Whinger and Whipper take a Walk: a Draft Horse Bedtime Story.

Draft Horse was drained. Pooped. Fatigued. Out of gas. Knackered. Done like a dog’s dinner. Her immunity had been insulted by an important injection. She was languishing lazily in Whare Manu, her alpine abode. Winter was coming, the leaves were falling, and the fire crackled in the corner with Captain the Cat curled cozily on a cushion. Outside, however, Sierra Sun shone, warming the air with a swan song of the summer spent that was sure to be short-lived.

“Draft Horse, you cannot let the day waste away!” cried Whipper. “You must get out!”

“But you are too tired, you must rest and recover!” contradicted Whinger.

Whinger and Whipper were Draft Horse’s Constant Companions. But they were always quibbling and quarreling and could NEVER agree.

“Only one more Munro day to reach your goal,” Whipper enthused, alluding to the mighty measures of her Caledonian friends, MacFaff and Meep, Munros being pointy peaks of a certain size in the homeland. “You will rejoice in attaining this audacious ambition!”

“You will regret this inadvisable adventure, more like it!” answered Whinger.

Draft Horse pondered and she wondered. She dillied and she dallied. Finally, with a surrendering sigh, she heaved herself up. It was time to tootle.

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So soon they set off around the shores of Wit-sa-nap, the great dent in the ground, and up a colorful canyon with writhing rock walls. 

Wit-sa-nap, Convict lake

Convict Canyon features ancient sedimentary and metamorphic rock (500-260 million years old) that lies on top of the Sierra granite. 

Suddenly Draft Horse’s tippy toes became tangled and she slumped and thumped forward, knocking knees and roiling wrists. Her noggin nearly smacked a stone.

“Oh bother!” exclaimed Draft Horse.

“I told you that you would regret this inadvisable adventure,” tutted Whinger in a rather smug tone. “You should head home!”

“Oh pick yourself up, you clumsy lummock, you won’t rejoice in attaining your audacious ambition unless you forge forward,” chastised Whipper.

Draft Horse inspected her injuries. It appeared that primarily pride was wounded and that amputation was avoided. With a surrendering sigh, she heaved herself up.

 It was time to tootle. As she lumbered and lurched upwards, her legs lagging, the shiny sleeve of her cherished coat was grabbed Bristly Bush who gashed open a gaping tear. An explosion of fabulous filmy feathers floated and fluttered in the air.

“Oh bother!” exclaimed Draft Horse.

“That’s another reason to regret attempting this inadvisable adventure,” snarked Whinger. “You should head home!”

“Jacket schmacket. What are you? A clothes horse or a drafthorse?” chided Whipper. “You can still forge forward and attain your audacious ambition.”

Draft Horse examined the damage. She rooted about in her rucksack, retrieved a roll of tacky tape, and repaired the rent sleeve. With a sad sigh (for it truly was her favorite jacket, so splendidly light and gorgeously green), she heaved herself up. It was time to tootle. After a time, she reached a point where once had stood a burly bridge crossing the raging river. 

After the massive snow year, this river had only just become safely passable in October.

However, the burly bridge was busted. Crossing was now a tossup – splashing or springing. It was chilly in the hills and wading in the frigid flow would freeze her tender tootsies. On the other hand, a lengthy leap over wild white water was not an appealing deal for a Draft Horse either.

“Oh bother!” exclaimed Draft Horse.

“Either way, you could take a dunk in the drink. Then you would regret this inadvisable adventure,” opined Whinger. “You should head home!”

“Tish tosh. What are you? Man or mouse? It’s only a little leap - deploy your extra legs!” bullied Whipper. “One brave bound and you will be off to attain your audacious ambition”.

Draft Horse scouted the scary step. She positioned her poles perfectly and bounded from boulder to boulder, bypassing the busted burly bridge. With a relieved sigh, she heaved herself up the opposite bank. It was time to tootle. But soon the trail grew treacherous and trippy, the paltry path perched precariously on a shifty scree slope high above the raging river. 

The improving trail about the washed-out sketchy section - no photos of the nasty bits

She reached an eroded runnel that had washed out the way forward. A few steps on a rocky outcrop led to some steep and sketchy scree to be crossed before the trail was regained.

“Oh bother!” exclaimed Draft Horse.

“You could stumble on the crumbly rock and take a rumbling tumble all the way down, down, down to the rushing river. That would be the end of your inadvisable adventure,” warned Whinger. “You should go home!”

“Oh phooey, you namby-pamby baby! Rattle your dags and just get on with it,” prodded Whipper. “Several slippery steps are the only thing stopping you from attaining your audacious ambition!”

Draft Horse surveyed the slippery scree.  Extremely elegantly, she dropped to her derrière and scooched safely down the rocky outcrop, simply skirting the sketchy steps. “Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Whipper,” she muttered. With a satisfied sigh, she heaved herself up onto the trail. It was time to tootle.

Looking back down the canyon

 On and on she went, working her way towards the first of a duo of lady lakes, Mildred.

“Mildred must be almost adjacent,” she thought, feeling frightfully fatigued. She plopped down on a perfectly placed plank to peer at her piece of paper with a picture of the path. She moaned - it might be miles until Mildred materialized!

“Oh bother!” cursed Draft Horse.

“Your legs are lagging, your tummy is in turmoil, and your dome feels dreadful. You should end this inadvisable adventure,” whined Whinger “You should go home!”

“For the love of Pete, you pathetic, pitiful pony! Pick up the pace!” goaded Whipper, mercilessly. “How else will you attain your audacious ambition?”

But it was nearly noon and her tummy was rumbling so Draft Horse decided to dine without delay despite disappointingly not reaching her destination. Eventually, with a satiated sigh, she heaved herself up. It was time to tootle. Scarcely several short seconds later, she rounded a mound of ground and found…. Mildred!

Lake Mildred from above

“You nincompoop! You ninny! You nitwit!” whooped Whipper with a great guffaw.

“You dolt! You dunce! You dunderhead!” wailed Whinger. “You should DEFINITELY go home!” But then she started to giggle giddily. And so did Draft Horse. Soon the three of them were rolling on that mound of ground in ridiculous glee.

“Oh we are a lot of Silly Billies, aren’t we?” chuckled Draft Horse.

And she DID go home. But not before forging forward to the second lady lake, Dorothy, at which the scenery was splendid, dominated by a summit of scarlet slate with a great gash of a gully, and at which she attained the audacious ambition of a 20^th Munro day.

Lake Dorothy and the Sierra Crest, Red Slate Mountain to the left.

Red Slate Mountain and its infamous coloir above Lake Mildred

Back at her alpine abode, the dreadfully drained Draft Horse dropped to the floor, flopping and drooping.

“Are you regretting your perversity in attempting that inadvisable adventure?” enquired Whinger.”

“Are you rejoicing in your perseverance in attaining that audacious ambition?” countered Whipper?

“Thank you for your perspectives,” replied Draft Horse. “But neither of you are on the nose. Both of you are right and both of you are wrong. Today was a mixed bag! And now, kindly quit quibbling and quarreling, my Constant Companions, for I am going to bed.”

A very very late wildflower.

Way Too Wicked Peak and the Return of Mountain Goat

Mountain Goat and Draft Horse were really nothing alike. In fact, they were opposites. Mountain Goat was teeny tiny; Draft Horse was large and lumpy. Mountain Goat was endlessly energetic; Draft Horse was partial to naps. Mountain Goat danced and pranced; Draft Horse bumbled and stumbled. Mountain Goat was ALWAYS changing her mind; Draft Horse was ALWAYS saying "Are you SURE that's a good idea, Mountain Goat?" To which Mountain Goat would ALWAYS respond "Oh Draft. Horse, You're so SENSIBLE!"  

Shooting Star

"I'm back! " Mountain Goat's excited face peered in the glass door of Whare Manu, the alpine abode of Draft Horse and MacScramble. She flitted into the living room in a flurry and a flap. It was late. Draft Horse and MacScramble had expected her much earlier but, as usual, Mountain Goat's plans had changed at the very last minute. Still, they were happy to see her and she them. After all, there were adventures awaiting during her short sojourn. Mountain Goat had pined for the pointy peaks of the Great Snowy Mountains while living in the lowlands of Tenny-See. "What should we climb? When can we go?" she enquired excitedly, breathlessly bouncing up and down. Mountain Goat yawned. "It's past my bedtime, let's think about it tomorrow". "Oh Draft Horse, you are so SENSIBLE!" replied Mountain Goat.

Sierra Columbine

A few days later, after a steep scramble in which Mountain Goat gamboled gracefully up the grippy granite that Draft Horse sought to circumvent, and in which Naughty Limber Pine flipped a phone right out of Draft Horse's pocket, they found themselves perched on another Perfect Pointy Peak (PPP).

Wendy scrambles up Hurd Peak from the end of Long Lake

Atop (well almost) Hurd Peak

There, they eyed up an even taller target that Mountain Goat clamored to climb the next day (Draft Horse declined due to desperately needing a nap). Mountain Goat enthused "Oh, how I long to loll and lounge on that lofty pinnacle and ponder the ways of the world!" Draft Horse asked "Are you SURE that's a good idea, Mountain Goat? I think you'd be best bounding back down by 1 PM at the VERY latest. It's many miles down and down and down and Cumulus Cloud may be creeping about. Besides dark descends early these days." "Oh Draft Horse, you are so SENSIBLE!" replied Mountain Goat.

Wendy's next target is Mount Agassiz, centre right on the skyline above the large lake

"I'm back!" Mountain Goat's fatigued face peered in the glass door of Whare Manu the next evening. She stumbled into the living room in a fumble of activity. It was late. Draft Horse and MacScramble had expected her much earlier but as usual Mountain Goat's plans had changed at the very last minute. "I am so, so, so sapped" sighed Mountain Goat, her bouncing now a slouchy slump. "What happened?" enquired Draft Horse. "Well, I lolled and lounged on that lofty pinnacle pondering the ways of the world", replied Mountain Goat. " For how long?" asked Draft Horse.  "Oh, a good two and a half hours. I would've lingered longer but at 2:30PM Cumulus Cloud started to rumble and grumble so I decided to go down and down and down the many miles. I ran in the rain to reach the end as darkness descended". Draft Horse gave her a teensy bit of an exasperated look and humphed a trifle huffily, "Well, there you go! Were you SURE that was a good idea, Mountain Goat?". "Oh Draft Horse, you are so SENSIBLE!" replied Mountain Goat. 

Wendy lounging and lolling on Mount Agassiz, pondering the ways of the world

Pallisades from Mount Agassiz

The next week, they were at it again, winding and weaving their way under cerulean skies up, up, up towards the jaggy backbone of Stegosaurus Ridge, the very spine of the Great Snowy Mountains, where awaited another PPP.  

Up and up and up

As they climbed on that frozen, frosty morn, they saw a few overachiever leaves that were gamely turning gold despite the apparent antipathy of all the other leaves (Draft Horse and Mountain Goat agreed with the other leaves;  surely it could not already be autumn?). 

 

They passed a JAGGL (Just Another Stunning Sierra Lake) and then a YAGL (Yet Another Gorgeous Lake). Or was it a YAGL and then a JAGGL? It was hard to keep track.  

A generic JAGGL. Or perhaps a YAGL.

They paused on pinnacles on separate sides of a chasm, Mountain Goat quite at home on Fatal Fall Rock and Draft Horse woefully wobbly on Knocking Knees Boulder. Mountain Goat waved to Draft Horse but when Draft Horse tried to wave back, she only wobbled more! 

Wendy (top) on Fatal Fall Rock waving to Dallas (bottom) on Knocking Knees Boulder

Eventually, after many hours, they reached the craggy col leading to Stegosaurus Ridge near the PPP. But...alas! alack! The col was not craggy! It was slick with steep, slippery snow! And there was no way around it! Draft Horse scrutinized this sad sight in dreadful dismay. She was lumbering and lurching, stumbling and bumbling. Steep, slick, slippery snow was too much for a Draft Horse!  "Are you SURE that's a good idea, Mountain Goat?" she asked.

Lamarck Col very snowy on the centre ridgeline. Intended summit was Mount Lamarck on the right

Frozen streams and spectacularly suncapped snow up at almost 13,000ft

Draft Horse looked around thoughtfully and spied a snow-free slope leading up to a separate section of Stegosaurus Ridge and to a slightly lower but in no way less perfect PPP. "Mountain Goat, how about this PPP? I think it would be a stupendous and staggering summit. And there is no steep, slick, and slippery snow to slow my limp legs. Would it be an acceptable alternative?" Mountain Goat appeared pensive and pondering.  "Oh, all right.... Draft Horse, you're so SENSIBLE!" she replied. 

The PPP loomed loftily above. "It looks wicked!" exclaimed Mountain Goat. "Way too wicked",  added Draft Horse. And so it was that the slightly lower but in no way less perfect PPP received its name, Way Too Wicked Peak (and a much better name it was too than the one on the map, a tremendously tedious "Peak 13175"). They started up. The rocky and blocky talus was firm and friendly, inviting rambling and scrambling.  Draft Horse approved most emphatically. "I rate this talus a solid A-. In fact, it may even reach the superb status of Dallas Talus!"

Grade A "Dallas Talus" on the way up to the ridge

They climbed and clambered up, huffing and puffing in the thin air, and joyfully jaunting along the wriggly ridge towards Way Too Wicked Peak. 

At one point, Mountain Goat took the high road, skipping along the spindly spine of the wriggly ridge in a most mountain-goaty manner. "Are you SURE that's a good idea, Mountain Goat?" Draft Horse instead slipped and tripped across the safe and secure and steady low road below in the most draft-horsey manner. When their paths met once again at precisely the same point in time, they looked at each other and laughed. "Oh Draft Horse,  you're so SENSIBLE! giggled Mountain Goat. 

On the summit at last! Wendy (L) and Dallas (R)

On the summit at last, it was lunchtime. Draft Horse produced a container of sumptuous sandwiches. Mountain Goat gasped. "What in the world is worrying you?" enquired Draft Horse. Mountain Goat wrung her hands in righteous indignation. "You have employed a seasonally inappropriate container! It is for Christmas and is covered with candy canes and holly and jolly drawings. But it is still September! And, what's more," she added with a rasp of realization, "you are almost entirely attired in Christmas colours!!"  Draft Horse looked down. So she was. She twanged out Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the rubber band holding the lid on the container. 

There were guffaws and giggles as they gazed over the vast vista. There was a prodigious panorama of pointy peaks.  JAGGLs and YAGLs were nestled far below prickly Porcupine Ridge. It was sensational and sublime. 

Mounts Mendel and Darwin of the Evolution Range. Porcupine Ridge is the famed Evolution Traverse

"I would love to lounge and loll longer and ponder the ways of the world", commented Draft Horse. At that moment,  a wild and wily wind whipped around Way Too Wicked Peak. Fingers and noses froze. "Are you SURE that's a good idea, Draft Horse?", asked Mountain Goat, "We must make a move. Time is a tickin'. I do not need to run in the rain to reach the end before dark descends. My limp legs would likely lapse! Let's bounce and bound down and down and down and if there's time, let's loll and lounge at the lake under the Sierra Sun and cerulean skies instead." "Oh Mountain Goat, you're so SENSIBLE!" replied Draft Horse.

And down they darted, two firm friends, one lithe and light-footed and the other shambling and shuffling, the westering sun warming their completely contrasting carcasses.

Lounging and lolling at a lower JAGGL, Lower Lamarck Lake