My Great Adventure

Crossing Snow Field, Targhee National Forest, Summer, 1978

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In May of 1978, deep snow made the road to the North Teton Canyon trailhead impassable for the pickup truck we were in, so we hopped out of the bed and started the adventure by slogging through the snow for about a mile to our first campsite.

Paul Petzoldt, the legendary mountaineer, was instructing a six-week wilderness leadership course and I was a student. Twelve strangers and novices to the wild outdoors had been thrown together to learn navigation, expedition behavior, sanitation, nutrition, field natural history, environmental ethics, and leadership.

For warmth, we wore wool; for climbing, we used gold line; for food, we ate old-school expedition style, that is to say rations were selected and calculated at two pounds and 3000 calories per person per day.  Our food bags (and what we ate for the coming weeks) were defined by what we weighed and repackaged from bulk bins into plastic bags in an old and dusty warehouse in Victor, Idaho.  We packed our food two days before heading into the backcountry: flour: (wheat and white), rice (brown and white), milk (dried), potatoes (instant), oats, peanuts, raisins, tea, sugar (brown and white), baking powder, margarine, cooking oil, and spices… lots of spices, like salt, black pepper, red pepper flakes, chili powder, garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, cumin, and cinnamon. 

It snowed often… heavy and wet; we crossed steep snow fields... stained pink with watermelon algae; we navigated on and off trails from glacial valley to glacial valley, climbed unnamed rock, broke camp every day to develop efficiencies, and, we cooked.  Of course, there were spats and reconciliations, and together we learned how to navigate the backcountry and each other.

Contrary to the backpacking philosophy of ‘watch the ounces and the pounds will take care of themselves,’ (an ethos made popular by Colin Fletcher in his excellent book “The Complete Walker”), Petzoldt’s attitude seemed to be:  ‘If you need it, bring it.  What’s another couple of ounces?’  Our frame packs weighed at least 80 pounds; some were more.  Interestingly enough, his pack was light as he carried only a tarp, sleeping bag, cup and a spoon.  At night, he would set up his camp away from the group, then wander over to ours with cup and spoon in hand and declare, in his booming bass voice spiced with a manufactured cowboy twang and wry grin that lit his face: “Saaay…. That smells pretty gooood.”  There was plenty of food for all, and we ate well.  Hunger is the best chef.

Petzoldt led quietly, allowing the “leader of the day” to make decisions and deal with the consequences.  Rarely would his voice be heard.  But when he needed to get a point across—the canyons reverberated as he spoke.  Most of the time, however, he would quietly inquire why someone had done something earlier in the day.  “Why’d you do that?” he’d ask while standing around a campfire so all could hear.  He’d listen to the answer and, more often than not… look down, nod, and quietly say “OK.” He needed to know the ‘why’ behind an action.  He wanted to know people were exercising good judgment when making decisions.  Judgment was essential to Paul; for him, it was the essence of leadership.

Anyway: I returned from the six-week expedition a better leader and outdoorsman, having learned I am a decent but not a cutting-edge woodsman.  I liked and was a capable mountaineer, but I read guidebooks and stayed on existing routes.  I liked technical climbing, but could only lead 5.8.  Nonetheless, I regularly bouldered, challenged myself to do hard problems, was safe, generally operated at my limit, occasionally scared myself, and always had fun.  

I bought my first 11mm climbing rope (perlon) in 1978 along with a couple of stoppers, webbing and ‘biners; I had very little money and bought what I could—one piece at a time. I bought my first Patagonia fleece (pullover) in 1979; it accompanied me to Alaska (kayaking and mountaineer), Idaho & Wyoming (mountaineering), as well as Maine & New York (mountaineering and canoeing).  I use it still, and, now and then, someone with a discerning eye will notice its age.  My kids notice it fits me snuggly.

But my time with Petzoldt and the subsequent backcountry and climbing trips do not define my great adventure.

My great adventure is defined by my marriage of 35 years, raising my two sons, and making my way in a world that doesn’t seem to value what I value—nature, peace, and kindness.

And now there’s a granddaughter.  Whenever she sees me she says “ah-yah”--- which means “outside,” and more to the point: “Take me outside.” Since her earliest days, I would take her outside to give my “kids” a break, and I would let her touch sticks, rocks and flowers. I showed her birds and squirrels and clouds.  No matter if it was warm or cold, we went ‘ah-yah.’  While walking in a marsh, she saw her first deer with me and, recently, we wandered toward a flock of turkeys and an aggressive Tom was none-to-happy about our approach and he made that clear to me.  I wear her on my back and she smiles.  So do I.

I love the outdoors and, since retirement, spend more time walking in the woods with my granddaughter. And, so, my great adventure continues.

Mitch Sakofs

April, 2018

Paul Petzoldt watching me talk about coiling a 150 feet of gold line.

Summer, 1978

Targhee National Forest, Wyoming

My granddaughter and me in a parking lot just after birding by the shore.

Winter, 2018

Connecticut