July 22, 2011
In which I relate the story of how Tom Mahood tried to kill me, Pete Carlson, and Paul Caraher. Or at least get us eaten by a mountain lion. Not only sweat, but actual blood was let on this one. Read on only if you have a strong stomach.
Ewasko Background
On June 24, 2010, Bill Ewasko, a 65-year-old man from George set off on a solo hike from the Juniper Flats trail head in Joshua Tree National Park. His stated intention was to hike to Quail Peak. He was never seen again. You can read an extraordinarily thorough background on the whole thing on Tom Mahood’s OtherHand website.
After the initial search, Tom became interested in finding Bill through continued, unofficial, searching. With lack of initial success, that interest has turned into obsession. He has conned convinced a number of others into joining him on repeated return trips to JTNP searching for Bill. The usual pattern in some ridiculously long, hot (or bloody cold), arduous off-trail hike through difficult terrain, ending in all of us being depressed at yet another failed search. Spirits are slightly improved by lunch at Pappy & Harriet’s in Pioneertown, but Tom swears he’s out of ideas. He’ll then go home and stare at Google Earth (which I swear has some kind of hypnotic effect on him) and, within days, we’ll get the dreaded email “I have ideas!” One or more of us will agree to his half-baked plan and another hike will be scheduled.
His plans are generally carefully researched and sound plausible. My one quibble would be that what looks passable terrain on Google Earth is not always easily passable when faced with harsh, on-site, topographic reality, but I’ve fallen victim to the same thing in my own planning, so it’s not always his fault. Plus, I keep going on his ridiculous hikes, so who’s the real fool? Pete Carlson seems to always be willing to go, but he’ll go on any hike, the longer and more brutal the better. Paul seems to simply like getting outdoors and the camaraderie. We all seem to develop selective amnesia after each hike, forgetting how bad the last one was.
The simple truth is that we all have a strong background in search and rescue, all enjoy a good hike, and all love the desert, particularly in beautiful Joshua Tree. And Pappy & Harriets is a balm to sooth all wounds.
The Death March
With 26 previous trips behind us (JT26 having been in June), Tom had come to believe that Bill might well be in Smithwater Canyon, or the southerly slopes thereof. And thus Tom began planning what would later universally be referred to as “The Smithwater Death March”. Tom’s version of this misadventure can be found here.
Hiking in JT in July is not wise. We knew this, but we take precautions. We carried 5-6 liters of water each, had numerous electronic devices that could summon help (satellite phone, personal locator beacons, etc), and are all four quite experienced in desert travel. Still, this one kicked our asses.
We left from Covington Flats trail head and hiked to the head of Smithwater. Shortly after, we climbed the southerly ridge, each following a GPS route carefully created by Tom, but not before spotting a huge cat track. Smithwater has water, if not much of it. Where there is water in JT, there are bighorn sheep. Where there are sheep, there are cats. Big ones. Each individual climb was steep, rugged, and exhausting. Pete scampered up his route with his usual nimbleness. We gathered for a bite to eat at the top, then worked east to what has become on of my favorite spots in JT – a rocky knoll with a spectacular view of Gorgonio, San Jacinto, and Rabbit peaks, as well as the Salton Sea.
Things got ugly from there. As we moved down into Smithwater the temps were hitting the low nineties. Paul dropped his GPS, but was miraculously able to find it by doubling back. Tom had the four of us each descend a separate rocky chute into the canyon, and that took the last of my good spirits. Hitting the canyon bottom below the two willow patches, I was spent. We still had the entire canyon to negotiate, it was stifling, and we had left any breeze up on the ridge.
The worse the conditions get, the cheerier and more talkative Pete gets, as he always wants everyone to have a good time. As we climbed up the canyon, Pete got downright chatty. Getting past the two patches of willows was dreadful. Finally we stopped for a rest when we had past the willows and, as I frequently do, I managed to drop one of Tom’s FRS radios. Paul, who had not had a great day so far, stooped to pick it up and gashed his forehead on an Acacia. By the time he stood up he had blood running down his face. It was that kind of day.
We finally made it out and Paul bought us all a late lunch at Pappy and Harriets. This was, without doubt, the craziest hike Tom had ever planned. Even he admitted that.
First Quote Of The Day: Acknowledging that Tom’s latest absurd adventure is typically first announced in an email that starts out with “I’ve been thinking…,” about 1/2 way through the Death March, Paul announced “I won’t be needing email from you anytime soon, Tom.”
Second Quote Of The Day: Tom, fully acknowledging this was trip was ridiculous even by his warped standards, “When you see big horn sheep, you know you’re in the middle of Bumm Fuck Nowhere.”