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CAMPING IN THE
WESTERN MOUNTAINS
9. The Trail
The Trail
Hiking
Keeping the Trail
Lost
THE TRAIL
The trail is what counts. Camp is very well, but too much time is occupied
with housekeeping; the daily objectives, peaks, meadows, lakes, beautiful
campsites, have the final, brief pleasure of achievement; but nothing can
compare with the wonderful sense of freedom, the constantly varied interest, of
travel through mountainous country. Both a good horse and an obedient and well-trained shanks’ mare
[traveling by “shanks’ mare” is traveling on one’s own feet] have their peculiar virtues; even the resistance of a heavy
knapsack has a certain pleasure. In the city the geometrical lines of streets
and buildings are only interrupted with the stale surprises of advertising
posters, and the faces one encounters reveal biographies less eventful than most
rocks. The mountain landscape is infinitely varied and constantly changing.
Movement is free, easy, relaxed; the streams are full of fish, the trees are
full of birds, flowers grow by the trail, deer jump from their coverts, even the
air is intoxicating. It is the fact that we are on our way that is important,
where we are going is a minor detail.
In a sense the trail is the final subject of all this book. I have attempted
to cover the problems of camp life briefly, but in sufficient detail to leave
the actual hiking or riding free from the worst worries and discomforts.
Beginning this chapter, I hope it will be short. I, for one, want no one else’s
words in my head when I am traveling through the mountains. During the rest of
the year we get plenty of advice and admonition in the offices and factories in
which we work.
Camping and mountaineering are a compensation for the inadequacies and
restrictions of modern life, but they should be a relaxing compensation. Too
many people go to the mountains to surpass themselves. In ordinary life their
accomplishments are unsatisfying. On the trail they set themselves difficult
objectives, travel on the strictest schedules, attempt climbs beyond their
strength and skill, push themselves to exhaustion. This process is known by its
practitioners as toughening up. Scientifically it is called a compulsion neurosis,
like touching every other lamppost or stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk.
The latter are at least harmless; driving oneself through the mountains is both
harmful and silly, and turns an experience that should be packed with vital
interest into an unreal exercise.
Take it easy. Maybe you won’t go as far as you planned, maybe there will be
peaks you will have to leave unclimbed, lakes you will have to visit some other
time, but you will enjoy yourself. On the other hand, don’t loaf. Travel a
little every day, or if you lay over, busy yourself exploring the country,
fishing or climbing. If you only make five miles the first day, that is alright.
Lengthen your journey every day, at the end of two weeks you will be covering
fourteen or more miles a day with ease.
Probably you will take a camera. Include a flora (Hall’s Yosemite Flora
is good for the Sierra Nevada, [illegible author’s
name] for the Rockies) and a pocket bird guide. A little information
about the wildlife around you, learning the names of the more common species,
will tremendously increase the interest of the trip. Learn to distinguish the
various wild animals, you may find it convenient someday to be able to tell the
difference between the skunk and a marmot. A knowledge of the different species
of trees is a big help in building campfires. A little geology is helpful too;
if you know how the country was put together, you will be much better able to
cope with it. The more of your experience you have been able to identify, the
more valuable, and the more indelible in the memory, it will be.
Then too, there are books that have nothing to do with camping, and less to
do with the western mountains, that are valuable preparations for a camping
trip. Walton’s Compleat Angler is full of misinformation about fish,
Gilbert White’s Natural History of Selbourne is primitive by modern
standards, Bunyan’s Pilgrim traveled only in his own soul, but I suspect that
these are the three best manuals for camping and woodcraft that will ever be
written. If you can, read them in the winter as you plan your trip. The works of
R.B Cunningham-Graham and W.H. Hudson are more modern and more eventful, but
they have something of the same spirit. Tyndall’s Glaciers of the Alps,
Whymper’s Scrambles Amongst the Alps are classics of the golden age of
mountaineering. Tyndall sometimes calls a spade a geotome, but I suspect, with
his tongue in his cheek. Whymper’s book, now in a new, complete edition, is one
of the world’s great tragic dramas.
[Rexroth later wrote essays on The Compleat Angler,
The Natural History of Selbourne, and Pilgrim’s Progress. See his
two Classics Revisited volumes.]
Daily travel, afoot or “ahorseback” is not the most strenuous sport in the
world, but it does require effort and stamina beyond that demanded by sedentary
jobs. If you are in chronic ill health, continuous travel is not for you. You
will probably be able to stand it, but you may return more tired than when you
started. Get packed in to some high mountain lake and spend your time wandering
over the surrounding country.
However good your health may be, it is wise to visit a doctor for a checkup
before you go. And by all means visit your dentist. A toothache in the mountains
is a maddening thing. Nothing much can be done about it. (The California Indians
used the leaves of the California bay laurel, packed in the tooth or applied to
the gum, but you will probably be higher than the range of the trees.) You just
have to let it ache, and that spoils the trip for you, and doesn’t make it any
too pleasant for anybody else.
Don’t expect to be a Paul Bunyan on the trail if your muscles are completely
undeveloped. If you have the opportunity, use as many holidays and weekends as
you can for short hikes. Overnight trips will give you a chance to try out your
equipment, which is a most wise precaution. If that is impossible, swimming is
probably the best training for both riding and hiking, and of course it has
very great appeal of its own. Every camper should know how to swim. If you can’t
ride, rent a horse and practice in the park, don’t rely on this or any other
book to teach you how to handle a horse. Use a western saddle and learn to “sit
the trot.” Study the Red Cross Textbook on First Aid, even a little practice
with bandages and splints on your family or friends won’t harm you any. Learn
the principal knots. And finally, learn to cook food that can be eaten, even if
you don’t plan to do the cooking. This advice all sounds much like “Join the
Boy Scouts,” but the New Masses notwithstanding, the Boy Scouts have
their points. Their motto is “Be Prepared,” and lack of elementary
preparedness on the trail can lead, if to nothing worse, to considerable
annoyance.
HIKING
Many of the older camping manuals are filled with very solemn discussions of
the merits of the pace of the American Indian as compared with that of the
French poilu, the exact relationship of the pelvis of the portaging
voyageur to his shoulders and feet, and other weighty questions of that ilk.
Personally, I have found such theorizing valueless, or even harmful, in teaching
tenderfeet, however entertaining it may be to experienced hikers. Walk naturally
and easily. Be sure your clothing and pack fit well, your shoes are roomy and
broken in, your heels are low (rubber heels if you are accustomed to them), and
nothing is dangling from you or your pack. Never carry anything on your belt
except a cup, or anything hung around one shoulder. Keep your body relaxed.
The further rules of good hiking are very simple, but they are important, and
for a while it may require a little conscious practice to overcome bad walking
habits. First, the feet should always be placed in as near a straight line as
possible. Imagine you are walking on a narrow board. Second, the heel should
strike first, but never hard, and the ball of the foot should descend
immediately after. Imagine you have round-bottomed feet with springs under the
tips of the toes and are rolling on them. Third, the toes should point very
slightly in. Pronounced pigeon toeing will give very bad balance, any degree of
toeing out is equally bad. Fourth, the feet should always be “picked up”
sufficiently to clear minor obstructions, small rocks and twigs, but should be
lifted no higher than necessary. Continuous stumbling is usually a sign of
fatigue. The famous “Indian pace” dear to the manuals is a sort of glide.
Fifth, if the foot slips, let it slip until it recovers itself naturally. Never
struggle with your feet; this is the secret of successful handling, or rather
footling, of rocky trails. Sixth, the entire body should be loose-jointed and
relaxed, the knees slightly bent and the head and torso slightly forward. The
bend of the knee should be definite, sufficient to allow the sole of the foot to
travel almost horizontally, but should not be overdone. Some European armies
march “sitting down,” this is a rapid tireless pace, but very difficult to
learn. Also, it is better adapted to fairly level terrain. A relaxed bent-knee
stride should swing the legs forward; the upright parade march kicks them ahead.
Such a staccato pace is characteristic of persons suffering from hypertension or
from an exaggerated idea of their own importance. (The two often go together.)
Its extreme form is the German goosestep, used by that army solely for the
purpose of breaking the soldier’s will. Finally, never try to march at an
unvarying pace up hill and down; on the other hand, never run down hill,
particularly with a pack on your back, or creep up hill. Always keep your
momentum completely under control, and strive to develop and easy and effortless
rhythm.
Rest as often as you need to, but don’t malinger, and drink as often as you
want to or can (sometimes not the same thing), but drink only small quantities
of water each time. Most thirst on mountain trails is due to the parching effect
of the dry, rarefied air. Keep your mouth shut. Chewing gum, either of the store
variety or the gum of the lodgepole pine, is a great help. The turpentine taste
of the latter disappears after the first few chews and spits. No other western
tree provides a palatable gum, at least as far as I know. Even a small pebble,
as you have likely read, held in the mouth, will relieve thirst to a measure.
Don’t chew twigs, slivers in your throat can send you home.
If you function normally, you will sweat profusely. Except when the weather is
very warm, chilling must be guarded against during rests and stopovers. Carry a
light sweater in the top of your pack and slip it on when you stop. I usually
travel nude to the waist, and for years I carried a fine Scotch sweater, which
gradually came to consist almost entirely of darning wool, for this purpose.
This winter, with heaviness of soul, I saw it go to the rag bag. Never rest in
deep shade, or in the path of the marrow-chilling breezes that so often blow
down mountain streams. It sounds illogical, but the bright sunlight is by far
the best place to rest, at least until you have dried off a little.
Many people suffer from slight, but continuous, dull headaches for the first
few days on the trail. If you soak your hat and wet your hair in the streams as
you pass, this condition will usually disappear. (Of course, only a good
sombrero will stand such treatment.) Bathing the wrists and hands, and even the
feet, in cold water will also help. Don’t forget, the altitude has increased
your pulse and breathing, and almost doubled your red blood count. Take it easy
until you are acclimated.
If you become careless, you can spend a whole morning packing one animal.
Learn to pack expeditiously, and start early. Always allow plenty of time for
lunch. On hot days it is wise to stop over until two in the afternoon. However,
if such stopovers are spent prostrate on the ground, your muscles will become
stiff and the afternoon trip will be very tiring. After you have rested a
reasonable length of time, fish, swim, or just prospect around.
If you are traveling with several others, keep within speaking distance of
your companions, or wait until you are so before attempting communication. The
experience of a party is in inverse ratio to the number of “you-hoos” it
emits. The quieter you are, the more you will see. Avoid the habit of cutting
ahead for leadership on the trail, it throws the party off its pace. This is very
annoying, and invariably leads to frayed tempers at the end of the day.
Theoretically, the uphill traveler has the right of way, but if you are
courteous, you will get off the trail first. Always allow plenty of room to a
mounted party, horses frighten easily. The leader of a large group should always
keep the pace well under control, and should take special precaution not to
allow too great a speed at the beginning of the day or after a stop. Random fits
of temper and querulousness are common occurrences in groups of any size. If
taken seriously they can be very annoying. It should be borne in mind that, for
the first few days at least, high altitudes produce a sort of mild hysteria in
many people. During severe climbs to great heights, this can become very
pronounced. It is a purely physical phenomenon and there is nothing serious
about it. Let the explosion pass and forget it.
Most mountain streams are crossed only by footlogs. If you keep your eyes off
the water and step briskly, you should soon learn to negotiate them. But if you
have a chronic dread of rushing water, or find it difficult to maintain your
balance, or suffer from vertigo, don’t be foolish; sit down and inch yourself
along. It is wiser to do this, however unaesthetic it may appear to others, than
to wade. Keep your feet as dry as possible.
Never try to walk wet feet dry. If your feet become soaked, take off your
boots, put on a clean pair of socks, or at least wring dry the wet ones, and
wipe out the interior of the boots. If you have to wade in deep water, change to
basketball shoes over sockless feet. Never try to wade barefoot over
rocky-bottomed fords. If the water is higher than the knees and very swift, rope
in. Each member of the party should have twenty-five feet of rope, and it should
be tied securely to their belts. Advance slowly, keeping the rope just tight
enough to sag about a foot. The rope is for emergencies only, don’t use it to
pull yourself along. Each person should have a pole, about six feet long and
stout enough to support him. The poles should be used on the downstream side as
much as possible as [otherwise] they might be washed against the rope. Lean into
the current, not away from it. Never try to ford swift water above your waist.
Hunt for a better crossing or a down log, or fell a crossing log, or ascend the
stream until it narrows sufficiently.
If your feet begin to blister, or your laces are too tight, or a sock has
wrinkled, stop and remedy matters. You can’t walk out of the mountains on your
hands.
* * *
[The brief chapter on “Climbing,” located
somewhat inconsistently here in the manuscript, has been moved to the
next webpage.]
* * *
KEEPING THE TRAIL
The Boy Scout Handbook contains some very pretty pictures, often
reprinted, of various methods of marking the trail, blazes for right and left
turns, tied bunch grass, complicated little mountains of rocks. It is too bad
that few of these ever seem to be used, they would probably be very convenient.
Forest Service trails are uniformly marked with a vertical blaze not less than
eight inches long, cut through the bark into the sapwood, and accompanied by a
smaller horizontal notch cut directly above it. Theoretically, one blaze should
be visible in either direction from any given one. Main Forest Service trails
are blazed on both sides of the tree, visible coming and going. Subsidiary
trails may be blazed on one side only, visible as one advances. Trails in the
National Parks are usually not as well blazed, sometimes only with spot blazes,
parallel with the trail, or with a rare blaze at turns and other points of
possible confusion. Often, where the administration is particularly interested
in conservation of the primitive appearance of the park, they are not blazed at
all. However, all principal trails in the National Parks are very clearly cut,
and the trail itself is sufficient indication.
Where a trail crosses a large meadow and the track is not well defined, its
entrance and exit is often marked by exceptionally large blazes, visible from
either side. At high altitudes, or in other areas devoid of trees, the trail is
marked by small rock monuments called “ducks.” Ducks should be visible both
directions from any one, but such trails often twist and turn through the rocks,
and of course a region covered with talus or broken rock produces plenty of
spontaneous ducks of its own to confuse the unwary. Should the track become lost
in such country it can usually be picked up again by hunting for horse manure
(rock climbing seems to have a pronouncedly laxative effect on stock), horseshoe
scratches, and tracks. Under such circumstances it is wise to leave the stock
standing the moment the trail is lost, and reconnoiter carefully on foot.
Properly built ducks should have the unweathered side of the rocks exposed, if
this has been done and they are not too old, they can easily be distinguished
from accidental piles after a little practice.
If the trail seems hopelessly lost and the country is not otherwise
impassible, it is best to rely on the topographical sheet and proceed very
carefully in the approximate direction. The trail will usually turn up again
after a few minutes. If the route is at all steep, rocky, or dangerous the
animals should be led, and if it is particularly so the only thing to do is to
let them stand and hunt for the trail until you find it.
Most of the mountainous country west of the Continental Divide is fairly
open, and its contours and drainage are well defined. Obtain the USGS
topographical sheets for the region you plan to traverse and study them
carefully. Locate the principal landmarks, high peaks, domes, etc., and form in
your mind a picture of the drainage and the elevation and direction of the
ridges. Keep the map in your hip pocket, and as you go along, locate yourself on
it occasionally. Take a look back every now and then so that you can recognize
the trail if you approach it from the opposite direction. Continuous map reading
soon becomes a habit, in fact almost a vice; maps are usually brought back from
a long trip worn to shreds; but it is one habit whose overindulgence is
beneficial. If you know where you have gone every mile of the way, you are not
likely to get lost. Careful use of the map is of course essential if you travel
off the trail.
Some of the lateral ridges of the Sierra Nevada, particularly the Silliman
Crest on the northern boundary of Sequoia National Park, form natural approaches
of the most spectacular beauty to the main crest. Intelligent map reading and
use of the compass and a little rock work now and then should enable an
experienced knapsack party to negotiate such routes with little trouble. Other
similar regions in the Sierra are the section of the main crest between
Evolution Valley and the headwaters of Mono Creek, the Monarch Divide, various
routes in the vicinity of Mt. Goddard, the Brewer range and the Sphinx Crest,
and the route from Brewer to Tyndall near that purportedly followed by Clarence
King. Only on a trip like this, away from other tourists and campers, does one
realize to the full the loneliness and sterile magnificence that constitute the
greatest appeal of the Sierra Nevada.
Such knapsack routes are not for amateurs, and should never be attempted on
one’s first season in the mountains. If you are new to the country, the main
trails will seem wild and rugged enough.
In using the compass, do not forget to observe the angle of declination of
the needle from true north given at the bottom of the USGS map. This varies from
year to year, but is usually accurate enough for your purposes. If you wish the
exact declination it can be found in the World Almanac for that year, and
written on the margin of the map. Use a good hunting-case compass with a locking
pivot and a standard card. Avoid engineers’ compasses, with east and west
reversed, with hair sight and other improvements unless you understand their
use. Miniature compasses in finger rings, matchboxes and knives or on the back
of watches are very unreliable if not worthless. Don’t forget to loosen the
pivot and remove all iron from the vicinity of the compass when using it. By
laying the map on a level surface, putting the compass on top of it and then
orienting the map, any landmark can easily be located by sighting across the
map. In transporting the compass to the mountains, keep it away from the motor
and wiring of the car and away from the fuse boxes of electric trains or it may
become demagnetized. The compass is usually useless on mountains rich in iron
ore or during thunderstorms.
All main trails in the National Parks and Forests are marked with signboards
at the principal junctions. Apparently the distances given on these boards were
once estimated with only the roughest approximation, and by men who had become
used to the route and had only traveled it on horseback. Older signs, therefore,
tend to be optimistic. They are gradually being replaced, and the new signs
often have surveyed mileages, or at least more accurate ones. Don’t forget
though, measured in expenditure of energy and time consumed, mountain miles are
often twice as long as level ones. Four miles an hour is a good average hiking
pace over moderate terrain, two to two and a half miles an hour is stepping
right along in the mountains.
The number of section lines crossed by the trail on the topographical sheet
are not an accurate index of the length of the trail. Its minor turns and
switchbacks are not shown, and in rough country these may double the distance.
Once you have become familiar with the map and are able to form a clear
conception of the country ahead, such distances can be estimated with
considerable accuracy.
Many manuals, particularly those written early in the century, advise the
marking of “personal” trails, the blazing or ducking of one’s way hither and
yon over the country. Since then the mountains of the west have become great
popular recreation areas, with campers swarming over them in all directions
every summer. Obviously, if everybody blazed his way through the woods after
deer or ducked his way up and down the mountains, the official trails would soon
become confused, and, in places where the track was thin, impossible to follow.
Never blaze or otherwise mark any tree, and never build ducks, except possibly
on the main trail at points where you feel others might become confused.
In National Forest land, and occasionally in the National Parks, the section
and sometimes the quarter section corners are marked by blazed trees, usually
four at section and two at quarter-section corners. These blazes are most often
in the form of a cross, or a very large oval blaze, with beneath them either the
carved letters, BT (for bearing tree) or WT (for witness tree). When these
corners lie on the trail, they are a convenience in locating oneself very
accurately on the topographical sheet, which shows section lines where they
exist. Another common marker is a small sheet of tin, divided into 36 squares
with a system of marking as complicated as a Chinese lottery ticket. Where they
define a section corner or line they too can be used.
LOST
As mentioned above, the topography of the western mountains is usually pretty
obvious, and except on the Puget Sound slope of the Cascades, the country is
fairly open. Anyone who keeps his wits about him, carries a topo, and pays
attention to where he is going is not likely to be lost for long. Very often,
after striking across country for a certain objective, and having traveled what
I have felt to be the appropriate distance and not finding it, I have
momentarily decided I was lost. The meadow, lake or trail should be there, right
where I stood, or I should have passed it shortly before. Invariably it has
turned up, over the next rise or through a thick clump of timber. From which may
be deduced the moral: don’t decide you are lost until the evidence is
conclusive.
If, after careful reconnoitering, you still don’t know where you are; or if,
as sometimes happens, you suddenly realize that you haven’t the vaguest idea of
where you are, sit down and think. Confusion of direction is much like a
rattlesnake bite, the more you thrash around, the worse it gets. Keep your shirt
on. You should have your topo in your pocket. Orient it with your compass and
try to trace your peregrinations since you left the last familiar landmark. If
you have no map, trace your movements on the ground with a stick. Usually you
will be able to form a fair idea of where you are and usually you will be right.
If you have no compass and the sun is shining, or even casting a shadow, you
can find the points of the compass on your watch, if you have a watch (and it is
less than an hour or so off). Point the hour hand toward the sun, south lies
midway between the hour hand and twelve o’clock. Facing south, north is behind
you, east is on your left and west on your right. Supposedly this last bit of
information should be obvious, but lost men all too often lose their wits as
well as their directions. Kephart advises scratching a small B on the compass
case to remind you that the Blue or Black end of the needle points north. A
party of us once finally located a badly frightened young lad at ten o’clock at
night, who had dutifully followed Kephart’s advice, but unfortunately had
remembered the B as standing for Bright.
If you have no compass, and the sky is completely overcast, and you have no
map, you just have to guess. Under such circumstances, the best thing to do, if
the topography seems meaningless, is to keep steadily downhill or downstream
until you encounter a trail. Trails are fairly plentiful and it is almost
impossible to “keep going in one direction”; as you are probably aware, lost
men usually travel in a circle. These is one place where the downhill solution
will not work, and that is along the edge of canyons of the Yosemite type,
should you happen to be beyond any of the trails along the rim. It is difficult
to imagine anyone not knowing his whereabouts in such a situation, but if you
are near a deep, sheer canyon, and the going becomes too rough, turn back and go
upstream until something turns up. The rim trail usually lies somewhere on the
old valley bed that was there before the canyon was cut, and that separates it
from the parallel ridge. (This advice also applies to mountains in the basin and
range country, which may slope down to desert.)
If you are still hopelessly lost an hour before sunset, STOP. You certainly
won’t get out of the woods in the dark except by the rarest good luck, and you
may injure yourself. Select a clear, exposed place, where the light can be seen
for some distance, and build a fire. If you have a pocket axe, or a machete, and
you are foolish if you haven’t, or even if you have a stout jackknife, you can
build a bough bed (see the chapter on “The Camp”). Build a big one, big enough to
crawl into and pull the boughs over you, and just enough distance from the fire
so that it won’t go up in flames in the night. The best location for such a
bivouac is against a large rock or cliff. Heat will be reflected down on you,
and your friends can see the glow on the rock a long way. Gather plenty of wood
and stack it near the bed. Don’t build an enormous fire, you will need all the
sleep you can get the next day, and you can’t sleep and gather firewood all
night too. You should have a knapsack and in it some emergency rations; eat
supper and go to sleep. In the morning, if your don’t lose your head, you should
manage to extricate yourself.
If you have no matches and the night is fairly warm, build as big a bed as
you can, in as sheltered a spot as you can find, and try and get some sleep. If
it is cold you will have to keep awake, best walk slowly through the woods,
conserving your energy as much as possible. If it is raining, you can usually
find some sort of shelter, an overhanging rock or a windfallen tree, or a tiny
lean-to can be rigged up from your slicker or poncho and some boughs. Never go
out in stormy weather, [or] off the trail in unfamiliar country, without either or
both these garments in your knapsack. If the weather is below freezing and you
have no shelter, keep awake throughout the night, no matter how big a fire you
build.
From the preceding discussion, you can see that there is one situation which
is pretty bad, the man who has paid no attention to his route, and knows nothing
of the country, and is without compass, watch, map, knapsack, axe, knife,
slicker or poncho, emergency rations or matches, who is hopelessly astray in the
woods at night in subfreezing weather, rain, snow or sleet. Let us hope that he
remembers the Lord’s Prayer or the Twenty-Third Psalm and wear either a scapular
or a medal or at least an elk’s tooth or a rabbit’s foot. Even he, if he only
keeps awake and moving enough to preserve circulation, will probably come out
without irreparable damage. In such a fix, or any other very serious one, the
great danger is fright, with resulting hysteria and the succeeding lethargy and
stupor. No matter how bad things are, keep calm, tell yourself funny stories,
sing songs, whistle, play games of chess in your head, anything to keep from
losing control of yourself. With but rare exception, getting lost is followed by
serious consequences only if the person has become panic-stricken.
Finally, if you are prepared, a night spent lost in the woods will be an
adventure, even a pleasant or at least stirring one. Carry a knapsack with an
extra sweater, emergency food, axe or machete, poncho or slicker, a few flies
and some line, a small first aid kit and a snakebite outfit, keep your watch
running, carry a map and compass, and plenty of matches, a waterproof case full
and some extra ones in your pockets or the knapsack. You should be thus equipped
even on the trail. If you strike across country with which you are not familiar
without this bare minimum of equipment, you are more than foolhardy, you are
just plain crazy.
Chapter 9 of Kenneth Rexroth’s
Camping in the Western Mountains (unpublished manuscript, ca. 1939).
Copyright 2003. Reproduced by permission of the
Kenneth Rexroth Trust.
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