Sierra father and son: a 1979 journal from the trail

 September 10, 1979

Well, yesterday was the 9th and today was the day I had planned to get married to Louise. As fate would have it, school and busy relatives were better not bothered for the moment. My mom and sister were having my sister’s baby Sarah in August, while Louise’s mom was busy finding the job at H-P she finally landed. At the moment, my dad is with me, his strange estranged son whom he never understood. He burned out last year, before we could become middle-age buddies.

That was exactly one year and three months ago. Day after tomorrow, I'll walk out from Junction Butte to Red’s Meadow and hitch to Independence and Shepherd Pass and on over the John Muir Trail to the base of Mount Whitney, where I will spread the ashes and burn the box that now announces “the cremated remains of Stanford E. Neice.” I was planning to walk the entire distance to Whitney but really I don't have that time or any good supply plans. Plus the fact that a tendon on the inside of my left leg got torn to shreds because of the downhill rock trot with my 60-pound pack, 20 of which is the cremated remains.

Day before yesterday, I awoke in Monterey, ready to go see The Clash at the fairgrounds. Not very many people there, and cost fucking five-quid plus. But they were great, great, great. Did mostly “old” stuff from two years ago that just got released in America a month ago. In the midst of hippie apathy and nostalgia The Clash came across loud and clear. It seems to me at this writing that The Clash can do no wrong. They are amazing poets of sound and have succeeded as a group and only as a group. I hope to see them again soon. I got to do a lot on my vacation — a lot of things I wanted to do for quite some time — reading, movies, sex, music, dope, seeing people and having plenty of time to think and dream. Shit, and I have two more weeks left. I don’t have to beat myself up. That makes me feel a hell of a lot better.

Today is a day of regrouping and an important one — to rest equally as much as I work. Yesterday I went far over capabilities getting in here to Junction Butte. Today I feel better and better every minute as a result of my resting, stretching, cleaning up, sunning and not eating too much. I have solidly decided not to make the 175-mile run to Whitney. It gives me no resting days such as this one. I should be in good shape to make it out to Red’s Meadow and on my way down to Whitney by bus.

Bob White, Gary and Dori have had no luck yet fishing. They've been gone today at least five hours after catching a lot of live bait, because lures aren't working. I hope we have nice fresh fish for dinner. I may even stay tomorrow and leave Wednesday if we can smoke some fish tonight. Then I may be able to make the hike in seven hours like that old man I met. I should probably just use the whole day going to Red’s Meadow and camp there, getting up early and hitting 395 to Independence and going in through the Symmes Creek trail as far as I can up to Shepherd Pass. Now that I look at the bus schedule I see I can catch one at Mammoth Lakes at 12:30 PM Friday go up the trail that day. Saturday at Wallace Creek, Sunday at Guitar Lake and Monday over Whitney and out to Lone Pine — leaving on the bus that night or Tuesday morning for L.A.

September 12: It's already noon but it feels like it's time to leave. I want to hike today for six hours and maybe make the Granite Summit or somewhere nearby with water. Oh, but it is nice here. I can remember being stuck inside The Daily walls and then taking walks outside. In the short Seattle summer, it still gets hot enough some days to make the pines snap their cones and make the needles sweat their sweet smell. Those frangrances  kept me going and sent me here into the future. Now it's muddled somewhat by having to spend my time here in Junction Butte with the unfunny ignoroids. But it’s not that bad. Bob White is continually entertaining and bright. He understands me even though we see each other once a year or so. We've been friends now for 12 years.

Jesus. I find myself missing both my Seattle and San Jose friends. I'll be back in San Jose mid November and maybe before, when Louise goes and then possibly Long Beach for Thanksgiving. Ken Bierach says Louise will find another photographer. But I really get the feeling she wants me more than anybody. So I think I will stay with it and get married September 5, 1981 or thereabouts. It will take some thought. She wants to live with me soon but if I can keep me in her mind she’ll wait. She'll be out of school in December 1980.

I may be out then too, unless I decide to go for the legislative reporting class. Olympia is such a shithole, but I suppose there are some jobs available and I can apply around till we find something in the same area. It’s going to be harder for Pete and Suki, I know. And I know I'll be thinking about all this a lot. The factors are Louise, school, mom, The Daily, and internships. Also a market for my very own newspaper. Well, it’s 12:30 now and I should seriously think about climbing a few thousand feet in elevation. Close now. 

Night: Well now I’m alone. It's 7 o'clock and I uphilled it all the way to Cargyle Meadow. Scared shitless all by myself alone out here. Last time I was here in 69 with Kit Arnst, 10 years ago! Now with my dad gone I know exactly how long/short that is. So many things happened differently. If Kit and I hadn’t lost our way from Sheep’s Crossing to Cargyle and found Junction Butte I may never have come over this trail to Red's Meadow. I just did a trademark ow-ooo! call that Kit and Bob and Ralph and I invented for long-distance carry in the woods. It also scares the shit out of the animals, which is my purpose now. Not hearing any around, so it works. I don't know if I'm glad or sad at leaving Bob and spending these crazy nights all alone. 10 years later and where are we? Surviving, in love, going crazy trying to do what we like. A pretty good group of friends we were. Most everyone turned out good for something. I'm sad we couldn't stay together, but of course I had to move away to miss the water. Aiie. I'll feel better tomorrow morning. I'm comin’ Louise.

September 14: Yesterday I hiked 11 miles to Devils Postpile, where a vending-machine guy picked me up and took me to a Trave-Lodge on the edge of Mammoth Lakes, the town. I called Janet, Louise and mom, took a shower, washed my clothes, ate dinner, wrote nine postcards, jumped in the tub, watched Elvis Coverup starring Geraldo Rivera, the news, and read LA Times and slept from 11:30 to 8 AM in a comfortable king size bed. There was a fire yesterday on the hill which everyone watched from Main Street while I cased the town in my only clean clothes: shorts, undies and tennis shoes.

This morning I repacked everything and ate a huge breakfast at a place called Fat Albert’s. They had the Beatles Sergeant Pepper and Magical Mystery Tour playing softly on tape reminding me of the songs branded in my head on previous wilderness experiences. I also thought of Brian Knutsen and his story of mind opening MMT with his cousin. Oh well I'll be back there in a hurry, it will seem. Right now I'm waiting for the bus to Independence and the gallop to Mahogany Flat tonight. Got my Wilderness Permit at Inyo NF Ranger Station and I am all set. I can hardly wait to be there and can hardly wait to get out of there. Till the next writing, this is your wilderness correspondence saying get high and I will.

Stuck, in a sense, in Bishop. A 35-minute lunch stop with no restaurants any closer than 5 minutes away plus this goddamn bus is about 45 minutes late away. Hugh Pearce (goddam I finally remembered his last name) from UW student government lives here. But there’s no phone book at the pay phone here so I can’t give him a call. He must've been very glad to leave this place for Washington. It's a nice mountain-view setting but it's your typical cowboy redneck town with no privacy and less trust. At least that's the feeling I got walking the streets. Lots of bare legs but forget that. Soon we — me plus cowboys, drunks and old people — will leave and be back on the Golden Road to complete devotion.

September 16: My feet and I are lucky to be here at White Creek maybe 7 miles to Crabtree Meadow. After the bus left me in Independence I hitched a ride to the Symmes Creek Campground Road and had to walk the 3 miles from there to the trailhead. Then I started up the trail and hiked till 10:30 PM with my flashlight I made it to the campground that me, my dad and Troop 150 stayed at in 1968 — 11 years ago. Woke up around 8 AM and started up Shepherd Pass. It took me until goddamn noon. Steepest pass I ever did climb twice. Was I dumb? Well maybe not. I am here a little behind schedule, but here nonetheless. I may go on to Wallace Creek so I won't have to camp alone this time. Nobody else here, probably nobody there either, but onward. 

The backpacking season is over today. I saw seven people come down off of the Shephard Pass Trail. Mahogany Flat, where I camped last night, was not too scary. I knew there weren't any bears there. Today I passed the lake we stayed at 11 years ago, on the 1968 50-Miler to Whitney. Then we had hiked to Wallace Creek. I figured I hiked 10 miles yesterday and 12 to 13 today. Tomorrow will be another 8 to 10 miles, but I plan to spread dad’s ashes before Guitar Lake. There's a place we had a good talk and our love for the mountains was passed from father to son and back. I figure that is the most appropriate place for the ashes with Mount Whitney and that eastern range as guardian markers.

You can see a lot from there but it is a peaceful place and one which has meaning for dad and I and therefore the whole family. Even though it's illegal, I will make a small fire and mixed his ashes with the Sierra wood. I believe it is White Pine, the fine trees of the high country he loves so much. As an easterner, he adopted these lovely mountains, but he had us, his family, and his engineering jobs, and he didn’t get to spend as much time as he wanted up here.

But the Sierras inspired him in a big way. He fell in love with the California flora and planted natives in our own backyard in Santa Clara. He created a crack camping unit in Boy Scout Troop 150 and inspired the Santa Clara County BSA Council to widen its backpacking 50-Miler programs. And he wanted to see me earn Eagle Scout because only an infected ear prevented him from getting the lifesaving merit badge he needed for it. Later he became interested in geology especially of California and also in horticulture raising hundreds of roses. Maybe some of the ashes should go in the rose bed but mom and I think the Sierras is very appropriate because so much of his life after the war was devoted to being here in this amazing natural wonderland.

These interests were the better part of his accomplishments. Though his status as an engineer was high, it never brought him the satisfaction the Sierras had inspired. I want him to rest in peace here and I know he will. His work for young folks was also a better part of his life and he led many of us up here even though his son was trying hard not to grow up fast. In church, he loved the kids and was their “minister” being a lay reader conducting children's chapel every Sunday. The children didn't know of his love affair with the Sierras but they reaped much of what he gained here.

So that’s what lies ahead tomorrow on Sunday an appropriate day. Monday I will wake up at Guitar Lake as we did in 76 with the De Anza bio class and go over to Trail Crest to Whitney Portal. I don't think I will ascend to the top because that’s really not why I am here. Otherwise I would've brought a camera and all that malarkey. I ascended it with my dad and the scouts and with my natural history class in 1976 and that's enough for now. I will catch the Tuesday morning bus unless I can make the Monday afternoon bus, and I will be back with Louise in Long Beach for another week. I better move on now and prepare my bed.

September 17: Above Guitar Lake. Last night I did go to Wallace Creek and no one was camping there. Still I got a good night’s sleep and took it easy today starting at 7:30 AM and arriving at Crabtree ranger station around 10:30. I started a fire, had 4 cups of soup and 2 cups of coffee. Then I burned all my trash and fixed up my feet. I took the box containing dad's ashes and burned it, putting the ashes in a plastic bag so I would only have to use the one firepit. At about 2:30 I went on up to find the campsite I remembered. More memories came back when I found it. On the 76 hike, I was on my way up to Guitar Lake alone because someone went to Crabtree Lakes and others early to go to Guitar Lake with a ranger or something. When I went by this camp I had to stop and contemplate it’s meaning. It was what I — as an agnostic — would call an unexplainable mystical experience, much like the phone calling on in the night of dad's death.

Anyway, today site was still there — closed to camping because a tree fell on it, but still it was very peaceful. I looked up at the rocky rise where for some reason I had a immediately visualized when discussing with mom what to do with dad’s ashes. I remembered that back in 1968 I had an idea to push a dead log off that rise there by smashing it to bits and presto, custom firewood! Dad thought it was a stroke of genius. That evening the troop filled up on chili (the old-faithful Dry-Lite kind) and when I came back down the mountain after doing my deed, dad said, “Well, did it all come out OK?” which was the first time I've ever heard this kind of joke from my dad. That night we slept next to each other at the exact spot I stopped at today. That was the only time we did that on the trip and most any other.

Before the chili duty and the joke, we had cigarettes and talked for a long time as I don't think we had the whole trip. He was praising my abilities and leadership of the hike since I had become a junior assistant scoutmaster, the highest under-21 BSA office you can hold. After I remembered all this, I left to go up to the rise. I found the perfect place peaceful, anonymous, solemn, and unlike I had thought before — it had one of the more magnificent views available in the Sierras or anywhere. I dug a shallow hole, 1' x 2' and laid the ashes down with my hands. I wasn’t expecting ornately burned coffin nails in with the ashes, but as I covered them over I suddenly recited the Lord’s Prayer and gave general blessings for all who had known dad. I named mom, Janet, Ruthie, Sarah and myself that's all this Neice blood and brethren that I know of left alive. Then I constructed a cross from rocks and hooked a horseshoe I had just found on the trail on the middle rock for good luck, plus it may still be there when I return years from now with my own son or daughter. It doesn't matter if I do. I'll never forget that place.

Then I returned to the trail and thought hell, I could make it up to Trail crest and over to Consultation Lake. But it's so pretty here and my feet took it hard for two days in a row, so I decided to stay at Guitar Lake and do all the rest tomorrow. It's going to be cold but I got it all planned on how to keep warm tonight. The clouds which formed this afternoon and are now over the Kern (canyon) and it will be a sunset not to be missed. I should sleep well if I'm warm because there are definitely no bears here. Myself and two others are camped here. I met only five people today, two are here three were going to the other way. Usually it's like a ski trip up here, tents all over Guitar Lake. Tonight no one is at that lake. We are all on a shelf above it, contemplating its shape and where the strings would go! I'll close for now.