Memories from June 29

I started today from just inside the Carson-Iceberg wilderness. He trail starts with a climb up and over what would be a small pass if there were mountains on either side. Here’s the view from a viewpoint looking back roughly in the direction if Sonora Pass.

I ran into Timo, a German fellow I’d met a few days ago, and we joined a group with Miles and Bacon for the snowy trip down the other side to the valley.

There’s an enjoyable irony in that the day after I send home my ice axe and microspikes is the day I do the most glissading and boot skiing. It was tons of fun despite being broken up by bushes and rocks every few tens of feet.

The group had been hiking with a lot of energy but stopped for a snack break. I continued since I’d had a bar while walking to keep my energy up. The valley was an easy walk in the woods until it decided to climb the valley wall. There was a point where I could have succumbed to the steep grade and slowed down but I was on a roll and with a lot of pretending that I was various super heroes and mythical figures, I rage hiked my way to the top, stopping only to dunk my head under this small waterfall.

At the top of the ridge was a funny pile of dark colored rocks, different from the surrounding granite.

I lunched in the shade near this tree. Apparently the woodland creatures get their Bonsai on from time to time.

At the Paradise Valley trail junction there was a memorial to faithful hiking stick. The inscription reads, “1034 miles. Was good stick.” Given that I’ve had to replace my trekking poles and that both of their tips have broken in the last 300 miles, 1034 miles is pretty good for piece of wood that someone probably found by the side of the trail.

The trail was mostly a gradual downhill passing intermittently through grassy open spaces with pleasant scenery.

I was considering trying to make it a 30 mile day when I ran into Grandpa Mac (Matt?) and spent two-ish hours talking, meandering, and eventually supping. He’s 70 and is section hiking. From watching him rock hop, he’s got a few more years of hiking in him even if he’s not putting up big miles any more. It was something of the wonderful old-young interaction. Conversation topics included love, war, religion, and, of course, hiking. This is what I hope to be doing at 70.

After dinner, we parted ways and I hiked out if the Carson-Iceberg wilderness to Noble Lake. I remember this gate from the saddle before the valley in which Noble Lake lies. It’s a little more built up than when I last went through

Looking south from the gate.

The trail disappeared most immediately and based on the footprints, I’m not even close to the only one who just took a straight shot down the valley and coming up from below Noble Lake instead of staying above it and coming down from the east.

Eventually I did find the trail, but I was pretty much already at the lake.

Today was full. I felt like it started with a day at the ski resort, followed by an adrenaline filled raging workout, a good conversation with an old man, and as a final twist, a bushwhack. How do you summarize all that for the title?

Memories from June 28

I was going to say that I started today by getting lost. Technically, I managed to leave Yosemite National Park first.

I got lost between Lake Harriet and Dorothy Lake last time I passed this way. This time, I did the same. Here’s a picture from shortly after Dorothy Pass  (there are real passes like Forester which state you in the face and let you know that you’ll feel like you’ve accomplished something when you’re past them and there are fake passes like Island pass which you wouldn’t realize were passes except for that second word when their name is written on a map; Dorothy Pass is in the latter category). It’s very pretty but between the rock which doesn’t show trail and snow which buries trail, I think most people get at least a little lost. What makes this area deceptive is that when the PCT starts to descend near a stream, it usually goes into the valley which that stream follows. Here, the trail starts with one stream but, just when you’ve lost the trail itself and are looking around for landmarks (say, like a stream to follow), it takes a hard right and drops towards Lake Harriet. Why not just look for Lake Harriet? Because, despite its size, it’s not visible from the ground above it until you’re pretty well into its valley and not the one from the first river.

I could have pulled out a GPS but wanted some practice map reading the key area in the decision was probably less than a half square mile so I figured it was a pretty safe playground.

I correctly identified a rise which forced you to pick which valley to follow. While trying to confirm that reading, I looked down from it and couldn’t see a pond I expected to. However, I saw some red marks in the snow which are correlated with tracks (I’ve been told the red tint is an algae but why it seems to usually show in the trenches if old tracks, I have no clue) and if they were tracks, they were where I’d expect them to be if the pond were generally where I expected it to be. On further investigation, I found a cairn (I love cairns) and with it a trail. I was so proud of myself.

From there the trail lead pretty quickly to Lake Harriet.

Crossing Lake Harriet’s outlet stream was reminiscent of yesterday’s obstacle course. It’s a little hard to see here but the water in the foreground is the stream flooding into the trail.

After that though the descent was uneventful as were the next several miles. Other than the 1000mile marker.

Also the terrain changed from a white-grey granite to a red-brown that almost wanted to be purple.

Eventually I reached the switchbacks before Sonora Pass. They were largely still under snow so I took a well trod alternate which I’d remembered seeing on my hike six years ago. At the time there was no snow and I wondered why there were so many alternates which were so well traveled when the official trail was so well kept.

Looking back at the switchbacks.

Unlike other passes where the switchbacks lead directly to the crest of the pass, these lead to a ridgewalk of several miles.

The walk is unique in that you get to spend so much time at the elevation of the pass, though Sonora Pass just barely squeaks in above 10,000ft.

Finally, you round a corner and see the pass itself.

It’s completely different from every other pass in color and texture.

At the crest was a heart.

The walk along the backside revealed a very different landscape from what I’ve been traveling through.

Just as I thought I’d seem the last of the big snow crossings… Massive glissade and boot ski.

And so ended the Sonora Pass adventure.

At the trailhead just after the highway, I met the guy who runs Sonora Pass resupply. He gave me a water bottle since I’d lost mine and, despite not having and order previously placed, took my bear can, ice axe, and microspikes for shipping home. My backpack feels much lighter.

Just past the trailhead, in the Carson-Iceberg Wilderness, I noticed clouds promising rain and so set up my tarp, are dinner and caught up on blog posts.

Around 7pm the sun came out and chased off the worst of the clouds.

Great, wonderful, amazing day.

Memories from June 27

I got up bout the time the sun was cresting the hill to the east.

One of the first things I saw was the best reflection I’ve seen yet.

After a steep but short descent to the river, you had to squeeze between the rocks and snow because the river was too close to walk outside.

Then you scrambled over boulders because the trail was under snow.

After that river, I went up and over to another river, and and over again. On the second descent, there was a stream flooding down the trail like a waterfall. At one point one of my poles slipped and I landed almost in push-up position with my feet on a rock, right hand on my destination rock, and left hand on a log. As I moved to the log, I had to balance to keep it from rolling. This was the closest call yet on a rock hop which didn’t result in drenching.

Having hopped two valleys, I got to  Miller Lake. I remember bathing and doing laundry in a nearby stream when I passed through 6 years ago so I did the same this time. Last time, the lake was more meadow than water.

Also, the path away from Miller Lake wasn’t sunken last time.

Shortly after leaving Miller Lake was the longest stream crossing after the Evolution Creek alternate.

After that, the trail was pretty flat which was a pleasant change. What wasn’t pleasant was the bogginess of the meadows and irrigation canals flooded trail. Today was supposed to be a dry foot day (ie I took my shoes off or rock hopped every stream). Almost.

A third rail conducts electricity for electric trains. A third trail conducts hikers when the trail is flooded and the trail used to avoid the flooded trail is flooded. You can see a third (and fourth) trail forming here.

I’d never seem water routes (in this case the trail and a small stream of meltwater) intersect at right angles and then both continue. At this point my feet were damp and muddy but not sodden. It would have been so much easier if I’d just let them get drenched. By this point (I’d reached Dorothy Lake which was my goal for the day), I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be frustrated or appreciate the break in the monotony of a dry, well packed trail.

Dorothy Lake was a beautiful as the last time I camped here.

I decided to not call it a day until I’d gotten past all the mud and flooded trails. The reward for finishing today’s obstacle course was an almost flat rock to camp on and great view.

Memories from June 26

Having hiked this way before, I wasn’t expecting to be really impressed by the scenery or adventure. Today, at least, I was wrong.

The trail crosses two tributaries of this river. Here’s the first. I made it with dry feet but have a new record for how close I’ve gotten to doing the splits while bridging rocks on a rock hop (the name “rock hop” for crossing a Creek by walking on rocks is a but of a misnomer in that most people won’t cross that way if they actually have to do any hopping instead of just taking large steps).

Here’s the other tributary. Longest log bridge so far.

And I wasn’t even done with stream crossings. Some were wet foot and some dry but most for the rest of the morning were crossings of Wilson’s Creek which I like to think was named after me. Here’s the last one.

In the valley before that, I crosses this stream where I remember taking a picture of cowboys and horses show made up part of a pack train.

I didn’t know this before but sometimes streams just disappear into the ground. This is the end of a small, but not insignificant stream which had been crashing merrily down next to the switchbacks I’d been descending.

The next climb had significant snow patches and you could see where people much earlier in the season had diverged wildly from the trail. Twice, while looking around to see where to go next, I saw hikers sitting or laying down. I like to think of these as autonomous, mobile cairns. The top of the hill was a lot like a minor pass.

Cool water-like patterns in some rock.

At Smedberg Lake, I met a group of hikers, about half of whole I’d met previously in passing. I joined them for a break and to let gear dry from the morning’s condensation. We saw a deer walk through the middle of the lake (sorry, this was a particularly hasty picture) so I went wading to see what slightly submerged walkways I could find and was able to get to a number of the rocks you see in the lake. I was finally bested by and underwater log crossing attempting to get the largest island.

Benson Lake. When I was last here the water was lower which revealed a long, gradually sloped beach.

Waterboy, having successfully not fallen off the first log bridge contemplates a second crossing.

Here’s the log bridge for one of the streams near Benson Lake. It’s a great illustration of the word almost. I was able to hop the gap but Waterboy has a hurt foot and had to find another route.

Some nice views from the last climb of the afternoon. Waterboy had been leading since I decided to hike out of Smedberg Lake with him but was struggling as this climb wore on. I showed him how to walk using glutes and hamstrings on well graded uphill. I hadn’t previously though about how useful it is to be able to switch between muscle groups when walking uphill.

I camped tonight where I think I camped on my penultimate night from my hike six years ago. That evening was unique in its emotional magnitude and so I wanted to revisit the site. It’s hard to capture with pictures but the simplified description is atop a wide rock ridge overlooking complex valleys running north-south to the east and west and two grand, if worn peaks rising on the ridge to the south.

My shadow on some trees to the east.

Sunset to the southeast.

Sunset over the southern view of the western valley.

The ridgeline is wide with pools and trees.

The impact wasn’t the same this time for many reasons but I was really glad to have slept again, “among the giants of creation” as I’d written after sleeping here last time. One of the reasons it didn’t have the same effect is that on this trip, I’ve met bigger giants on this hike. One thing today did show is that it’s not just the size, ruggedness, and snow which make a mountain trail inspiring.

Memories from June 25

Six years ago, I hiked a southbound on the PCT from Belden to Tuolumne Meadows. Today, after leaving forwarding instructions for a package which never arrived (it was delivered somewhere in Yosemite, no one knows where), I started out on the reverse of the journey which inspired this one.

The hike started ignominiously around 1pm when I accosted a day hiker so as to ascertain whether a certain trailhead lead to the Glen Aulin High Sierra Camp. The sign on the road less than a quarter mile back had said Glen Aulin was this way but none of the signs at the trailhead said so. According to the nice fellow’s map that was because I needed to walk down a driveway (from which I’d accessed the trailhead) to a different trailhead. I suppose that’s why they’re called trail signs not driveway signs.

Tuolumne Meadows has some really great scenery, even from the first few miles. Also, the paths as far as Glen Aulin High Sierra Camp are as wide as roads.

I remember that building. As I recollect, I had been looking for a toilet since I felt too close to suburban day hikers to do the normal thing.

Here’s a bend in the Tuolumne River which I past last time through and thought it would be a great place to swim. I took the opportunity this time.

Tuolumne Falls were better this time through. More water. More rainbows.

The Tuolumne River from the bridge right before Glen Aulin. I remember drawing water from nearby last time through.

I camped with Cliffhanger and her dad, who is joining her for the trek to South Lake Tahoe, shortly after this meadow. It was just as striking as last time though the mosquito population was more active.

Good memories.

Memories from June 24

The parental units came to visit today. They brought food to spice up my resupply box (dried kiwi!) and we went out to lunch in Lake June. We went to the Woah Nellie Deli for dessert and tried to use Dad’s 4G to upload blog posts but only two made it through. I have some recommendations for the improvement of the WordPress app.

I’d ordered a lighter backpack (more on this in the future) to the Tuolumne Meadows hoping to ditch most if my Sierra gear there. That box was still in Yosemite Valley but they let me bounce it to South Lake Tahoe. There’re some pretty dire reports about Sonora Pass from about 5 days ago so I decided to keep the microspikes and ice axe.

I’d also ordered a cheapo pair of bone conduction headphones so I can try listening to audiobooks while still being able to hear the surroundings. They were not to be found in either the Tuolumne Meadows or Yosemite Valley post office. I distinctly remember Amazon using the word guaranteed when describing the delivery date. I don’t have internet so I’ve given my Amazon password to dad so he  can text me the tracking number and I can follow up tomorrow. Sigh. The most complexity for the least important of my five boxes.

Bacon being quintessential hiker trash while waiting for his phone to charge.

Memories from June 23

The valley before Donohue Pass was Disney have much snow. This gave it a much softer effect than previous passes. The recently melted snow reveals small ponds and scintillates in steams. It’s a gentler beauty than the  miles of snowfields under which you lost the trail.

The approach to the pass itself, was, of course, covered with snow. Here’s. The view from the crest looking back that way. The crest was so wide that you had to walk twenty or so yards from one side to the other. Previous passes haven’t required more than turning around. This considered the last if the big passes and it’s certainly the gentlest.

Lookin north down the valley towards Tuolumne Meadows. Those tracks in the snow start down the wrong side of the valley.

Here’s the view across the valley from where I realized something was wrong. You can see the trail in the middle of the picture descending to the far side of the lake. It’s bushwhacking time.

Fortunately, half way around the head of the valley I encountered the trail which was a very pleasant meeting. “Where did you come from?” I asked. Instead of answering it lead me by this pond.

Looking back from the trail to where the tracks in the snow had disappeared. I think this side of the valley is easier to descend.

Down in the valley, the valley so low, I rock hopped this stream, and felt really swell (sorry, most of my bad lyrical rewrites don’t get out). This, however, was the most challenging rock hop I’ve done. There were long steps to small rocks, rocks which you had to stand on which were slightly submerged so you had to rest only the thickest part of the sole on it, and some of the rocks moved. Since my feet stayed dry, it was a ton of fun. I think my opinion would have differed should I have slipped.

A much easier stream crossing.

Lyell Canyon, approaching Tuolumne Meadows.

I really like Butterfly’s red cap bobbing over his green pack. Also, I’ve always wanted to try putting my poles behind my pack like that but worry about them catching on something.

I’d run in to Butterfly, Turbo, Spreadsheet, and MP3 at Donohue Pass and hiked in to the Tuolumne Campground. I stopped at the store and picked up milk, chocolate milk, ice cream, strawberries, and an avocado. The store was just closing but they were nice enough to let me in since the grill was closed. Nana and Indy were in the camp as were a myriad other PCT hikers. We had an excellent fire. I stayed up late reading from the of the H G Wells collection I was able to download back a Red’s Meadow.

Memories from June 22

Today I walked from the High Trail Head to Lake Waugh with a few long breaks to enjoy pretty things. I was by myself most of the time was Anda departed this morning to reclaim some of her vacation days.

I’m not sure this picture captures it but there was a small section on the morning’s slow, steady climb where the rocks and trees were both intense orange.

As the traverse leveled a little, I could see one of the lakes which the JMT, which diverges from the PCT to wander the other side of the valley, visits. From the topo map it looks like a beautiful but brutal alternate. Given that I have the time, I wish I’d taken it.

The trail in this area is marked with blazes in the trees. Apparently someone who really likes The Incredibles picked the design for the blaze.

At Thousand Island Lake, the PCT and JMT rejoin. Just before leaving for this trip, I ordered an inflatable raft which is small enough for a backpacker to carry. I kind of wish I had it now so I could visit all the islands.

Since I didn’t have a reason to do Donohue Pass this evening, I had been trying to decide if I wanted to spend the night at the Davis Lakes or Waugh Lake. As I was sitting at the trail junction, along came a couple who had just hiked in past Waugh Lake and strongly recommended it. Decision made. Here’s the result.

Memories from June 21

First thing after waking up, Anda pokes her head out of her tent and said she was considering getting off the trail early at Red’s Meadow instead of Tuolumne Meadows. Her reasons were a list of recited by PCT hikers forced to take time off trail in their first few weeks while adapting to the daily grind. It’s a good reminder of how much the trail changes us physically and mentally.

Still, we had to actually get to Red’s Meadow. In doing so, we passed a red hill which is part of a completely different geographic feature.

Here’s a terrible photo of Red’s Meadow. I resupplied and ran internet errands. Their connection was good enough to support a call from dad but not enough to upload blog entries. The milkshakes at the grill behind the bus are quality and all personnel friendly. Anda finally decided to quit hiking after trying to come up with a food list for the resupply and having the first thing that came to mind be that her feet hurt. We decided to meet up at the High Trail Head about eight miles north since I could hiker there and it was on the bus route which services Red’s Meadow and Mammoth Lakes.

En route to the High Trail Head (which isn’t very high), I passed Devil’s Postpile National Monument.

From the top.

From the side.

Most of the hike was along a river but it eventually turned off into a very nice meadow which was filled with mosquitoes.

Since the camp was nearby, our first order of business was building a fire which is sometimes more effective than bug spray. We passed a pleasant dinner with Timo, a German I’d met passing Devil’s Postpile. He’d mention picking up an Italian sausage from the Red’s Meadow hiker box and not being able to fathom why anyone would have left it. Ironically and humorously it turned out to be the one Anda had left when she donated most of the food she’s brought.

Memories from June 20

I’ve mentioned before that I cowboy camp (sleep with no tent) whenever the weather allows. Here’s Prancer demonstrating why. He may technically have a tent (his is jokingly referred to as a coffin) but everything happens outside it. Some people remedy that by carrying heavier tents.

Here’s Anda crossing the outlet of Lake Virginia.

Lake Virginia. There must be a song, “West Virginia where I’m from…” because “Lake Virginia where I’m from…” was playing on repeat in my head for hours before and after getting here.

A nice view from the traverse after Purple Lake.

One of these log bridges isn’t done yet.

Mid-afternoon crossing an alpine meadow.

The trail at times was somehow vaguely reminiscent of Lander’s Camp from a few hundred miles ago just before the long waterless section.

It also reminded me somehow of summer camp. I kept expecting to see counselors and campers and cabins.

We camped at Deer Creek. The area was pretty well cleared of fire wood but there was a dead tree which had fallen at an angle so I climbed up it like a ramp and knocked off some branches (all the ones in easy reach had been used). Usually, when tree climbing you want the branches to stay on.