The Loneliest Place in the Lower Forty-Eight
Well, I recently returned from an exciting expedition with a great team of overland adventurers and am happy to report that I remain unbroken and very much alive, much to my surprise. Credit (or blame) for this Old Geezer’s survival rests entirely with Scott Brady, the Publisher of the oh-so-excellent Overland Journal magazine and our incredibly patient and nurturing lead climber, Cam Brensinger, Founder and Senior Designer of Nemo Equipment. The remainder of the expedition crew consisted of Overland Journal’s COO, Ray "Mister Entertainment" Hyland, Staff Cinematographer, Austin "Danger Zone" Andrews, "Can Do" Kelsey McLaren, and, of course, Bruce "Moves Like Jagger" Dorn.
The purpose of our journey was to travel, by both four-wheel drive and boot, to the Loneliest Place in the Lower Forty-Eight States.
As I understand it, this same adventure was mounted back in the mid-eighties by a team of Land Rover drivers and climbers under the banner of Car & Driver magazine. That team was forced to turn back after several difficult attempts that got them something like three miles from a specific GPS way-point that has been identified as "The most remote location in the Lower Forty-Eight". Established by exhaustive topographical and satellite research to be the singular spot in the lower forty-eight States that is the furtherest from any road or incorporated town, one might also be tempted to call it "The Official Middle of Freaking Nowhere". Having been as close to that spot as my ancient tootsies could carry me, I, for one, certainly concur.
But before I get too far ahead of myself, please allow me to back-track a bit and share a sparse recap of our adventure in a linear timeline. The full story will appear in a future edition of the beautiful and informative Overland Journal and I hope to inspire you to read the long-form version when it is eventually published. At any rate, if you have even an ounce of curiosity about the current state of global overland adventure travel, subscribe to The Journal and enjoy one of finest periodicals on the market.
On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, we fired up our two fresh Hemi V8-powered American Expedition Vehicles and one well-thrashed Jeep JK six-banger (nicely equipped with an Austrian designed and manufactured composite camper) and headed north out of Prescott, Arizona. Our Day One goal was to 'wheel deep into the back-country of southeastern Utah and set up a cozy base camp just before dark. As the gallery pictures clearly show, we easily accomplished our goals and our first camp was, indeed, breathtakingly beautiful.
Following a lovely evening of conversation around the campfire, all present retired for a good night’s sleep in a variety of Cam’s cleverly-designed Nemo Tents. Cam is an acknowledged world-class adventurer and his extensive product line reflects his eminently-practical-yet-strikingly-beautiful design sensibilities. Given Cam's excellent formal training from the Rhode Island School of Design, I would expect nothing less but the man clearly has a unique and singular vision of what's "right" and it shows in his extensive product line. But don’t take my word for it, check out his cool website and see for yourself. Neat stuff!
The following Sunday, after a healthy breakfast of granola and Greek yogurt, all assembled to intently follow Cam as he assessed our skills through warm-up climbs, rappels, and rope ascensions. I have climbed a bit in my youth but quick survey of my memory bank revealed that the last time I found myself dangling from a climbing rope was something like thirty-eight years ago. Dang, time sure does fly. Anyway, suffice to say that Cam is a patient teacher and confidence inspiring leader and we all left camp feeling that we could literally "pull our own weight" should the need arise.
After breaking camp, we loaded up and four-wheeled through some very beautiful terrain and motored as close as we could to our ultimate destination. As we set camp by starlight we wondered aloud what the morning sun would reveal about the landscape surrounding our final vehicular base camp.
Monday's brilliant sunrise revealed that we now faced a substantial head-wall that would be the first of three major loose-rubble ascents with deep and rocky chasms in between. Very tough and challenging work for Yours Truly, but a walk in the park for a hot-rod climber like Cam. Once we were all loaded down with many pounds of gear, the six of us began our scrabbling ascent at approximately 8:00am. Despite thankfully-brief showers of rain, snow, and sleet, we managed to hike and climb to within a mile of our destination by 4:00pm.
As this point had been achieved quite a bit later than anticipated - due in no small part to my snail's pace - a team meeting was held. The decision was made that our two strongest climbers - Cam and the Energizer Bunny-like Ray - would make a fast sprint for the summit while the remaining four made an emergency bivouac under an overhanging rock shelf. Even if we didn't decide to hunker down for the night, we definitely needed to build a fire and begin melting enough snow to support our final descent. We had carried loads of water for the assent but ended up using much more than we anticipated in our efforts to stay hydrated and forestall the cramping of muscles. After the effort expended during our day-long climb I, for one, definitely need to continue to stay hydrated during our long return to base camp.
At around 8:00pm our overdue summit party was accidentally spotted traversing just below a distant ridge-line. It was a moonless night and I just happened to be looking in the right direction when I noticed a tiny glimmer of light from one of their headlamps as they circled above a distant slot canyon. Thank goodness I chose that particular moment to star-gaze a dozen yards away from our cave or we might not have regrouped so quickly. The summiteers had overshot our location when their two-meter radio had failed but we managed to establish communication by simply yelling as loudly as we could. Low tech but well-proven and surprisingly efficient...
Once communications were established, we quickly extinguished our warming fire and rushed over to join Cam and Ray. Once reunited, Ray and Cam happily shared a story of successfully ascending several rock chimneys, achieving the GPS waypoint, and returning via a series of three long-and-fast rappels. Best of all, they managed to capture a few essential "proof-of-summit" snapshots during the final moments of twilight at the Loneliest Place in The Lower Forty-Eight.
Yay!
After brief but joyous high-fives, a quick discussion ensued as to whether it would be wiser to hunker down for a cold and almost certainly wet night under a rock (!) or to buck-up and soldier on to vehicular base camp. While I briefly considered faking a stroke in order to facilitate a rescue by a helicopter, I instead kept my big mouth shut and agreed with the plan to descend to under the moonless but star-filled sky. Dog-tired and more than a little bit bit clumsy from overstressed feet, knees, and hips, this was the most dangerous part of the journey for me. The fact that my old-school tungsten headlamp's fragile filament failed within minutes did not help matters at all. Piece of crap. Thankfully, the well-prepared Cam had a fine LED spare headlamp to share...
It was a grueling grind but we dragged ourselves back to our base camp by 12:30am. Everyone was too tired to do much beyond guzzling fluids (rum proved popular) and eating an apple or a handful of trail mix before crawling wearily into our beds.
On the following morning we broke camp and bee-lined for the barn. Hemi-powered Jeep wranglers are exceptional tools for bee-lining, I quickly learned. "Roads?!? We don't need no stinking roads!!!..."
Unfortunately, Jeeps are not amphibious and the auto ferry across Lake Powell was on a one-day hiatus. That meant our journey back to Prescott took considerably longer than planned and we dodged suicidal Indian Reservation horses and free-range cattle most of the way home. We arrived in Prescott - once again unscathed and intact - at the now very familiar hour of midnight.
No snug beds for us, however, as we still had to light and film some story-arc wrap-ups before we lost Cam to packing, a brief nap, and an early return to Boston on a 6:00am flight out of Sky Harbor. No rest for the weary...
I, for one, was severely whipped by the adventure but pleased that I somehow managed to find the determination and horsepower to keep up with the rest of our youthful team. I must confess that I did very little shooting during the actual ascent as I was often the last climber to get to each rest stop and that meant that there was never much time to extract my camera before the faster group was well-rested and ready to press on. I did manage a few happy-snaps from my always-ready Canon S95 and they are attached herein. Oh well, I did come away with several new friends and plenty of perfectly composed Neuro-chromes that will never fade.
With all said-and-done, I am surprisingly still intact but more than ready for a full-body transplant. Do share if you know where I can arrange to get one - and make it snappy!
