Tuesday, August 19

As one can imagine Mike R. and Dan slept in some after the previous night’s escapades.  Danny, Mike & Lisa headed off early for Ward Mountain Lake, a mere 6 miles distant, where “the trout practically jump into the creel.”  The rest of us kicked around camp as I recounted what little I had gleaned from Mike and Dan as they set up camp earlier in the morning.

Around noon Mike R., Dan, Dean and Gary headed down to Rich & Doug to contemplate things again.  Tyler, Scott & I stayed back to fetch water for the evening showers.  Mike has a trick setup for taking nice, hot showers, albeit military style.  Nevertheless, any opportunity to get cleaned up in the wilderness is thankfully accepted.  Water gathering accomplished, the boys & I meandered on down to see how things were progressing.

Over the course of the day, Mike succeeded in replacing the bearing on his spare third member with the bearing from Rich’s toasted pinion, without the benefit of a bearing puller, nor a press.  However, he ran out of shims, and couldn’t get the third member set up well.  We (OK, “they”) set Rich up in front wheel drive.  On Wednesday, Gary & I would assist him out the way we had come in.  The rest of the Varmints were going to hang out at Thompson Lake one more day, then proceed along the rest of the trail.  Danny, Mike and Lisa returned with a creel full of trout which seemed to make the 3-1/2 hour hike (each way!) worthwhile.

Wednesday, August 20

We began the trip back to civilization with some trepidation.  The trip up Thompson hill had been no piece of cake.  To increase the challenge, we would be shepherding a slightly disadvantaged, rather heavy rig down.

Gary & I started the ½ mile crawl to Rich’s vehicle about 10:00, to a chorus of “good lucks” from our fellow wheelers, who promised to monitor our progress on the CB and give us a hand if need be.  We arrived at the TLC, glad to have the first bit of the hill behind us.  It seems like getting the first few obstacles under the belt relieves some of the pre-wheeling jitters.  We formed our caravan --  Gary at the front, Rich in the middle, me bringing up the rear, and began our assault on the ten miles of the Dusy that we had recently traversed.  It had taken us a bit over six hours of off-roading to get where we were; Rich and Gary surmised that it could be ten hours down.

We made remarkable progress down Thompson Hill.  The obstacles that hindered Monday’s climb were much easier with gravity on our side.  At the bottom of Thompson Hill, we had trouble quelling our optimism, for it didn’t seem to take much time, and only a couple of pushes plus one strap backwards for Rich to manage the descent.  That was great, but Gary reminded us of the uphill parts of the trail that lay ahead.  Lacking his memory for the trail, I pondered whether we might be down in time for me to head back to  a soft San Jose bed that afternoon.

One thing I noticed, following Rich, was how ingrained our driving habits become.  Rich, like any good off-roader, puts his tires on larger obstacles to keep them from damaging anything crucial underneath.  As he approached large rocks, his front tire would go up and over, followed by his back tire.  However, in some cases, the traction on the other side of the obstacle would be inadequate, and when his rear tire came up against the rock, the front would start spinning.  This would require (in order of preference) either backing up to reposition the rig to scoot just around the obstacle, a heavy duty push to help get over the rock, stacking a few rocks to ramp the rear tire over the obstacle, or a strap from Gary..

We stopped for lunch a couple hours later, having continued our encouraging progress.  Rich needed help up some of the climbs, but the trail had generally been kind to us.  Between me and the boys pushing and hooking up Gary’s strap, we had put a couple of miles between us and Thompson hill.  The view from the ridge we chose was awesome.  Several granite domes dotted the mountains to the south.  One of them had to be the one we camped below the first night, although my newly acquired GPS receiver indicated that it was yet several miles away.  A brief lunch, topped with some double-filling Oreo cookies courtesy of Rich, and we were on our way again.

The trip continued rather uneventfully, until we came to one of the last stream crossings.  This required a descent down to the creekbed, then a short climb up the opposite bank, over a large tree root and a quick turn to the left around the root’s tree.  This proved too much for the TLC and its front wheel drive.  We gave up after the first attempt left the TLC short of the tree root.  Scott hooked Rich to Gary, who was up around the tree while I waited across the creek.  Gary started pulling, Rich got his front axle over the root, then got his left front tire pulled straight into the gnarly mass at the base of the tree.  A sickening “PFFFFT” broke through the sound of straining engines.  Rich had blown a bead.

This was indeed a predicament.  Rich’s TLC was in a precarious position with the front axle on top of the root and the rear axle barely touching the ground below and behind the root.  To top it off, Rich carries a 31” spare – we would have to change the spare to the front, then find a flat spot to rotate it with one of the full size rear tires.  We pulled out Rich’s Hi-Lift and a bottle jack and went to work.

Did I describe the TLC’s position as precarious?  Untenable would probably be more descriptive.  We started by having Scott sit in the cab & press as hard as he could on the brake pedal.  No good – the vehicle started to shift as we began jacking it up.  I went in next, maybe my legs were longer & stronger.  Not a chance – the rig just wasn’t going to sit still.  Finally, we gave up on the brake, pulled out a come-along, strapped the front bumper to a nearby tree and snugged it up.  While we weren’t real happy with this situation, it seemed to hold.  Gary & Rich jacked up the left front of the vehicle, but even at full height the wheel wasn’t coming off.  I tried sitting on the right front fender, hoping to compress that side enough to lift the tire a bit more – some improvement, but not enough.  We were definitely in a pickle.

We stared at our predicament for a few minutes, when Rich asked if maybe we could reseat the bead.  “If Mike was here, we could definitely do it,” was Gary’s comment. We were skeptical because the only air sources we had were his little ARB compressor and my wimpy K-Mart special.  Nevertheless, the alternatives were less desirable, so Gary fired up his compressor and began the attempt.

It was quite the ordeal.  I had the easy task of sitting on the hood to keep some weight off the offending tire (tough job, huh?).  Gary and Rich pulled and pushed on the tire to try and get it set up to at least hold air.  Every so often they stopped to let the overworked ARB cool down.  This went on for about 40 minutes with Gary hugging the tire to try to get the bead to pop, Rich pushing on it and me sitting there with my butt growing numb.  Finally, Gary & Rich stood up.  The tire was holding air, the upper half had reseated, but the lower part wouldn't.  As we were contemplating our next move, a loud “POP” broke the conversation, and we started cheering!  We had succeeded in reseating the bead with the little ARB compressor.  We aired Rich’s tires up to about 11-12 pounds (he had been running 8-9), strapped him over the offending root while pulling with the come-along to keep him away from the tree, and headed across the trail again.

The next couple hours we spent winding through trees, up the occasional incline (which usually required a tug on the strap to get the TLC through), and were remarkably uneventful.  We were thankful for that, given the episode with the blown bead.  Some six or seven hours after pulling out of camp atop Thompson Hill, we arrived at the Dusy Meadow campsite.  I was relieved, thinking that since it only took Gary & I forty minutes to get in, it couldn’t be that bad getting out.  Famous last words.

The first little bit out of Dusy Meadows was uneventful.  Over a creek, up a very mild incline.  Rich spun his tires a bit, but managed the ascent under his own power.  Then the trail started getting rockier, looser, and ever so slightly steeper.  It was enough to provide all the challenge we expected earlier.

As I mentioned about our initial trip from Chicken Rock to Dusy Meadow,  it’s a mild, steady descent along a trail characterized by loose gravel and the occasional boulder.  Well, on the way from Dusy Meadow to Chicken Rock, it’s a mild, steady ASCENT along the trail, and the loose gravel is death on front wheel drive vehicles.  It’s also death on a four wheel drive vehicle trying to tow a front wheel drive vehicle.  And it’s even difficult for TWO four wheel drive vehicles trying to tow a front wheel drive vehicle.

This section started out tamely enough.  We hit a mild ascent, Gary got up it.  Rich tried and failed.  He just couldn’t keep from spinning a wheel, even in second gear.  I went up and gave him a push – no luck.  Scott hopped out of the CJ and hooked the strap up, Gary pulled, Rich followed.  Tree roots across the trail – forget about it.  He’d get a tire on one, and that would be the end of forward progress.  I’d push, Gary would pull, the TLC would make forward progress.

This went on for a bit, then the real fun began!  The last 1-1/2 miles of trail are a constant uphill grind through loose gravel.  We had four tow straps, and used them in every imaginable configuration.  ½ strap, 20’ strap, 30’ strap, 20’ AND 30’ strap – whatever it took to get the CJ onto footing firm enough to pull up the TLC..  The boys were busy, running back and forth.  I got the chance to get intimate with Gary’s exhaust as we constantly swapped tow straps & configurations.

Finally, we hit a stretch of trail where the only firm footing for the CJ was up around a slight bend, a good 70’ or so above the TLC.  Gary & I went to plan B.  We had Rich back into a small turnout, and I guided the XJ around him and part way up the hill.  We put a strap between the TLC and the XJ, then strapped the XJ to the CJ using two interconnected straps.  Gary pulled.  I pulled.  Progress was extraordinarily slow, because Rich was trying to negotiate through a nasty section of trail that included several rocks that really wanted to eat our diffs.  Eventually, with some rock stacking and spotting help from the boys, we coaxed the TLC through this section.  We decided to run in this configuration for a while – CJ followed by XJ followed by TLC.

This worked well for a while.  The XJ, with its longer wheel base, greater weight and automatic transmission had a somewhat easier time pulling the TLC when necessary.  Nevertheless, there were more than a few sections that again required the combined efforts of the CJ and the XJ to get the TLC to firmer footing.  As Gary characterized it to Mike when he hailed us to check our progress, “we were fighting for inches.”  Too true.

Around 7:00 we finally reached the summit of Chicken Rock.  Atop the hill were a variety of rigs and owners, sitting around enjoying the view.  Looking down the “path” was no where near as intimidating as looking up, and the three vehicles easily managed the descent.  We were finally off the trail, although there was still about a ¾ mile trek back to pavement, which required a couple of tugs by the CJ to get the lame TLC back to civilization.

We spent the night at Trapper Cove campground which, unlike Voyager Rock, has running water.  We arrived around 8:00, leaving enough time to set up camp, snarf down a quick dinner and dispose of the trash we had dutifully packed out of the wilderness.  Afterwards, five weary four wheelers hit the hay.

Epilogue

We hit the road about 9:30 in the morning.  I hustled on ahead to make my date in San Jose.  After a brief scare with smoking front brakes, I got home in time to catch a nap before my obligation.

Gary gassed up and headed back in to catch up with the rest of the Varmints, determined to traverse the whole trail.  He met up with them atop Thompson Hill around 1:30 Thursday afternoon (after a brief episode with a busted starter tooth, repaired courtesy of Mike R’s handy die grinder), and was back home at 11:00 Friday night – living proof that it is possible to drive the trail in two days!  His opinion is that after Thompson Hill the trail is pretty much a snooze, although the scenery is gorgeous.  But the trail is akin to old Forest Service roads that are too rutted to go very fast, too smooth to be very exciting.  His advice – drive up to Thompson Lake, make camp for a while and head back down.  There’s plenty of nearby lakes and scenery to enjoy.

Rich?  Well, he gassed up and gingerly headed back home.  Unfortunately his transfer case gave it up just outside of Chowchilla, he caught a ride back with a tow truck.  But his Cruiser will be ready for another assault on the Dusy in the not too distant future!

By the way, I referenced my new toy, a Garmin 12XL GPS receiver.  Very cool, and useful.  Indicates that the speedometer is pretty accurate with 4.11 gears with 33” tires on an XJ 4.0L automatic.  For people so inclined here are my GPS coordinates for the Dusy.  I wish I had more, but I was a bumbling neophyte on this trip, and busy helping a friend get home.

 Base of Chicken Rock:    N    37.06.331
                                        W 118.57.696
 Dusy Meadows:              N     37.07.167
                                        W  118.57.950
 Thompson Lake:             N    37.12.142
                                       W   118.57.621