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Payne and No Payne

2013 Editor's Note: Years ago when Geocities shut down, I collected all the trip reports I'd published on my website with the hopes of publishing them online again one day. As I go through the reports now, one by one, republishing them here on my blog as time, work and space permit, I discover I didn't always record my thoughts and feelings for online trip reports, and perhaps rightly so. I don't really want to be an open book online! There are things I'd like to keep private.

Nevertheless, there were a few trip reports, including this one, with sparse details − even in my journal. This trip in particular was memorable because it celebrated the third anniversary of emergency back surgery that for many years and many painful hikes, rides, quilts and gardening stints, I feared had ended the active part of my life. There were days, and sometimes weeks or months, when I just knew one day I would no longer be able to tolerate the continual pain, and I would have to give up many of the things I love.

Each year when the anniversary rolls around again, even now, as I approach the 9th year with renewed life and less pain than ever since 2004, I resolve not to let surgery and the unknown injury that caused it control my life. This particular hike was an attempt to show my back just who is boss. I'd attempted the very same hike the year before and failed miserably. Successfully climbing a pair of 11,000-foot hills named Payne and No Payne, no kidding, in 2007 gave me the jolt of determination I needed to keep trying to do what I love, regardless of any obstacles in my way, including agony, discomfort, suffering and, biggest of all, depression.

What I wrote in my journal after this memorable hike made me feel as if I'd left out the most treasured parts, which in turn challenged me to relive the memory and record what I'd been too exhausted to write that night.


5 November 2007
Payne, 11,780 feet, and No Payne, 11,789 feet

From my journal:

I've downloaded my photos, backed them up and burned a CD. But that's all I want to do tonight. I don't even want to write a trip report.

But that's my job, right?

We got up at 3 a.m. and were out the door just after 3:30. We had to buy gas before we headed to the trailhead outside of Bailey. We started out on the trail just before 5. 12 hours later, we were back at the car with two successful summits beneath our belts.

Do I have to write more right now?

I did it! I climbed both Payne and No Payne! I wasn't sure I'd be able to do the second peak as we headed up it, but I made it. Ken met us near the saddle as planned, and we had a delightful hike with him.

I'm not totally wiped out, but I'm tired. I just finished a hot tub mineral soak, so I'm relaxed, and I want to take advantage of that. Good night.


2013 Addendum

The Lizard told me about Payne and No Payne on the first anniversary of my surgery. I wanted to do something special to commemorate refusal to give up and stay on the couch the rest of my life. It was November. It was cold. It was snowy. I still had significant pain. Didn't know then I was magnifying some of the pain by continually arching my back to compensate for unbearable pain. There are no easy mountains in winter. But I was determined to prove I am no quitter.

Our friend and Colorado mountaineering legend Ken Nolan had been prodding us to join him on a hike for years. He, too, suffers from back pain, but has climbed every mountain above 12,000 feet in Colorado, plus a great deal of high peaks in other states AND countries. He is an inspiration to me, and also a wealth of mountaineering history, humor and experience. I anxiously looked forward to hiking something special with him and The Lizard, but I wanted to do it when I wouldn't make a fool of myself for being so slow and so wimpy, which was all I was in my mind from about two weeks before surgery until about January of this year, when physical therapy helped me learn what I could do to make the best of the cards I've been dealt and reclaim my life.

I could not believe someone had actually named a pair of peaks Payne and No Payne. How perfect would that be! I even began using that spelling when I wrote about my back as I prepared (inadequately, I might add) for the 2006 ascent.


In 2006, the snow was about 13 inches deep, plus hard and crusty. I knew I might not make it, so I didn't invite anyone other than The Lizard. I didn't want anyone else to see me fail. I didn't want him to see me fail, but I knew I couldn't do it by myself, and I knew he wouldn't make fun of me.

Each step – test for firmness, slowly shift weight, lean forward, rapidly sink a foot deeper with a thud that hurt as much as riding in a car over railroad tracks – brought me closer to tears. When I could no longer hold back the tears, The Lizard said, "We're done." I was relieved, yet I also was embarrassed. I wasn't just trying to prove myself to me; I wanted to prove myself to The Lizard, too. He has never looked down on me because of my physical condition; he has always cheered my every success and braced me up every time I stumbled. But back in 2006, we'd been married just a little longer than a year, and I think deep down inside, I worried I might not be good enough to be his wife forever. I also didn't ever want to picture him pushing me around in a wheelchair. I wanted to be whole. For him, and for me.

In 2007, I prepared more adequately. I climbed the stairs at work (60 flights) at least twice a week and by October could do them twice in a row without stopping. We trained for Ride the Rockies even though we didn't get drawn. We hiked every weekend we could throughout the summer. We spent a lot of time at altitude to acclimate. I tried to build my endurance in every way I could so I wouldn't fail and so I could invite Ken to celebrate the third anniversary of surgery with us.

Back then, I didn't realize the reason Ken offered to meet us at the saddle between the two peaks instead of at the trailhead and hiking the entire 14 miles with us was so he wouldn't have to keep my slow pace the whole day. He knew The Lizard would be there for me if I had difficulty or wasn't able to make it, and he climbs solo on a regular basis. Catching up to us several hours into our ascent would be no big deal for him. He'd spend only the alpine portion of our hike (a good mile and a half one way) at my pace, and on the descent, he could go on without us at any point if I was taking too long.


Colorado mountaineering legend Ken Nolan atop the highpoint of Payne Benchmark
Ken ended up staying with us on the descent all the way to the parking lot, even though descents are most difficult on my back, still to this day. Remembering that now is a warm fuzzy; Ken enjoyed our company enough he was willing to put up with this snail for seven miles! Needless to say, the feeling was mutual.

The Lost Creek Wilderness trail guide describes Payne and No Payne as a "great workout, especially in winter." The Lizard bought the trail guide specifically for our Payne and No Payne ascent, although there are many Lost Creek Wilderness trails and at least two more summits he hopes to visit one day. The Lost Creek Wilderness is one of the closest wilderness areas to the Denver metro, and the weather there often is just like Denver... little or no snow in winter. Sunny and warm. The rock formations alone are worth the long hikes required to reach destinations, and although not much of the entire wilderness area is above treeline, what alpine views do exist are exceptional.

In 2006, we'd faced up to 18-inch snow drifts. In 2007, the mild weather left us a nearly clear path the entire route. For the first time, I could actually see the trail!


The hike was not steep, just long. I had to stop to breathe many times on the way up. We had to wait for Ken at the saddle perhaps less than 10 minutes. And then we no longer had to follow trails. Ken knew the way. He'd been up this mountain.




No Payne for Snowcatcher!
We traversed to the higher summit of No Payne, which is open tundra and a few rocks with a magnificent view in every direction. We enjoyed lunch, then backtracked to Payne Benchmark, where I would be able to shoot the summit marker. Payne Benchmark, which likely takes its name from an early settler to the Park County or Tarryall region, is surrounded by midget evergreens and stingy with views. I unsuccessfully tried to learn how the creek, summits and trail came by the name and wondered if No Payne was the humorous result of the rather gentle stroll to the second summit by the survey team after placement of the benchmark pin upon Payne.




The Lizard atop the highpoint of Payne Benchmark
We had a snack atop Payne and shared more stories of mountaineering, relationships, jobs, climbing clubs and climbing partners. Next came the Payneful decent, seven miles of mostly downhill. I had to stop even more often to stretch out the sore back muscles, but Ken and The Lizard never ran out of things to talk about while they waited on me.

Ken even had to stop and stretch his back a couple of times, which made me feel not quite as wimpy.

Back at the parking lot, we giggled at our taste in vehicles. Ken, too, has a 4Runner, and it sports about as many miles as mine. Just like our backs, our vehicles just keep on truckin'!

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Wordless Wednesday

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Huron Peak

Yet another installment of my old Geocity trip reports moving over here, one by one, as work, time and space permit. My done list is located here.

4 September 2006

Our original plan was to go up Huron on Saturday, then do some yet undetermined hike Monday, two trips west and probably two to four tanks of gas. Gas prices and recent car repairs caused us to be a bit squeamish of all leisure expenses, so The Lizard’s last-minute Friday night change of plans seemed a much better deal – leave for Huron on Sunday afternoon after church and camp in the neighborhood of Winfield before making a Monday ascent.

I am the slowest hill walker on the planet, and I haven't been at altitude in quite a while. I’ve always had deep respect and admiration for people who come to Colorado once a year and squeeze as many summits as they can into a one- or two-week period. I try to bike and walk every day of the week, but it’s just not the same thing as forcing your body uphill at altitude for miles at a time. Every little gain I make feels lost when I have huge gaps between efforts, such as this year. I honestly don’t know how distant out-of-staters do it.

My routine 186,000-mile clutch replacement had come with a clunking recommendation for the drive shaft to be replaced, too. The parts for the drive shaft didn’t arrive until today, apres hike, so four-wheeling over the weekend probably would not have been an intelligent choice. The sponginess of my new clutch often makes me wonder if I picked up the wrong 4Runner, though! Man, is it hard to get used to not punching the pedal all the way through the floorboard anymore!

We arrived at a very crowded Winfield at about 3 p.m. Sunday, so we had enough time for a warm-up hike up the La Plata trail. We stashed the vehicle in a safe place and hiked about three miles up the four-wheel drive road and trail, marveling at the changing leaves, beaver ponds, ptarmigan, snowshoe hares and rebellious gentians that refuse to acknowledge chilly nights.

Trivia: Did you know the Harvest Moon traditionally is the full moon closest to the autumn equinox? That’s why sometimes it’s in September, and sometimes it’s in October. This year, fall begins smack dab in the middle of the September and October full moons.

By the time we returned to the car, the egg-shaped moon was lighting up the surrounding peaks and the now twilight valley, and many vehicles in the campground had departed. We found an acceptable and reasonably isolated campsite and were serenaded by young children signing traditional camp songs in very high pitch to the strum of a distant guitar.

Bright and early Monday morning, seven vehicles had taken on the four-wheel-drive Winfield road by the time we began hiking up it. We assumed that meant at least seven parties would be ahead of us. As it turned out, though, some of the early risers were bow hunters who didn’t appear very pleased at our trespassing into their quiet domain as we hiked upward toward the trailhead.

The register at the trailhead was full; in fact, people had begun recording their entry on the brown folder. Once the true uphill portion of the climb began, it didn’t take long before my snail’s pace had parties and pooches passing us every few minutes. From our glorious viewpoints high on the La Plata trail, Huron’s summit seemed rather tiny. Would it accommodate today’s audience?

As we broke free of the trees, the marvelous Apostles came into view. The Lizard drooled over the Icebox Couloir as I fantasized about a lengthy photo session at Lake Ann. Still silhouetted by the morning sun, the jagged Apostles inspired me to inquire if I might be able to undertake a Tour de Huron, taking the alternate route down the southwest slopes so I could shoot afternoon light on the Apostles. The Lizard, meanwhile, was eyeing the highpoints along Huron's north ridge. This trip would be our first test of our two-way radios, and The Lizard wanted to give them a healthy workout, but he was not comfortable with me descending an unknown route alone while he headed in the opposite direction, particularly because the route I wanted to take probably wouldn’t have many other hikers, just in case something went wrong.

The Lizard continually admired the workmanship of standard trail as we headed up. The frequent embedded stairsteps make the steepest portions easier for the heavy traffic this trail endures while minimizing the effects of erosion caused by such intense use. I didn’t care for the marble-size dirt chunks leading to the summit of the huge rockpile called Huron and often detoured among the boulders for better traction, but the trail is well-marked and well-built the entire route.

The summit was indeed petite; perhaps it felt smaller while playing host to so many people and dogs. One group of 14 people barely fit into a summit photo, and several teenagers plugged into iPods had sprawled out to relax beneath the crisp blue sky on what little level surface was available. On the bright side, there was a summit register, and it contained many blank pages. (That alone is a miracle upon the 14ers these days with the blatant vandalism by supposed tree huggers who consider trail registers trash. I personally see historic value to the registers, and I'd rather people write on the registers than the rocks.)

The Lizard got me down the tough (for me) upper section before heading north along the ridge. I continued downhill, and The Lizard checked in via radio each time he hit a high point. About halfway down the mountain, the signal became very scratchy and sometimes difficult to make out, but only twice were we not able to reach each other. Also at this point, a number of teenage boys came galloping down the trail in an apparent race. I thought maybe the parents had bribed them: "First one to the car gets to drive us home." But at the stream crossing near the end of the trail proper, there was this same group of boys, this time unplugged and completely drenched. They all had their feet in the water, and they were engaged in a vigorous splashing game.

At the trailhead, I tried to radio The Lizard to find out if I had enough time to go up the Gunnison Spur for my Apostles shots but could not reach him. I felt somewhat strong and knew it wasn’t much of a climb, so I decided to chance going up around the bend for a few shots, hoping I would still make it back to the car before The Lizard.

The Lizard finally was able to reach me again from the summit of Middle Mountain. He said Cross Mountain was calling out to him, "Me, me! Come tag me!" So he wanted to run over and grab it before heading back to Middle and then down Pt. 12,622 to an unnamed switchbacking trail to the North Ridge Trail proper down Lulu gulch. Cool! Maybe I could still beat him back to the car! (Insert laugh track here.)

We lost contact again as I headed toward Hamilton but re-established when I got back to the trailhead. Instead of continuing down to the car when he hit the four-wheel-drive road, The Lizard backtracked up the road to meet me because he said he could tell by my voice on the radio I’d bit off a little more than I could chew. When we joined up again, he asked if I wanted him to carry my pack the remaining mile or so. My mouth said no and my head shook a visual refusal, but my shoulders, more closely connected to my lower back than my brain, slumped and allowed the pack to fall to the ground.

As we walked back to the car, I kept wondering if I could ask The Lizard to drive me across the campground to the outhouse. Everything hurt. My feet, my knee, my back; even my hands and elbows from wrestling with some aggressive willows in the beaver ponds along my photographic detour. Surprisingly enough, I was able to walk to the little brown building on my own, after which The Lizard confessed he wanted to drive me over because he could see how sore I was.

I sipped a berry smoothie I’d kept on ice for after the hike and offered The Lizard a swig. He drank a couple swallows, made a sour face and handed it back to me. "You can have the rest." His loss!

The moonlight would have provided a tranquil ride home, but I slept. Oh, that’s something I like to do on return trips. But only if The Lizard drives.

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Snowflake Monday

San Luis Peak was the first 14er I climbed after emergency back surgery. On the way down, we passed another Colorado Mountain Club couple, John and Renata. John, who had not seen me since my winter summit of Mount Sherman more than a year earlier, commented, "You're walking rather gingerly!"

I always associate ginger, both flowers and thick, chewy homemade gingersnap cookies, whenever I think of San Luis, thanks to John!


The Lizard and I climbed San Luis with our Hungarian-Canadian friends Ferenc and Andrea, and the mountain was Andrea's first 14er. Ferenc and Andrea and four of their kids spent last week with us, and their visit reminded me of San Luis. And ginger!


San Luis holds yet another special memory for me. It was the last 14er I climbed as a single person. The Lizard dropped to his knee the next day and popped the question. Ten days later, we were hitched!

San Luis Peak has a very long approach but is an easy walk-up. You gain altitude the entire way, but there isn't a difficult move anywhere on the mountain, which is why we picked that one just seven months after my surgery. We also thought it would be a good first climb for Andrea, who also suffers back problems.


In addition to being what many mountaineers call "easy," San Luis stands only 14 feet over the magic 14,000-foot threshold. Because of this and the remote location, it is one of the least climbed of all 54-59 (depending upon which list you go by) 14ers.


Moose reside along Stewart Creek, which is the route we took when we climbed this mountain, but the massive animals shyly avoided my camera the entire day. We saw many beaver dams in the lower portions of the valley, but no beavers posed for me. Nevertheless, wildflowers and birds were plentiful, and the weather couldn't have been more perfect.




A few years later, The Lizard and I hiked up the West Willow Creek Trail, which intersects with the 525-mile Colorado Trail, from Creede in late autumn, nearing winter, to get a photo of San Luis Peak from the other side for the weekly planner I used to do every year at work. When the economy tanked, the 58-photo calendar was discontinued. But long live the awesome hikes we enjoy just to get a photo or two. Or two hundred...

The West Willow Creek Trail also intersects with the Bondholder Trail, which I thought was a very interesting name out in the middle of nowhere.


We did some magnificent rock scrambling along the West Willow Creek Trail that day, just because, and then reclimbed the rocks when The Lizard realized he'd lost his wedding ring. He thought it might have fallen off when we removed our gloves for photos on the summit, but the ring was nowhere to be found. We retraced our steps all the way back to my car, to no avail, then returned to the remote spot we'd pitched our tent the night before, a good 30 or so miles away, where we found the ring!!!

Ring around San Luis, pocket made of blue fleece, a tisket, a tasket, no one sprung a gasket!

You may do whatever you'd like with snowflakes you make from this pattern, but you may not sell or republish the pattern. Thanks, and enjoy!


Finished Size: 4 inches from point to point
Materials: Size 10 crochet thread, size 8 crochet hook, empty pizza box, wax paper or plastic wrap, cellophane tape, water soluble school glue or desired stiffener, water, glitter, small container for glue/water mixture, paintbrush, stick pins that won't be used later for sewing, clear thread or fishing line

NOTE: While making the white version of this snowflake, the prototype, I used dc instead of tr on the first round, then decided while pinning that the snowflake was too scrunched up in the middle, so I rewrote the pattern with tr stitches instead, and the blue version using the larger stitches was much easier to pin.

Cluster Stitch: [Yo and draw up loop, yo and draw through 2 loops on hook] 3 times, yo and draw through all 4 loops on hook.

San Luis Peak Snowflake Instructions

Make magic ring.

Round 1: Ch 3 (counts as 1 tr), 1 tr in ring, * ch 8, 2 tr in ring; repeat from * 4 times; ch 4, 1 tr in 3rd ch of starting ch 3 to form last ch 8 sp of Round. Pull magic circle tight.

Round 2: Ch 2 (counts as 1 dc), 1 dc over post of tr, 2 hdc in same sp, 2 sc in same sp, * ch 3, 2 sc in next ch 8 sp, 2 hdc in same sp, 3 dc in same sp, 2 hdc in same sp, 2 sc in same sp; repeat from * around 4 times; ch 3, 2 sc in next ch 8 sp, 2 hdc in same sp, 1 dc in same sp, sl st in 2nd ch of starting ch 2.

Round 3: Ch 2 (counts as 1 dc), 2 dc in same ch as sl st, * ch 6, 3 dc in middle dc of next 3/dc group (top of next point), ch 3, 3 dc in same st; repeat from * around 4 times; ch 3, 3 dc in same ch as starting dc; ch 1, 1 dc in 2nd ch of starting ch 2 to form last ch 3 sp of Round.
If you're not reading this pattern on Snowcatcher, you're not reading the designer's blog. Please go here to see the original.

Round 4: Ch 6 (counts as 1 dc and ch 3), 1 dc over post of dc just worked, * ch 6, sk next ch 6 sp, 1 dc in next ch 3 sp, ch 3, 1 dc in same sp, ch 5, 1 dc in same sp, ch 3, 1 dc in same sp; repeat from * around 4 times; ch 6, sk next ch 6 sp, 1 dc in next ch 3 sp, ch 3, 1 dc in same sp, ch 2, 1 tr in 3rd ch of starting ch 6 to form last ch 5 sp of Round.

Round 5: Ch 6 (counts as 1 dc and ch 3), 1 dc over post of tr, * ch 3, 1 sc in next ch 3 sp, ch 3, 1 cluster around next 2 ch sp of Rounds 3 and 4, ch 3, 1 sc in next ch 3 sp, ch 3, 1 dc in next ch 5 sp, ch 3, 1 dc in same sp, ch 5, 1 dc in same sp, ch 3, 1 dc in same sp; repeat from * around 5 times, omitting last 2 dc and ch 3 of final repeat; sl st in 3rd ch of starting ch 6; bind off. Weave in ends.


Finish: Tape wax paper or plastic wrap to top of empty pizza box. Pin snowflake to box on top of wax paper or plastic wrap.

If using glue, mix a few drops of water with a teaspoon of glue in small washable container. Paint snowflake with glue mixture or desired stiffener. Sprinkle lightly with glitter. Wash paintbrush and container thoroughly. Allow snowflake to dry at least 24 hours. Remove pins. Gently peel snowflake from wax paper or plastic wrap. Attach 10-inch clear thread to one spoke, weaving in end. Wrap fishing line around tree branch (or tape to ceiling or any overhead surface) and watch the snowflake twirl freely whenever you walk by! Snowflake also may be taped to window or tied to doorknob or cabinet handle.

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Midas Touch

All the yarn I'd tried dyeing with plants was coming out yellow. I wanted the rainbow of colors on the covers of natural dyeing books. Indians were able to achieve colors besides yellow; I was determined to find a way.


I'd tryed dyeing with alfalfa, which grows wild in my backyard. I got barely any color on the wool or the cotton.

I cheated and added synthetic dye to the wool, but the cotton sat for ages waiting for a brave dip in something new.

Bindweed was out of control in my backyard, so I decided to dye the cotton again using that. I knew the color wouldn't be very dark because there isn't a lot of visible pigment in the undesireable weed. Nevertheless, I would have plenty at my disposal, and I could do as many baths as desired without ever running out of bindweed. Ever.


I repurposed empty pretzel jars from work and tried solar dyeing for the first time. I filled a jar with bindweed, then poured in some vinegar and distilled water. I let it sit in the sun until our rainy season finally arrived. (YAY!!!)

I strained the fluid, which didn't smell wonderful (which I DID expect), and then stuck the yarn from the alfalfa fail into the bindweed bath. Again, I let the mix sit in the sun for as many days as we had sun.


The dyebath wasn't the most attractive shade of green, and I expected it would turn the yarn yellow. Instead I got a very, very pale avocado.

Not bad, but still not what I expected. I should be able to get deeper colors if I'm doing everything right. It certainly wasn't a lack of weeds!


I sat down with the dye books again one night and reviewed the mordanting process. Wool had given acceptable results, although not what I'd expected. But cotton... now that had been a challenge. I could get some beautiful shades in the dye pot, but the shades weren't being absorbed by the cotton.

I had to be doing something wrong.


Sure enough, I'd left out one step. Soaking cotton in tannin prior to the alum/cream of tartar bath would literally help the mordant get more grip on the fibers.

Okay, fine, so where in the heck do I get tannin?

An internet search led me to tea, coffee and oak galls. We have teas at home, but mostly herbal, and there is plenty of coffee at work. But coffee in particular would take a lot, and it might change the anticipated hues of the dyes. My curly dock has built-in tannin, but I wasn't ready to mow it all down. And just exactly what the heck is an oak gall? I mean, besides a term that is likely to attract a bunch of spam on this post?

A little more research was in order. Oak galls are growths on oak trees, and oak apples are a much more vivid and appropriate name.

I might be able to find oak galls on the scrub oak of the mountains, but there are no oak trees I know of in my neighborhood.

Sumac is another source for tannin, but I didn't know of anyone with a sumac tree, either. I thought. I had no clue what would constitute a sumac.

Later, while looking up a specific wildflower identification (prickly poppies for Mrs. Micawber), I noticed a photo of sumac drupes, which I have seen both in the wild and along the bike path into Denver, but I never knew the proper name.

I have a sumac bush growing right outside my spare bedroom window! And it could use a good trimming after a full year of total neglect!


Chop, chop, chop went the clippers. Didn't take long before I had an entire dye pot full of sumac drupes and another entire dye pot full of sumac leaves and stems.




I wanted to finish this experiment in a day because I'd previously ordered powdered tannic acid that would be arriving the next day or so. If my cotton yarn still didn't turn out, I could try again with the mail-order powder.

I didn't use solar heat on this batch. I simmered the leaves and drupes for about two hours each before straining the resulting liquids off into smaller containers (recycled ice cream containers) for actual dyeing.

The leaf formula produced what appeared to be pigment. I wasn't sure if I should mordant the yarn first or dip it in the tannin juice first. And do sumac drupes count as tannin??? I decided to soak in leaf juice first, then alum and cream of tartar, then the first hank would go back into the leaf juice to see if the color might stick.


Not even the sorrel/curly dock yarn came out this bright! This was just my first batch of cotton with tannin, but the colors I got from changing the dipping routine each hank were simply amazing! I learned colored water may not always have pigment, which will help in future adventures. But I also achieved colors. Radiant colors! My enthusiasm ignited.

For the first time, I achieved more than one color using natural dyes!

The first hank was dipped in sumac leaf juice, then alum and cream of tartar, then back into a pot of sumac leaf juice. Bright yellow resulted.

The second hank was dipped in sumac leaf juice, then alum and cream of tartar, then sumac drupe juice. Oh, the creamy peach! My eyes couldn't get enough!


The third hank was dipped in sumac leaf juice, then alum and cream of tartar, then leaf juice, followed by drupe juice. The pigment was running out by this time, so I dipped the third hank into a brief chrome bath. Brown popped out almost immediately!

The fourth hank was dipped in sumac leaf juice, then alum and cream of tartar, then leaf juice again, followed by drupe juice, then a quick dip in the homemade rust mordant. Not much color, but the yarn is not white. And it looks good with the other sumac yarn colors.


In the meantime, I'd weeded the backyard once again and filled another pretzel jar with dandelions and immature thistles (no purple or pink yet). This one had some roots in it, too, because if I could get the roots out of the ground, I'd have less weed-pulling to do next time around. The roots had no color, so I didn't expect much pigment from this batch. It sat in the sun for nearly a week. I'd strained it and poured it over a hank of wool sock yarn mordanted with alum and cream of tartar and allowed it to simmer in the sun.




I'd also been soaking poplar leaves from sucker shoots that grew up too tall last summer while I wasn't able to care for my garden. If I was going to take the shoots down, I might as well use the large leaves for something, right?

This pretzel jar had stewed in the sun for a week, too. Initially the liquid was a very pale yellow. I expected very little color from it. Through the week, however, the liquid had darkened to a nice gold. Still, I expected not much change in the wool sock yarn I planned to soak in it.








After I finished with the cottons, I decided to stick the pale yellow wool hanks from the dandelions and poplar into the sumac drupes. One then went quickly in and out of the rust mixture, and the second went quickly into a chrome bath.

Holy moly!!! One day of dyeing (and a week of various soaks), and six shades of yarn! Amazing!

Now I just have to get out there and pull some mature bright pink bull and Canada thistle!

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