The Punch Bowl

…hummm, Ka’mya and sis have gone back home to Maryland, billy blaze has gone back to work at the “Poop Plant” as Stacey calls it. When ever I feel a bit down in the dumps I know it is time to go seek out an adventure. Last year after returning home from seeing my newly born granddaughter in Maryland I too felt a bit depressed after returning to Oregon. For many years I had planned on hiking into the Devils Punchbowl located in the Siskiyou Wilderness in Northern California, but had never made the journey as of yet…

…not being on shift at the fire department the next Saturday after returning home I decided it was time to hike my doldrums off. Packing my substantial camping gear into my big pack then repacking it again because it would not all fit into the pack the first time, I readied for the adventure. I’m not sure why but I have problems finding people who will go on these adventures with me, so I again prepare to go this time alone, except for my trusty hiking buddy Stryker. Through the years I have had several good dogs that have accompanied me on my weekend walk-abouts throughout the Northwest but Stryker is a real gem to have tag-a-long, or in his case run ahead. I used to carry all the supplies my other dogs needed in my own backpack but with Stryker I decided it was time the darn dog carried his own supplies. Doing this also gave me a bit more room to carry more crap of my own.

We head out right after work Friday night to spend the night at the small campsite at the Devils Punchbowl trail head located in Doe Gap. Stryker is on full alert for danger as he spars with the chipmunks darting across the logs trying to get to his food dish. I never got a wink of sleep that night due to Stryker’s growling at chipmunks, birds and maybe a cougar or two. Boy, he has a hair raising growl too. I drag myself out of my sleeping bag about sun up. Having a granola bar and Dr. Pepper for breakfast, putting Stryker’s pack on, if he would stop wiggling, I finally heave on my own 65 pound pack and off we go. The first two miles of the trail is simply an aged old mining road that is slowly returning to nature but the scenery offers beautiful views of distant mountain tops and big conifer trees. The trail makes a quick right turn from the old roadway and now we are finally on the more typical Northwest trail. The next 3.5 miles is skirting along the mountainside nicely with a few small creek crossings for Stryker to reload after he pees on everything in site. One more quick right turn and the trail narrows considerably, grows steeper (ok, it goes straight up) and I begin to rapidly gain elevation one switchback at a time. After the first dozen switchbacks I begin to name them out loud to help motivate me deeper into the wilderness, mo-fo, deep breath, sum-bitch, deeper breath, little fuddrucker, big fuddrucker to name a few before my mind went numb from the climbing and elevation change. The realization finally hits me that I am hiking into a high elevation lake, duh, so some climbing would be involved. And who put all this crap in this pack anyways?

With Stryker still running circles around me we finally climb above of the timber line and into the rocky swath left behind by the ancient glacier that helped form Devils Punch Bowl. To say the least it was picturesque and we hadn’t even gotten to the lake yet. Climbing over and around the house sized boulders we approach the crystal clear lakes edge that is surrounded on three sides by 300 foot vertical cliffs, prime cougar country I think to myself, not wanting to alert Stryker to the danger. Throwing (more like letting it fall from my back) my soaked with sweat pack down I sit on a rock to rest. Pulling from my gear bag my binoculars, yep I packed those too; I begin scanning the surrounding cliffs. Thinking I might get to see a mountain lion sunning himself on this crisp June morning on one of the many rock outcroppings. Whew, thank God didn’t see any, but… there still could be a herd of them lurking I surmised to myself.
With no neighbors at my small lake with me, a 30 second dip into the fresh snow melted lake water, a girl like scream, I quickly scamper back to shore to unthaw as I watch Stryker now doing the back stroke past me in the ice cold water.
Hunting out the best campsite around the lake I set up camp. Tent, sleeping bag, thick mat to protect my back, mosquito net, camp stove… …camping stool, Dr. Pepper I carried in for the occasion, you know all the necessities. I yell to Stryker “Damn-it quit showing off, get out of that water and come warm-up for a minute”. An early lunch followed by an afternoon nap, kind of, there are chipmunks at Devils Punchbowl too. Still no one at the lake with me, boy those cliffs sure look like prime cougar country, man I hate being alone in the dark, I surmise to myself. Nah… I’m tough. Only took me three and a half hours to hike in here, it would be down hill most of the way back. Oh quit, you “girlyboy fireman”. You know if I left now I could be back to my truck before it got reeeaal dark. As I quickly begin cramming my gear back into my backpack.

I yell, Stryker lets go, as I decide to head back to the trail head and the safety of my truck. Stryker gives me one of those looks like... what the hell, you make me pack all this dog food, pigs ears, dog biscuits and extra water in here and now "lets go" and I’m suppose to be happy about it. I tell Stryker yeah but now you know how I feel carrying all this crap, when I realized I’m having an actual conversation with my dog.

Partway down the mountain side I see someone coming my way, no running my way, up the mountain, no cougars chasing him either, humm. As he approaches closer I see this young man isn’t even wearing shoes. Only carrying a small day pack, tiny fishing pole.  I ask him, you spending the night? Oh no he replies, just running in here to catch a couple fish for dinner tonight and off he trots towards the lake. I tell Stryker I could have done that too when I was younger, what are you looking at, get going.


Wellll… five hours later the young man catches back with me, still barefooted, carrying his two fish for dinner. He yells over his shoulder to me as he trots by “you going to make it”. I reassured him, “Oh yes I am a fireman, I’ll be fine” as I am gasping for air in the late afternoon sun. Finally I trudge up along side my truck barely able to get my fricking heavy pack in the bed of it. Stryker even flops down in the shade, with his tongue hanging out as I impugn him. “I told you, you should have paced yourself”. If not for some ice left in the icebox in the back of my truck, with an ice cold Dr. Pepper nestled down in the cold water, I wouldn’t have made it home that night.

Any volunteers to go with me this year?