OK, I'm back. GPS Stats: The round trip was right at 12 miles, from Juniper Springs to Hidden Pond and back. 6 hours, overall average 2mph, actual moving average for the first half was 4.5mph and 3mph on the return trip. What happened to the overall average speed? Water, 1-3' high all over the place, made the trail go bye bye. Lots of pathfinding going on. Also, on the return trip, a big storm decided to hammer the whole area for the duration.
No damn pics because I forgot the batteries that I set to charge the night before; so, camera no workey.
All was going cool, until the first 2' deep stretch of water hiding the trail. 15 minutes later, crossing a creek that was up past my knees. After that, lots of water-wading until the beginning climb up the "Hill Top".
EMBRACE THE F-ING SUCK!!!
Boots turned into 20lb fish tanks, slowly rotting my feet away. So, basically, after that first water crossing, I would stop, take off the boots, remove the insoles, and POUR OUT THE WATER, then remove the socks, WRING OUT THE WATER, and tie them to the outside of my pack to semi-dry. The pack, by the way, was 30lbs. What the hell for? I like to carry unnecessary **** all the time. Back to the sequence. Once my feet were dry, I'd don sock pair 2, while sock pair 1 is semi-drying. My feet would feel good for about 5 minutes, and then I'd have to go through some more water, or water would magically fill up the boots.
I'm admitting this kicked my ass...until I became...angry...and got the f*ck out of there. I get to the bottom of Hill Top, which is just after a cool creek crossing, and I finally start to feel the impact of this little adventure.
I climb the hill, and go down the other side, and go around a bend, and there it is...Hidden Pond...with a f*cking naked, fat, old man standing calf-deep in the water. He turns to me, surprised to see someone I guess. He's standing in the pond naked, pumping a water filter, filling up a water bottle. WTF? People do retarded **** when they think nobody is looking. I already saw everything, and I don't care. I'm going to go sit on that log and rest. Do whatever the hell you're doing; I'm not watching. Whatever...
He kept talking to me from the pond, about the weather, the trails, camping, etc. He yells back to his camp, to tell his wife there are people around, to get decent. He also wanted his pants, which he had to yell for like 4 times. She...the cellulite queen of Hidden f*cking Pond...finally comes out of the camp. Apparently, DECENT meant a see-through loin cloth-Native American f*cking underwear looking get up. She says I look familiar, and asks if I've been here before.
Time to go. I collected my **** and soggy feet and left the way I came.
I get half way up Hill Top and I'm wore out. I feel like passing out, so I found a log and laid down for about 15 minutes.
Now the storm decides to attack. You know what? I don't even give a ****. I put my pack cover on and moved out. The thunderstorm brought with it some cool-cold rain, and I felt better.
I started repeating the mantra, "The rain-god is a pussy" to myself and picked up the pace to 3-3.5mph for most of the return trip. I still had to keep doing the truffle shuffle with my socks/boots/feet. Once I got past the last water crossing, I planned to do the truffle shuffle one more time, and put on my 3rd pair of (dry) socks. It never stopped raining, so to hell with that. I kept on going.
This **** sucked a fat baby's dick.
So, who wants to go next time?