I planned two highpoint trips for early August, funded by a $400 payday at one of the local Indian casinos outside of Phoenix. A week ago I hiked Mount Elbert in Colorado, then spent a week boiling in the Phoenix heat before flying again to Las Vegas, where I was met by my friend Kelly (Whitney, 1992), who had driven up from Southern California. Together we drove up US-95 and worked our way toward the highpoint via the little town of Dyer, finally leaving pavement and following a decent dirt road into Trail Canyon. About a dozen miles in we came upon some nice camp areas late in the afternoon. Our neighbor was a guy named Steve and he was planning to hike Boundary the next morning (as was everyone here in the canyon), so we decided to form into an ad-hoc team of three for the hike.

We awoke early the next morning, with Steve piling into the truck with us (me driving), and we headed up about a mile or so toward the clearing that serves as the unofficial trailhead. Instead, Steve suggested a right turn, which I followed, gaining up some very iffy mine roads and getting higher and higher up, farther from our objective. I think he had an idea there was a shortcut from here, but after a few minutes I decided to go no further. I had to make a u-turn of about 20 points to turn the truck around - having both Kelly and Steve outside to direct me. We drove back down to the trailhead, maybe now about 30 minutes off our schedule.

The trail is weak and beaten lightly into the sage brush and occasional stands of small trees - probably put in naturally by the occasional cattle than by humans. Whatever path we followed always degenerated into nothing, then a new path would materialize a few feet away. In short, it was mostly us making our own way. Kelly and I stayed high while Steve hiked within Trail Creek itself. A small stream was still running but the creek was wide and mostly rocks, shrubs and grassy areas. He called us down suggesting it was more open, so we decided to give it a try. Quickly the brush was a problem and Kelly and I decided to get right back onto the surer banks, but in coming to the banks I stepped into quicksand - Holy smokes! That was a first for me and totally unexpected! It looked like a grassy tuft of ground, but as soon as I put my foot on it it went in, swallowing my leg up to me knee, and that was without me even trying. Fortunately I had my other leg on solid ground, so with Kelly's assistance and that of some nearby branches I was able to extract my leg from the goo, which had the consistency of concrete. My leg was black and mud from the knee down. I was able to scrape off most of it, but my shoe and sock were wet and going to stay that way, I guess. What a creepy experience! After that, the three of us left the creek bottom and stayed up on the slopes, picking our way through the knee-high sage. In time we had gained onto the broad Trail Canyon Saddle, the main saddle just north of Boundary Peak. We figured maybe 2 miles to here in about 90 minutes, with good weather. We took a break, and watched some wild horses congregate on the slopes to our north, watching us back.

From this saddle we found a use trail snaking up the slopes heading south. The brush here was light and quickly gave way to vast fields of talus and scree, with little pockets of grass and wildflowers the only variation. The use trail was easy to follow but it was very steep and loose, and quite narrow. We simply huffed and puffed, aiming for a distinct notch off in the distance. Some gaiters would have been a good idea as my boots constantly got little rocks in them. The only thing I could do was turn out my socks over the tops of my shoes. This stretch proved to be kind of tedious due to the constant slipping and sloppy footing. In any case we came upon the notch where we took another break. From here we could now see Boundary Peak. First, though, I had to perform some stomach enfoodination.

After a short break we all took off again. The route from here looked simple enough: the sketchy trail hugged some steep slopes and angled up to the high saddle below Boundary, then from there it looked like some rock-hopping up to Boundary itself. The three of us strung out on this stretch. Steve had forged on ahead while Kelly and I inadvertantly worked our way more across the talus than up - it was getting quite frustrating! But we were closer than we thought. Kelly had scampered up about 20 feet ahead of me and reported the top was in view. And after a few minutes, we came walking up, Steve already there enjoying the sights. We spent about 20 minutes on top of Nevada, enjoying the views. The day was very lovely all around. Notably, we spotted a much higher peak with much more heinous rock traverses and ridges - but luckily for us wimps this was inside California. We had reached our objective and we all felt pretty proud of ourselves. Then we started down - and the fun was only beginning!

The three of us picked our way down to the high saddle easily enough, me in the lead and Kelly and Steve not far behind. When they had reached the saddle I started down the trail back toward the notch, figuring they were right behind me. But looking back I didn't see them. Instead of looking harder, I instantly figured - for whatever stupid reason - that they had decided to take the eastern scree slopes down (which some people have done and what Steve had suggested at one point). So, frankly, I panicked a little, and figured those idiots, leaving me by myself to go catch up to them. So I started to hustle ... and in the process, took a spill which didn't hurt me but popped a pretty good hole in my gallon jug of water. I was still above Trail Canyon Saddle, two miles out to the trailhead, but had no option other than to drink all my water now, lest it all run out (lesson: keep my water in smaller, sturdier bottles in my pack). So this is what I did. Then I started the hike back to the trailhead, all the while figuring I'd meet up with them. And I started to get dehydrated myself. I never did see them, and when I finally walked back to the truck I was (a) thirsty as hell, and (b) freaked out as to where Kelly and Steve were. I handled problem (a) easily enough, and asked some campers if they'd seen my two fellow hikers, and no one had.

So I decided to hike back in, carrying more water, hoping to meet up with them. Within minutes there they were, and we all followed our meeting with 'where the hell were you?' and 'why the heck did you run off', and things like that. Kelly, in a word, was furious with me, and I can't say I blamed her. They had been behind me the whole time, and I just hadn't seen them, nor thought to look back to see if they were there. I had just assumed they had taken the other route down. We were able to convince one another we were all okay and that it was all one big honest f***-up, mostly mine. So we drove back to Steve's truck, and said our farewells, only to discover Steve's truck wouldn't maintain an idle unless he gunned the engine - to drive out he had to keep it at high RPMs and govern his movements with his brakes. So we followed him down the dirt road back to the highway, where things seemed to improve for him. He went north toward Reno, us south back to Vegas.

You can imagine by now the feelings that were floating around the cab of our truck as we drove along the lonely highways in the dusk and dark. Kelly was very upset, and I felt like an ass. This was tempered by the feeling of a successful ascent, but weighted with a bunch of mistakes and wrong turns. And I had no excuse. I effed-up, and all I could do was agree that I had. So there we were, having a 'spirited conversation' as we drove along the highway back to Lida Junction, when we surmounted a rise - only to see a whole boatload of cattle just standing in the road! No time to stop - it was either hit the m-f beasts or swerve to avoid them - in the dark. Somehow I did the latter. I don't know what I did, but the cattle had arranged themselves in a perfect zig-zag and I threaded the needle. We stopped just past them and just sat there dumb-founded and utterly surprised we weren't now in a tangle of metal and meat. Dammit we got lucky there! We still had about 40 miles of unfenced ranegeland before heading back to US-95, and every shadow was a potential cow ... we took it slow and I was super-aware of the animals. To make matters worse, rabbits would sometimes run into the road and I would skid to a stop or just go right over them - most of the time. Two or three times we heard the sickening sploosh of a bunny getting flattened, and of course Kelly helped by calling me a rabbit-murderer (I think she meant this 49% seriously, 51% joking). Finally, back on US-95, we had an easy drive back to Las Vegas, arriving about 10 in the evening.

New problem: no hotel rooms. In Vegas, no less. We tried some of the bigger hotels near the strip (just off the strip they tend to be a bit cheaper), but no one could rent us a room. Do all rooms sell out during a weekend? I had to wonder if our appearances - all sweaty and dirty from a day in the hills - caused them to summarily refuse us. We had no leverage. We tried littler chains with no luck, and finally found a place nearer downtown. The room was awful: the floor was all greasy - the whole place was a dump. But the shower worked and the toilet flushed, so we cleaned up and went out for a very late dinner, intending to spend a slittle time at the hotel as possible. We ended up sleeping on top the covers in our own bags. I had an early flight the next morning, so we were out of there by 6 a.m. for my flight and Kelly's drive back to SoCal. What a weekend! As happy as I was to make the summit it was a hugely humbling experience and underscored just how much I didn't know about the little things of hiking - like common sense and keeping a cool head. Fortunately the flight home was uneventful, and Kelly's drive was as well.