creaked in the breeze, I imagined myself going from zero to being caught in a second. The bear scratched and died suddenly, there was a plop, maybe a fish jumped into the lake, but my heart immediately responded: My God!The bear is back and it's going to eat me, I'm dead!Then hold what you think is your last breath.It wasn't until after three o'clock in the morning that the panic stopped, and I fell into a slightly uneasy sleep. Starting late the next morning, I managed to slog through hip-deep snow to Garnet Canyon, about 3,200 meters above sea level, with incessant rain clouds obliterating the view.I knew I was in a round valley and had to make critical decisions in finding my way, but I couldn't see half a signpost.It was too late to keep groping, so I followed the ditch I had dug as I climbed down.Two hours later, I arrived at Lake Bradley and walked back to my camp in the rain, only to see the destruction of what had been my tented camp, shaking with amazement. The tent door curtain was ripped off, two of the four posts were snapped, the front flap was completely torn, and my sleeping bag was floating in the lake. what is going on?I screamed, not only was everything in the tent completely soaked, it was also covered in mud.that bear!I wonder.It came back while I was climbing, searched my things carefully, and wanted to get food. However, the food bag was hanging on the tree intact, and the bear couldn't get it. Standing on top of the wrecked pile, all I can think of is that the bear did it all with bad intentions.I took off the food bag first, fished my sleeping bag out of the lake with a branch, and got to work packing my equipment. 既然所有的東西都濕透了，晚上已經無法在此過夜，等走回我的車那裡時，天一定都黑了，可是我不得不這麼做。重達三十公斤的濕透設備讓我備感沉重，我像前一天一樣把食物袋揹在胸前，開始出發，並且很快就注意到那頭熊竟跟著我的腳步走。原來熊先生已經像獵人一樣，沿著氣味跟蹤我進入了營地。 在雪更深的另一邊，我看得到那頭熊如何從北方橫斷我的足跡。我以火眼金睛追溯牠的足跡，向上望見一處九公尺高的山丘然後發現那頭熊坐在一棵松樹旁，正盯著我看。 我的天隨著過去半小時對那頭熊的憤怒，轉為熟悉的恐懼壓力，我的聲音也跟著逐漸變小。我所能做的就是繼續走，希望自己沒有沉沒在雪堆裡，並祈禱那頭熊別打擾我。我從口袋裡拉出了濕掉的地圖，左手則拿著指南針：現在沒有犯錯的空間了。 過了約十五公尺後，我離開小徑，踉蹌地往那頭熊南邊的山丘走。牠還沒動，我想像當我拚命逃開時，牠就坐在那裡露齒微笑。我從山丘眺望雪堆，往東走雪似乎比較淺一點；我推論自己可以離開小路抄捷徑，直接奔到高速公路上，避免在冰磧石頂的堆積裡笨重前進。越過山丘脊線，下到森林裡的一處建地，回頭往左後方看，那頭熊不見了。牠從山丘的另一邊下去，朝著湖前進。我鬆了一口氣，走了大約十五步，再次回頭查看，那頭熊就在這當下跟著我的足跡漫步到山丘頂，我們相距不過九公尺之遠。 有十分鐘之久，我努力往東方前進，交互著瞄指南針，定出我周遭在地圖上的位置，或緊盯著我左後方的那頭熊。有好幾次，牠縮短距離到離我僅六公尺，我就更加緊張的找方向、避開深雪，試著猜想那頭熊會做什麼。在如此緊張的情況下導航前行，實在相當困難，而且我不久就迷失了方向，地勢不再和我從地圖所見得到的判斷一致。 我花了一分鐘的時間才找回正確的方向感，抵銷我地圖上的真北方和指南針上所顯示的磁北方之間的偏差。接著越過一處短短的高地，往下發現自己看到一座湖。我沒想到這裡會有一座湖，但就在通往積雪湖邊的路上，有一些腳印。aha!這發現讓我的精神都來了。導航不是問題，我或許還能找到其他人來協助我嚇走那頭熊。 我在雪裡邁著沉重的步伐朝那靴子足跡前進，就在這時心中電光一閃：那些是我的腳印而這是布萊德里湖我繞了整整一圈！一顆心立刻失望的往下沉。 那頭熊在我身後十步；到現在為止，每次我停下來，牠就停下來，但現在牠走下山丘，直接朝小徑和我的位置前進，我真想放棄，把吃的丟給他，去他的國家公園那不可餵熊的規則，然而最強烈的感覺其實是，我好想哭。 當我的行為再次改變，也就是絕望變成憤怒時，那頭熊離我只有四公尺。go away!我當著牠的面大叫，牠再次停下腳步。 想起我曾在一部電影裡聽過出自內心的最大威脅，我改了電影<黑色追緝令>裡的幾句臺詞，我說：我要去找一些兇惡的管理員出來，攻擊你的屁股！他們會讓你鎮定下來，用船把你送到愛達荷州去！ 我轉向把雙臂舉高過頭，大聲咆哮，但這對熊來說並不是新鮮事了。牠像前一晚我們僵持在倒木上時那樣側著頭，我察覺左手邊不到一公尺外有一個裸露的石頭，於是伸手抓起那個壘球般大小的岩石當作自衛用，接著匆忙移到南邊，折返到我的舊路線。 現在，那頭熊離我實在是太近了，只在我大聲咆哮的間隔之間才會稍停。我估計如果牠走到離我三公尺，我就可以用石頭扔牠，但因為有背包和背帶限制我的活動，讓我無法扔得更遠。我集中注意力讓自己保持直立，不過因為雨還在下，所以儘管雪變得更深，卻比前一天還要薄。一不小心，我踏穿了薄薄的冰殼，整個人往下墜到臀部，我人沒事，但陷在雪地上，而且沒辦法把自己拔出來。 那頭熊似乎了解到機會來了，把距離縮短到我的頭離牠的鼻子只有四公尺。在雪中摸索，想要抓緊什麼東西的我，雙臂胡亂擺動，雙腳依舊牢牢插在雪地裡。我把腰往左邊扭，背則往右肩的方向滾，再迅速把我的腳拔出來。就像面朝上的烏龜一樣，我的軀幹和背袋都把我往下壓，我好怕在背部朝下時，那頭熊會過來攻擊我；現在的我無法防守，弱點全坦露在外。顫抖的站在不穩固的冰殼上，面對那頭陰森逼近的熊，我把石頭舉到肩膀，就像在擲鉛球比賽一樣，往上丟，讓我唯一的防衛武器飛出去。那頭熊和我都看著石頭的拋物線，結束在牠左肩右邊一處積雪的彈坑裡。 我沒打中，那頭熊停在原地沒動。 我查看一下附近的環境，發現兩塊比較小的石頭。我重新武裝，走向冰磧石衝刺了十五步，直到我再次衝回先前站過的地點，重複同樣的動作，我背朝下撲通倒下，那頭熊靠近了，於是我站起來，朝牠丟一顆石頭，但這次我的石頭打中了那頭熊的臀部，結果像火箭一樣，牠竟然往離牠左邊最近的松樹跳上去，跳了三次就爬到十一公尺上。 我的下巴往下掉，眼珠子在眼窩裡轉個不停；這輩子從未見過一隻大型動物行動如此敏捷。於是我重新撿起石頭，再次轉向南邊。三十秒後，我聽見樹枝斷裂的聲音，回頭看到那隻熊正爬下樹，我立即跳回雪裡，人熊之間就像在跳芭蕾舞。我這部分是：落下、翻滾、站立、投擲；那頭熊的部分則是：攀爬、等待、下來、跟隨。一遍又一遍，我們重複跳著這支舞。當我愈來愈接近冰磧石時，我又加上喊叫和咒罵來威嚇那隻熊，希望能給自己爭取到比較多的時間待在較深的雪裡。當然，雪對那頭熊而言，根本不成問題，比起我的一雙腳，牠的四隻爪子在雪堆的冰殼上，還能把重量分配得更廣一些。 我上到冰磧石主要堆積處，像前一天一樣爬行，期盼的看著不到一公里外那條清楚的泥土小徑。那頭熊的決心絲毫不見鬆懈，即使是四公尺以內的距離，還是繼續跟著我。對我來說，從冰磧石往下移比較快，而隨著雪堆深度變淺，我的速度跟著加快。二十分鐘後，我在雪堆邊邊停了下來，等待那頭熊再靠近一點。在下坡部分牠已經落後相當多，目前我們相距有九公尺遠，但不過短短十秒，牠就又逼進我疲憊手臂的致命距離之內，只剩不到四公尺，所以我只好朝牠的頭部丟出石頭，第一次太高了，沒丟中，不過第二顆石頭就正中熊頸部左側後方，痛得牠哇哇大叫，快跑到最近的樹那裡。 這一次，我改變了我們的相處模式，我跟著牠到樹下，拿下我的背包。附近有很多石頭，所以我得以猛烈攻擊那頭熊的臀部繼續復仇，每試三次就有一次打中，都是用棒球大的石頭。我氣憤的對著那頭熊大叫，把牠在過去二十四小時加諸在我身上的緊張和恐懼統統解放。直到熊爬到樹較高的地方，而我連續五次沒丟中之後，我跪下來，重新背上背包，大步走回泥濘的小徑，朝我的車子走，再也沒有回頭。 我結束了懷俄明州、雨和像打地樁一樣的旅行，最重要的是，我結束了熊帶來的壓力。原本計畫好到熊比堤頓和黃石公園還要多、雪也比我之前碰到的都還要多的冰河國家公園的旅程，已經完全無法吸引我。我在公園管理處停留，把經歷告訴公園的管理員。管理員告訴我，他們從其他國家公園（我想可能是冰河國家公園，蓋棺論定，更加確定不去了。）聽過這種熊悄悄跟蹤的行為，但我的經驗卻是堤頓山脈的第一份報告。他們還告訴我，如果對熊大聲吼叫，揮動雙臂，對牠充滿挑釁意味的跺腳，然後用石頭丟牠，十之八九是人會被打傷。為此，我覺得該給我的守護天使送上一份大禮。 我出發前往小鎮，找了家汽車旅館，弄乾我的東西，打電話給爸媽，讓他們知道發生的事後，還特別跑了好幾家餐廳詢問是否有熊肉，但沒有一家供應。而在上床睡覺前，我也沒去看傑克森這裡的電影院正在上映的兩部影片，一是有恐龍悄悄跟蹤傑夫．高布倫的<侏羅紀公園二>，二是有熊悄悄跟蹤安東尼．霍普金斯的<勢不兩立>。