July 5, 2022

After writing yesterday’s blog, I remembered a few little things that I hadn’t written down. So here they are. First, a tale of trade routes long gone. In our near-perfect campsite at Garnet Lake, Emily found a knapped shard of obsidian. The closest place to mine obsidian is probably 150 miles north and east of Garnet Lake, in the valley around the town of Davis Creek, NV (5/9/23: well, when I wrote this, I thought that was true, but a reader educated me to an obsidian dome very close by, near Mammoth Lakes. Thank you!). A remembrance of vigorous trading and intermingling among Native American peoples from up and down the east and west sides of the Sierra range. Sometimes, we find a bit of shell, maybe from a person who walked Muir’s route from the Bay Area to the high Sierra long before he came along. I wish I had taken a photo of the shard. After she found that first one, we found some more. I’m sure there is a lot to see, if you start looking for it.

Upon hitting the “outside” world, and turning on my phone, I was hit with a frantic message left a couple of days ago by my older sister. Some urgent family business had come up that needed my approval/input immediately. I had missed a deadline, being out of touch for the few days. Damn! So Emily and I went to Lee Vining for our evening meal and I let quite a long time sitting on a bench in a little parklet alongside Highway 395. As my sister was talking, I noticed a woman smile at me with a look of recognition in her eye. I continued with my business, but saw her sort-of hanging out, and sitting in her car adjacent to where I was sitting. The conversation ended up being about a half hour long. Just as she was about to drive away, I signed off and put away the phone. She approached me, introduced herself, and said that she had just been working up in Tuolumne Meadows for a period of time (a couple of weeks, as I recall, but maybe more or less). And she presented me with a very adorable iron-on patch of a pika with a mouthful of flowers, inspired to give it to me because of my Pika Song. Such a thoughtful gift! She was completely amazed to see me sitting in Lee Vining. But you know, like-minded folks often run into each other in what would seem like unlikely places. It reminded me of the time that Tom Rozum and I were hiking, late in the day, in the Alakai Swamp high up on Kauai. The trail was deserted at that hour, and we were surprised to hear, from the voice of the only other hiker, “Tom and Laurie! Hello!” Turned out he was a music person from Santa Cruz. We find our people, and it’s not really all that random.

Okay! So back to July 5, 2022. We left off with Emily and me happily ensconced by a creek at a lovely clean public campground just up Highway 120 from where it hits 395. We woke early and spent some time cleaning our tents inside and out and making ready to pack them away for there next trip. But as soon as everything was dry and packed, we set off for the ghost town of Bodie. This is a place I have always assumed I would get to over the years, but as yet I never had. It’s down a long well-maintained gravel road at the end of a long narrow paved road, east of Highway 395 north of Lee Vining. What is now Bodie State Historic Park doesn’t open until 9:00 AM, and we arrived at the sage-strewn plateau above the town at about 8:30 AM. It was nice to have some time to just stretch, wander through the sage, and watch the day develop.

We were the first car in to the park that morning and had the place to ourselves. It was already getting hot and the sun was relentless as it slowly climbed into a pure blue sky. But there was a fresh breeze, which kept it from being overbearing. From the Bodie.com website:

In 1859 William (a.k.a. Waterman) S. Bodey discovered gold near what is now called Bodie Bluff. A mill was established in 1861 and the town began to grow. It started with about 20 miners and grew to an estimated 10,000 people by 1880! By then, the town of Bodie bustled with families, robbers, miners, store owners, gunfighters, prostitutes, and people from every country in the world. At one time there was reported to be 65 saloons in town. Among the saloons were numerous brothels and ‘houses of ill repute’, gambling halls and opium dens – an entertainment outlet for everyone.

On a daily basis miners would emerge from the mills and head for the bars and the red light district to spend their earnings. The mixture of money, gold and alcohol would sometimes prove fatal. Newspapers reported that townspeople would ask in the mornings “Have we a man for breakfast?” Meaning ‘Did anyone get killed last night?’

The gold had long since played out, and then the copper, and the last remaining occupants deserted the town after The War Production Board suspended mining operations in 1942. It became a park in 1962.

I took the title of this day’s rambles from a song written by Peter McLaughlin, about Bodie. I found a live version online here. It’s worth a listen.

Thank you for joining Emily and me on our little adventure in the Sierra. I am hoping to get back up to the High Country this year, but it looks like it might not be until late, late summer. I hope not, but the snow seems to be sticking around, and as it melts, the stream crossings are too treacherous for me to attempt. If I go, I’ll let you know.

July 4, 2022

Today, I forgot to write anything in my journal. So the 2023 me is just winging it, based on the photos, a map, and my possibly faulty memory. Here goes:

We awoke to the most beautiful morning. Perfectly still lake and clear blue skies. After lazing around camp and taking breakfast overlooking the lake, Emily and I decided that we would hike out today, and visit there ghost town of Bodie tomorrow. Neither of us had ever been there, and we were curious. And though this area of the Sierra is incredibly beautiful, it is also pretty populated. It IS the Fourth of July, of course, and one would expect a crowd. Not that we saw any crowds, but we sort-of expected them.

At every turn in the trail there is slightly different list, and I keep taking photos, thinking that each one will be better than the last. Not true, but it doesn’t stop me.

I wish I was some moss on a rock (2x) Moss on a rock, I wouldn’t have to talk. I wish I was some moss on a rock

I wish I was a bubble in the stream (2x) A bubble in the stream, I’d just float along and dream. I wish I was a bubble in the stream

I wish I was a fish in the flow (2x) A fish in the flow, I’d know just where to go. I wish I was a fish in the flow

I wish I was a dipper in the spring (2x) A dipper in the spring, I’d just dip and dance and sing. I wish I was a dipper in the spring

I wish that I was naked in the creek (2x) Naked in the creek, haven’t bathed in a week. I wish that I was naked in the creek

I wish I was a pebble in the stream (2x) A pebble in the stream, oh how my skin would gleam. I wish I was a pebble in the stream

That’s as much as I wrote down. There were probably more, and maybe a few that aren’t fit for public consumption.

We finally made it down to Silver Lake and the van. Weary, hot and dusty. We ditched our packs and went to the lake for a swim. Of course, the wind came up again right then, and it was cold. But we did it anyway. Just enough to get rid of the trail dust and sweat and feel new again. Then it was a drive up Highway 120 a few miles to a lovely campground. We found a site and settled in for the night. There was a big Spanglish-speaking group that had about ten sites together. The multi-generational gathering was celebrating the 4th with a barbecue, lots of laughing and singing, and promenading from site to site. It looked like so much fun. But I pooped out early. The phone says we did 10.2 miles. Our camp was near a beautiful creek. Tomorrow, Bodie, here we come.

July 3, 2022

What a night! The wind started howling through the trees above us at about 9:00 PM. I thought they would abate, but they lasted almost all night, letting up at times but never being still. I am so grateful that we moved from Thousand Island Lake, where we would certainly have been blown to bits. Here, the wind stayed in the treetops, only occasionally ruffling the tents. I was reminded of hiking through a region about ten miles south of here while on the JMT, where an entire swath of forest was felled by a “freak” wind event not that many years ago. like a mini mountain cyclone. Could it happen here? Can these trees around us withstand the force? Last night, they held, for which I am grateful.

Emily and I met a couple people coming down from Thousand Island Lake, who confirmed that it had been a brutal night up there, with lots of tents mangled and sandblasted by the wind. One hiker summed it up succinctly: “It was stupid.” I guess those sorts of weather events are part of what have formed that area into its current stark nearly-treeless beauty. And I am thankful that we didn’t try to stick it out up there.

Yesterday (and the day before) I as so tired walking uphill—just slogging along—and today I am taken over with a flood of gratitude that I am here, that I can still do this, that it’s an actual option for me.

Emily and I are staying in this camp again tonight. I wish I had a guitar for this day off. When the wind slacks off, it feels like summer and I imagine a swim a little later, in the heat of the day. But then it starts up again and those plans are shelved. It’s a beautiful day no matter what.

There is a couple camped not too far from us, on a gorgeous rocky peninsula. They have a two-person Tarp Tent and a Bearikade. They must be Californians. I have yet to see them at their campsite or around the lake.

This morning, I took a leisurely ramble/stroll/saunter out to the end of a promontory and found a ledge that blocked the wind. I stared at the deep blue restless lake. It’s so calming. I listened to the wind approach and recede through the susurrating lodgepoles. There are so many difficult pressures and demands on my home life these days, and I need this physical distance and space, to be here now, to give me the strength to be there then.

I started making up verses to one of my favorite old-time songs, “Look Down that Lonesome Road,” and set Emily to the task as well.

Look up, look down that long lonesome road, hang down your head and cry, my love, hang down your head and cry

The best of friends must sometimes part, so why not you and I, my love? Why not you and I?

The darkest night I ever saw was the day that you left home, my love, the day that you left home

The sweetest words I ever heard were when you said hello, my love, were when you said hello

Ah, but the saddest words I ever heard  were when you said goodbye my love—I hung my head and I cried

My heart is broken clean in two and half will go with you my love, half will go with you

And when you weary of your path follow it back to its other half, and I will welcome you

The banjo and the fiddle love were meant to sing as one, my love, were meant to sing as one

But now that you are gone from me our song is left unsung my love—my heart, it is unstrung

And when we two once more will meet we’ll make the mountains ring, my love, with all the songs we’ll sing

And on and on. It’s going to be a very long song!

Exploring up toward the peaks, I found a couple of mini-lakes nestled alongside their mama. If it were only a bit warmer, I’d be in this water. Or maybe if the wind wold be still, that would be enough. As it is, I content myself with looking and dreaming of returning some year in late August.

We hiked around the lake for a ways, and then turned back. I can’t remember why. Now that I look at this photo, I just want to keep going around the bend and up that valley toward the heights. Next time.

July 2, 2022

I stayed in bed this morning until the sun hit the tent, at 7:00. Eleven hours in there! Mosquitos are still swarming—as soon as it warms up they get busy feeding. I ate breakfast (oatmeal, dried fruit, a few nuts. I love a good cup of tea!), and Emily and I packed snacks, some miso and the stove for a hike around the lake.

This place is like a well-manicured park, but with only faint trails to follow some of the time, around the western edge. I worry about stepping on too many wildflowers, which are abundantly strewn everywhere I look. I try hopping from rock to rock, but I’m afraid some flowers were crushed by the steamroller that is me. The weather is cool and sunny. Perfect for a walk.

We stopped to spend a little time by one of the streams rushing into the west side of the lake. COLD! Emily put her face in the water, just for the shock of it, so I had to, too. It made my sinuses ache at my third eye.

It’s about 4.7 miles around the lake. We stopped at a little sandy beach on the uninhabited part of the lake (which is really about 80% of it) to strip and get in the water a little. Too cold for actual swimming (for either of us), but it felt great! The skin feels so alive and tingly. We stopped a little later at a beautiful secluded, perfect campsite (next time, this is where I will head), and fixed cups of hot miso while we sheltered from the breeze and enjoyed the sun. I wish I had thought to take a photo of this perfect spot.

We were back at camp @2:00 for an early dinner, followed by a siesta. But the wind had picked up dramatically, until it was howling and blowing sand in the tents. We decided to pack up and head to Garnet Lake to find more shelter.

Garnet Lake is where I lost Betty, not Thousand Island! All the puzzle pieces of my memory have been correctly assembled now. But I realize I could have just gone back and read my blog entry from 2014:

Now, at 5:00 PM, we have a very good, more sheltered camp. I am so tired. My body really feels its age and I trudge up the trail. I need a rest. Tomorrow. Phone says 7.8 miles today. There are many fewer mosquitos down here, and many fewer people for them to feast upon. This camp is in a little clearing among trees, a long mile from the JMT. The kind of place you have to want to go to, rather than a convenient stop on the way to somewhere else. In 2014, I had the best swim of our hike in Garnet Lake, but this year (1.5 months earlier), it’s too cold for me to really enjoy it.

7:30 PM: It got really cold when the sun disappeared. Since we are 1500 feet lower in elevation than Thousand Island Lake, I’m guessing it’s much colder up there. I’m in my sleeping bag already, and after some writing and reading, I think I’m in for an early bedtime. I’m working on a song. Here’s the first verse and chorus:

This gritty city’s so full of noise, you can barely hear the robins sing / This cracked and dirty pavement, boys, it punishes my knees / At night the lights obliterate the stars / the shadows are fractured by headlights of cars / and I wonder how I got here, and will I ever leave?

But when I close my eyes I see the mountains rise around me / stark and wild above the timberline / And I find my place when that immensity of space surrounds me / One tiny spark in the forever flame of time

We shall see how it progresses from here (or not).

5:58 PM

We thought it’d be a short day, but it was 9 miles. Too much for this poor old lady. My engine is feeling the wear and tear. But it is such a beautiful day!

I woke early at Gem Lake, and watched the sunlight slowly approach. Last night I had a mishap with the new inflatable sleeping pad. It kept deflating. I’m sure it’s operator error, and I just need to learn how it works, but it made me crazy at 2:00 AM. Also, sometime in the night I was awakened by a scurrying and scratching sound on the side of my tent. Made me wonder if I had inadvertently pitched it on top of someone else’s home.

Last night, a critter stole the insulated lid for my cup. This is a small but very necessary item, since I have gone to reconstituting my dinners in my cup instead of in a plastic bag. Must keep it hot while it rehydrates! Luckily, I can use the lid from the cooking pot for the rest of this trip.

We are at Thousand Island Lake. it’s very beautiful and very mosquito-y. Banner Peak and Mt Ritter tower above us like a Bierstadt painting. They seem so out-of-scale.

Emily is great—easy and open. At least two of today’s miles were caused by me insisting that there was another Thousand Island trail, to access the northern part of the lake. I swear I accidentally took it while hiking the JMT with Betty, and it’s where I lost her for the bulk of a day. But we couldn’t find it. Argh! Had to double-back and walk along the lake. Lots of campsites taken on this holiday weekend, but we found a nice one for two tents, up away from the lake edge. Even on 4th of July weekend, it’s easy to spend most of every day out here without seeing other humans. I both curse and embrace the trail quota system.

I cleaned the dust and sweat of the day off in the lake, which felt fantastic. It’s cold. Or as I prefer to say, refreshing.

Mosquitos are so bad that we got in our tents at 8:00 PM. There’s a rustler’s moon tonight, a tiny golden sliver in the west. I woke a few times in the night to watch meteorites. The stars are so bright you can easily see to get around without a flashlight. I am content. I think I got my pad figured out, and am warm and comfy. I no longer feel the exhaustion of the day. Just glad to be here now.

Today, on July 3, 2023, I am going to start writing about a backpacking trip I took at this time last year. It was hot and as dry as could be. This year, my plans for hiking at a lower elevation than this one are thwarted by the abundant remains of the incredible snowfall of last Winter.

Last year, I was asked by my friend Katie to resupply her northbound John Muir Trail trip by bringing her food and gear to a meeting place at Thousand Island Lake, in the Ansel Adams Wilderness. I remember loving this area, when I hiked the JMT a decade ago. So why not visit a place you loved every ten years? I readily agreed to be her mule. When we got together to look at what she wanted me to bring, however, I was really daunted by the weight and volume. So I enlisted my strong young friend Emily to help me, and to spend a few days just hiking around before and after the drop. She was definitely up for it, and I got to spend a few days doing something I love with someone I love. So win-win!

A week before our scheduled meeting, though, I received a message from Katie that she had abandoned the JMT hike, and wouldn’t be needing her resupply. Though I felt sad for her for having to leave the trail, it was literally a huge weight off my shoulders. What follows is my log of that adventure.

Emily and I decided to keep our rendezvous with the wilderness, and left Berkeley at 9:00 AM on June 30, 2022. We drove over Sonora Pass and south on Highway 395, stopping in Lee Vining for lunch at Bodie Mike’s before we headed farther south to the Rush Creek trailhead, at Silver Lake. We were on the trail at 4:00 PM. It’s a hard climb up a hot, rocky and exposed trail. My hips are tired, but I’m glad to say that my new pack feels good. I had hemmed and hawed over this purchase for about a year, since my trusty Z Pack was starting to show a lot of wear and tear after ten years of hard use, and I was attracted by the promise of more cushy shoulder straps. Plus, the new white Hyperlight packs look so beautiful. Of course, staying pristine and white in the back country is a little too much to ask of a piece of equipment. I learned to quickly let go of the urge to clean off every scuff mark. One of the things I love about backpacking is that most equipment purchases are a one-time expense. Unless something catastrophic happens.

I don’t think I could have made the climb up to Gem Lake (only 5 miles), carrying the added weight of Katie’s resupply. Well, I suppose it would have been a much slower slog, in any case. Gem Lake, our first-night destination, is a reservoir in a steep canyon. The few flat campsites that had water accessibility were taken already, by early evening, and Emily and I worried that we might not find a campsite that had access to the lake. Finally, though, we did. We set up our tents, made dinner, and I collapsed into my tent at 9:00, ready for sleep. My phone shows that we hiked 5.8 miles, and I feel like it was more like 10. Out of shape! It is a beautiful night, threatening wind. At some point, I heard loud splashing in the lake below us, just out of eyesight. Something big is down there. It’s definitely more interested in splashing and swimming than it is in us. Good night.

August 14

Like so many journals I keep, the last day of the trip never gets written up. We rejoin the busy, urban world, and I don’t have that time to sit and relate the day’s events. So I am just going to have to go by my faulty memory of that day.

I recall that the days started fairly early, with beautiful clear skies in the morning and a quiet around the lake. I think most campers were still slumbering by the time we got up and packed. Now that we have decided to hike out a day early and to a different trailhead, we are wondering how we will get to the van, which is still parked (we hope) at White Wolf. We will now be exiting the trail at Yosemite Creek/Ten Lakes trailhead. We could hitchhike, but I have found that, even though all the guide books say that hitchhiking in Yosemite is easy, it has never worked for me. Nobody has ever pulled over, even when I raise my thumb up higher so no decent soul can miss it, to paraphrase Gordon Lightfoot. I am thinking that two bedraggled hikers with backpacks might be even more difficult. So maybe one of us could hitchhike and retrieve the car while the other just waited with the packs. I also recall having fantasies that the van had burned up in a fire while we were out on the trail. The brain gets active.

It was a little difficult at first, finding the right trail, as the overused area around Ten Lakes is braided with trails. But eventually the main trail emerged from the pack.

The views start looking like the Great Smokey Mountains, with the mist hanging in the valleys. Only, of course, it’s smoke.

At Ten Lakes Pass, we entered a broad open expanse of gravelly ground, with beautiful little buckwheats and other flowers growing sparsely throughout the area. It made it difficult to think about stepping off the trail, for fear of crushing something. But we did. We carefully picked our way over to a mixed stand of junipers, spruce, and lodgepole perched on the edge of the pass, set down our packs and just sat there for awhile, soaking up the high mountains, munching dried fruit and nuts and coming to terms with saying goodbye. We could look down into the Tuolumne River valley, and almost trace our entire trek from this vantage point. I didn’t want to leave.

Then it was back to the trail and the descent to Highway 120. The trail winds down switchbacks through quiet forests, occasionally breaking free of the trees to traverse granite patches of sunshine, with views down towards what I think is Cloud’s Rest, and Tenaya Peak. I really need to get that app that shows the peaks so that I can know what it is I’m looking at!

1,500 feet lower, B and I ran into two women, Kelly and Bren, hiking out to the Ten Lakes trailhead. they were the only other people we saw on the trail today. B is so easy with starting a conversation, and in no time we had a ride to our van all arranged! At some point, I quit taking photos. I remember walking through a big recently-burned area of forest, with blackened spires of trees standing among lush green grasses and brilliant fireweed, and down long granite slopes toward the valley below. The women were an interesting pair, who had decided last-minute to take a little overnight backpacking trip. They both work in or near Yosemite, and had been nearly trapped together in the big Creek Fire of 2020. Their accounts were so harrowing, but since I didn’t write it down, I really think I’ll get it wrong if I try to describe it. One of them had just had to evacuate from her home in Mariposa a few weeks earlier, due to the Oak Fire. They were both dedicated and veteran backpackers, and I asked what areas they most wanted to return to, but alas—I didn’t take notes and can’t remember their responses.

We finally emerged at the parking lot alongside Highway 120, and I sought out the creek for a little cooling bath before we hit the road. It felt great, lazing in the stream, nearly under the highway bridge. And again, the waters made me whole and new-feeling in this old world. 

Barbara and I loaded our packs into Kelly’s car and she drove us back to White Wolf, where our still-intact van awaited. It turned out that Kelly is in charge of wilderness rescue curriculum of Nature Bridge in Yosemite, a wonderful organization of which I had previously been unaware. Then it was the long journey home in the afternoon sun, bright in my eyes as I drove down the mountains. Soon, we were within cell phone reach, and the phones started beeping and downloading messages from the last six days. Ugh! Re-entry is so difficult. So abrupt and un-nuanced. Life goes on without us. Every time I see a message, a little jolt of fear runs through me. What cataclysmic event happened when I was out of range? I drove while Barbara checked her phone, and responded to her people, and then she drove while I did the same. Luckily, all is well, it seems, though Tom had a rough time while I was gone. Lots of back pain.

I’m happy to report that my shoes held up well enough for me to have no problems with the hike out. So far, I have ordered three different kinds of shoes to replace my beloved New Balance Minimus trail runners, but have sent them all back for various reasons. I expect my next pair to show up next week. Because of my foot issues, I prefer getting men’s shoes (wider toe box), but no stores stock men’s shoes in small enough sizes for me (not that they are all that small…). It’d be so much easier if I could just go somewhere and try everything on!  Oh, and I need to make sure that I always have a roll of Tenacious Tape in my pack. That stuff is amazing! Tough, lightweight and so sticky. Of course, I imagine that if I have to use it on my shoes, I am leaving a trail of microplastics on the rocks behind me, which will get washed down to the streams and carried to the rivers and end up in the ocean where a blue whale will ingest it as a part of her 95-pounds-a-day of microplastic consumption. It’s hard being a responsible member of the community of Earth. But I’m so thankful I didn’t have to walk out barefoot, or in my campsite Crocs, which would have been really dangerous on the rocks.

The phone shows a nice easy 6.6 miles for today’s hike. We were back home to Berkeley in time for dinner. I want to go again. Thanks for hanging with me as I revisit the hike. Wish I had more photos of the day, but it just didn’t happen.

August 13

At 9:00 PM last night, I definitely smelled smoke in the air. I know it’s a long ways off, wherever it is, but I got anxious and couldn’t sleep. I lay in my bag plotting escape routes, and figuring how quickly we could get going if need be. Not good for sleeping. Plus, it was cold, and i kept rolling off my Neo Air pad. I guess I erred on the side of too much air last night.

6:00 AM and B and I are up and on the trail by 7:30. I love the mornings. We had been dreading the climb over into Ten Lakes Basin, but it was remarkably easy and short! There were exposed rocky switchbacks, but not for very long. The weather was perfect but for the smoke hanging in the lower elevations. This morning, I can see it down there, but not smell it. We saw a small fire not far from Ten Lakes, but the majority of this smoke is coming from some place much farther away—thankfully.

Coming up the switchbacks, we passed many beautiful junipers. They are so picturesque! I want to do a portrait of each one.

We got to North Lake and dropped our packs at a beautiful sport, only to be invaded ten minutes later by an REI outing with 14 people. Apparently, this was their chosen lunch spot. We let them have it, and wandered around the lake, lazing in the sun and shade. It was nice talking for a bit to the guides Jeremy and Millie, based out of Richmond, CA. Our neighbors! Jeremy knows my compass class instructor from REI, Banning Lyons. Banning had told me that he was writing a book, when I took the class maybe six years ago. Apparently, he has finally finished it, and has a publisher! His story was an interesting one, and I look forward to reading it in print.

My shoes are falling apart. Large chunks of the sole have just disintegrated and peeled off. This, and the fact that B is still having some pain with her blister, has made us decide to cut our trip a day short and hike out tomorrow. I used all the remaining Tenacious Tape to fasten the soles back on. I hope it works. I had bought this pair of New Balance Minimus trail runners on EBay a couple of weeks ago, because my feet love those shoes, and apparently New Balance has discontinued them. So an online search came up with this pair, at a reasonable price, looking to be in good shape. But I don’t feel too good about my score right now.

There is great swimming in the lake, but way too many people around here. I mean, you can get privacy, but not nearly as much as I would like. Because of our feet, we decided to stay put, though, and not find a more remote lake.

The REI folks fed us their leftover lunch of beautiful goat cheese, fresh snap peas and apples. That was nice of them. It’s rare to get fresh veggies and fruit on a backpacking trip. The flavors just explode in the mouth!

In the evening, the lake was quiet and the sky clear. I lay watching for the occasional shooting star and making wishes. Well, you never know…there might be something to that. Now that we have made the decision to leave tomorrow, I am feeling anxious to get home, to make sure everything is okay. This was a relaxed, slow low-mileage day.

Today was an easy 9 miles, much of it spent just strolling around the lakes and wandering up side trails. I feel good physically, and there is a bounce in my step that wasn’t there on Day 1. I want to be back up in the high country, as we were on occasion the last couple of days. Tomorrow will be one big up and then down, down, down.

August 12

Today was a long day, from McGee Lake to the south fork of Cathedral Creek. Lots of up and down, and I felt pretty good all day. But B was suffering from her blistered foot and got very tired. I ended up waiting for her for long stretches of time—long enough that I began to wonder if I should reverse direction and try to find her. We have a rule to always wait at all water crossings and trail signs. And I have done that, but still, there are long waiting periods. And then she shows up, all happy and smiling and ready to push on. Such a trouper!

We saw an osprey at Glen Aulin fly right over our heads and land on a snag overlooking the T. Saw dippers in the river, lots of stellar jays, a few ravens, woodpeckers, mountain chickadees, juncos and robins. I always think there should be more wildlife than we see, but this is a well-traveled area and maybe they avoid us—except for big fat marmots who want to chew a hole in our packs. Actually, I don’t know where they are around here. Haven’t seen any so far.

I love being up high. We stopped for our midday hot meal in a hemlock grove by a tiny freshet running over the granite. It was a perfect Japanese rock garden, only better.

We camped this evening near an area where Cathedral Creek runs over smooth, sculpted granite. I bathed in a tub-sized pool and sat naked in the sun to dry. It was so free-feeling! I rinsed out my clothes as usual and spread them to dry in a little hemlock tree.

Late in the afternoon, I saw smoke blowing in—or at least visible. It looked like it might be coming from way over by Sonora Pass, maybe. We are in a valley now, with blue skies everywhere, but I think I can see some smoke to the north. I can’t smell it, though.

I love the walking up and down, through the various biomes. We are now in lodgepole and hemlock. Yesterday, we passed a Jeffrey pine that made the air smell so delicious—butterscotch, vanilla, maple syrup. I stopped to put my nose to a crevice in the plates of bark, and just breathed it in. Glorious!

More people on the trail today—short hikers from Tenaya or May Lakes, going to Glen Aulin. But after the May Lake turnoff, there has been nobody. No, not exactly right: there was a group led by a Teva-sandaled woman guide, one young man from Oakland and a lone Aussie woman.

Much of every day up here—hours on end—is spent alone, with just my thoughts and emotions. I spend a lot of the time just trying to register, take in and retain the beauty all around me. Sometimes it is overwhelming, and I start to cry. All my emotions seem to be just under the skin, and the skin is so easily torn, like a delicate covering of tissue paper. Waves of sorrow wash over and around me in the midst of all this space. There is the intense depth of the drought, the fact of Tom’s physical decline, the worry over everything in the World, the guilt and fear of being away from home if something were to happen. And then the wave is past and I am again floating in the Beauty, grateful for what is here around me.

Our campsite for the night is in a large clearing among sparsely-placed lodgepole and little hemlocks. There is an “improved” campfire ring, surrounded by wooden benches and tree-stump seats. But it looks sort-of like a ghost camp. Where are all the people? This is a relatively untraveled area connecting two of Yosemite’s popular hiking destinations. Yet we see nobody on the trail, which winds along on the far side of the creek from us. Out on the rocky slope below our camp, you can catch glimpses into the Grand Canyon f the Tuolumne, and trace our path.

My phone shows 11.3 miles today. There were precious few places to camp on this stretch where water is available. I guess that’s why people avoid it. It’s a long pull. But so beautiful! My favorite part of the trip so far.

August 11

A really good night’s sleep last night! I immediately noticed that I was stepping more lightly and surely on the rounded stones, going down to the river this morning. 

We woke at 6:00, and were packed and on the trail by 7:30, stopping to talk to our neighbors–the same couple who have gravitated to each of our campsites. They are lovely 30/31-year-olds, really into vacationing with backpacks in beautiful places. They hadn’t noticed the grinding holes or rock-lined storage places, but now maybe they will know to look and start seeing the history around them.

B’s foot feels a little better today. We doctored it with moleskin, kept in place with Tenacious Tape. Man, that stuff is sticky!

We swam, or at least submerged ourselves three times today. All beautiful spots. Now that we are closer to Glen Aulin and the famous series of waterfalls, we are seeing more people on the trail, including some larger groups of 4-6 people.

The waterfalls are spectacular, even with so little water in the river. Waterwheel Falls is less than overwhelming at this flow, but still throws out a mighty hump of water.

We arrived at Glen Aulin in the afternoon and rested there for a bit. We had been considering hiking out from there to Tuolumne Meadows because of B’s foot, but she has decided that we should go up to McGee Lake and reassess tomorrow.

After we passed one couple hiking from May Lake, there was nobody on the trail from Glen Aulin up to McGee Lake, and we have the place to ourselves. The lodgepole woods are so very quiet. Not a soul nearby. Ahhh! We walked to the shore of McGee Lake, a good-sized body of water surrounded by trees, with views north to Cold Mountain and over toward Ragged Peak. I had visited Ragged Peak in probably 1969. Haven’t been back since. On that trip, my boyfriend Charles and I took our dog, Noah, off-leash the whole way, which is of course a no-no in Yosemite. But we were free-range hippies and didn’t pay much attention to rules back then. Now, I would probably be pretty unhappy with my younger self if I met her and her dog on the trail. Though I would probably still like that dog a lot…

We ate an early dinner, and now it’s 7:00 PM and B is already in her tent. I just went to mine to avoid the mosquitos, which just started coming out.

Tonight there is a full moon, and the cold light turns the granite to molten silver. It’s otherworldly out here. I watch the moon arc across the sky through the trees.

Today, we covered 9.8 miles. Pretty-much all uphill. We are back up to 8100 feet elevation. I am happily tired, glad to be where I am right here, right now. Good night.

August 10

My brother Brian’s birthday! I, of course, forgot to send him a message before I left, and now there’s no way to call. But I am celebrating his birth anyway.

It was a long night. I haven’t figured out my new pad. It’s very narrow, and if it’s too full, it bucks me off. So last night I erred in the direction of too little air. Tonight, I’m going to get it perfect. I hope. It has shaved a number of ounces off my base weight and created more room in my pack, and I do want to love it. I woke—or rather, decided to finally get up—at 6:00 AM. I puttered around camp and visited the river nearby to watch the sun expand over the valley. Beautiful. 

B is tired today. Me, too, but I am also invigorated just being up here. Lack of sleep doesn’t seem like that much of a problem once I’m up and moving around. Poor Barbara has a blister on the bottom of the ball of her foot, which is very painful. We treated it: drained it and applied antibiotics and moleskin, but today it’s back. She waited too long. We discussed hiking out from Glen Aulin, if it is continuing to cause her pain. I’m okay with that. We need to do what we have to do to take care of each other.

It was a long hot walk today. We only saw three people and two rattlesnakes on the trail all day. The climb up over the Muir Gorge cutoff nearly killed my spirit, and I wondered why I do this. For fun?? And maybe I’m too old. I guess I need to hike easier trails in cooler weather—but not too cool.

We stopped and swam twice in the Tuolumne, and it was fantastic! The water is cold and bracing, and so refreshing. Every time, it makes all the negative thoughts and tiredness just flee my mind.

We finally made it to our chosen campsite, a nice oak-shaded flat shelf above the river, not far from a lovely swimming hole, only to find that the couple who were at “our” campsite last night beat us to it again! They complimented us on our taste in campsites. There’s room down on the second level for a couple of little tents, so we are staying here.

On one of my many tours of Germany, I recall looking at the Rhine, near the headwaters, and painstakingly creating a sentence in my limited German. Das Wasser is vie flussige jade. Right here, right now, in this late afternoon light, that is what the Tuolumne looks like. Liquid jade.

We swam, rinsed and hung out our sweaty, dusty shirts, pants, socks, sun gloves, gaiters, and underwear, ate our dinner (I didn’t write anything about it and now can’t remember if it was good, bad, or indifferent) by the river perched on perfect chair-shaped rocks and watched a dipper hopping upstream. We are almost directly across from where Cathedral Creek runs into the Tuolumne. You can look across and up at about three waterfalls.

Today was a 9-mile day, pretty-much all uphill, except for the mile or so coming back down to the river from the top of the Muir Gorge cutoff.

It has been a long time since I have written anything in my High Sierra Rambles blog. Some of that time, of course, could be attributed to winter, when I generally avoid the mountains. I am not a snow person, having gotten a rough start at snow camping and snowshoeing on a high school trip to the Donner Pass area. It involved getting the flu and shivering for two days in a wet sleeping bag, which led to a mild case of frostbite which affected my toes for a few decades. But enough about that. I like the look and the smell of snow, and I love that it is what makes California stay as green as it does late into the season in the high country. But another thing that has been keeping me from writing is that so often when I am in the mountains, I am thinking of home these days, and worrying that I am not there. As some of you readers may be aware, my long-time partner in music and life, Tom Rozum, is dealing with Parkinson’s. It has already taken away his ability to play music, and much of his joy. Now it has progressed to the point where it is not easy to get around or do simple things like dress himself. Left to his own devices, it can take five minutes or more to get his shirt on. If I assist, it takes a few seconds. This is help I willingly give. But it means that I am not as free as I once was to go off on a ramble. So each trip feels even more precious and important than the last, knowing that I may not be able to do this much longer. And at 72, I am thankfully still strong and supple and can still glory in the uphill struggle posed by a faint, rocky trail. But for how much longer? Who can say? I never take the granite for granted.

I wanted to finally let all of this out of my heart a bit, in order to be able to write my blog more freely and openly. I hope that you, dear companion, don’t feel overly-burdened by what is making me feel a little lighter. And so with this as a backdrop, here is a little tale of a hike that Barbara Higbie and I took in August in Yosemite National Park.

August 8, 2022

Barbara and I got together to gather our equipment at my house at about 2:30 in the afternoon. About an hour later, we were riding the first wave of rush hour traffic out east: 580, 205, 5, 120, 99, 120. The highway numbers are so familiar to me that I don’t really think them anymore. I just point the van and go. 

At 6:00, we found ourselves in Groveland, sharing a combination plate and a beer each at Cucina Michoacana. Then it was back on the road to our camping site off of Cherry Lake Road. It’s a handy place, quiet and lonesome, up a dirt road to the top of a hill. The sunset was beautiful and quiet, except for the crickets chirping incessantly almost all night long. I woke many times to watch the gibbous, nearly-full moon cross the sky, and to watch the stars in their slow procession. The sky was clear, and the night was warm. We had been so afraid of fires canceling our trip, but so far, it looks gorgeous.

August 9, 2022

Morning came early, at 5:30 for me. I woke B up at 6:00 and we packed up and drove to Camp Mather for breakfast and coffee at the Evergreen Lodge. For so many years, I made the pilgrimage up here to the Strawberry Music Festival, and I love seeing the little cabins, the dusty grounds, and tall pines under which so much great music was made and enjoyed. And there are so many memories tied to that place—ranging from ecstatic joy to deep heartbreak, and everything in between, from probably 1982 until the Rim Fire of 2013 caused the festival to have to change locations. Generations of kids raised at the festival now have families of their own. Barbara and I lingered, taking advantage of the wifi to check email for the last time and to just savor the place. Then it was on to Big Oak Flat, where we stopped to claim our permit. The ranger was so beautiful, clear-eyed, and fit that I think I momentarily fell in love. She told us we could change our permit to start at White Wolf, instead of hiking in at Lukens Lake, to hike the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne and then circle back on the south side up into Ten Lakes Basin. This meant that we didn’t have to hike as fast or as far, since the Lukens Lake trailhead required us to backtrack for the first day.

B and I had hiked up the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne before, circling down into it from the north, and we had been so enamored of the Pate Valley area and the river itself, that we wanted to visit it again. The hike from White Wolf into Pate Valley is a long, long downhill, and it was hot and dry! We each, at separate times, hit a little wall of exhaustion. When the trail leveled out alongside the river, the tiredness caught up to me, and I had to drop my pack and stretch out my waffle pad to rest for awhile. We were right above what looked to be a good swimming hole, but I couldn’t muster the energy to scramble down the steep bank to allow the water to invigorate me again. I just lay there, looking up at the cedar and lodgepole pine surrounding me, waiting for the urge to move to re-enter my body.

Today, the trail crew—the CCC—were working on the steep trail from White Wolf. Hard, good work. As I came upon the first of them, he said, “You are the first person to ever set foot on this step,” pointing to his handiwork under my descending shoe. By the end of the season, who knows how many other feet will have stepped there?

All the way down the White Wolf trail, we saw only one group of three people: a father and his son and daughter. They had huge packs and the dad didn’t look like he was going to make it. We passed them, and never saw them again. I spent a little bit of my energy worrying about them. When we got the Pate Valley, we could see a number of tents in the main campground, and passed the sprawling CCC camp just at dinnertime. The smells made me suddenly very hungry.

B thought that she had a little pebble in her shoe. She ignored it all day long, and it became a very painful blister, which dogged her for the rest of the trip. But then finally there we were, at our swimming hole by the grinding rock. The big slab of granite has at least 20 mortar holes. An overhanging bench sported a row of pestles, ready for the people to come along and put them to use. Someone had added to the pestles we had lined up in 2020, and some of the stones were of questionable shapes to be really useful, but it proved that we weren’t the only people to have discovered this hidden gem of a spot. A swim in the water made me new again, and all the tiredness and frustration of the long downhill slog floated off of me like so much trail dust.

Tramping down the trail, I was imagining the gatherings that must have taken place in Pate Valley, with Miwok, Paiute, and Mono people from both sides of the Sierra converging here for late summer harvest. I was wondering if they used this steep trail, and then I realized that of course they wouldn’t. They would have been camped all the way up the Hetch Hetchy Valley, fishing for salmon, gathering acorns and seeds, drying the fish on racks in the meadows, trading fish and acorns for obsidian from the eastern side of the mountains. No need to take this steep trail when you could saunter up through the valley. Off to the west, we caught glimpses of Hetch Hetchy, now a big reservoir with a wide bathtub ring in the near-white granite. So much has been lost here. But if the dam were removed, I think that the valley would begin to regrow in no time. That would be a sight to see!

We headed for our campsite of 2020, in a clearing near the Tuolumne, tucked away behind a barrier of young pines growing close together. We left the main trail on a little footpath and wound our way past the remains of stone-lined storage pits and threading our way through the pines to the campsite, only to find it occupied! But we found a nice place a little farther upriver. It was all good. This is, after all, in Yosemite National Park, and we are bound to see other folks on these well-trodden trails.

We ate, washed out our sweaty clothes and cleaned our filthy feet. There’s a lot of fine dust on that White Wolf trail. We doctored Barbara’s blister, and then it was time for early bed.

Elevation at White Wolf: 7875 feet

elevation at Pate Valley: 4380 feet

Miles traveled: 11.8 (longer than I’d like on the first day out)

So many times today, and every day spent in the Sierra, I see things I would love to share with Tom. I regret that we never backpacked together. He would love it here.

We got up early today, around 6:00, and packed up so that we would have time for one last soak in the hot springs before we had to leave to catch the ferry at Florence Lake. This morning, our favorite soaking pool was already occupied by four young through-hikers by the time we got there. But they were about ready to leave, and invited us to join them, which we did. It’s fun hearing the stories of the trail. Some seem born to ramble, and some are definitely being dragged along. One couple had met on a backpacking trip led by the father of one of them, and I think they are in it for life. The other two met on the trail, and were just teamed up for the duration of the trek. A fiercely independent young woman who liked having a man around the house, just in case…

The dusty miles back to the ferry dock are starting to look very familiar to me, as I have hiked them six times now, I think. We met one of the Muir Trail Ranch crew returning on horseback, leading a mule carrying supplies back to the ranch. We stopped and chatted for awhile. I was very curious about how one makes reservations there these days, and whether they could arrange for a less-able-bodied person to ride in on horseback. The answer to the latter was yes, they do that all the time. The answer to the former was that the ranch is generally rented out to groups, and if you know a group, there are often accommodations available for one or two people extra within that group. I would love to come back with my partner, who would be hard-pressed to do the hike at this point. So if anyone reading this knows of a group that is making or has made reservations for 2022, I’d love to hear if there’s room to be included to piggyback on their stay. The other thing I thought about was actually forming a group and reserving the whole place for a week. Expensive, but idyllic. It would be a great place to have a music gathering! But of course I would need the more affluent to help sponsor the less affluent. That could work.

By the time we got to the ferry dock, we were hot and dusty, and took advantage of the free half hour or so to swim in the lake. How wonderful that felt! At first, it seemed too cold, and then after a few minutes I didn’t want to get out. The shallows over the smooth granite were almost warm. My skin felt completely alive.

The ferry operator told us that as of midnight tonight, all national forests would be closed. Nobody can enter, so that firefighters and other personnel don’t have to worry about any more people who might need to get rescued from potential fires—or who might start them. There was one more hiker on the ferry with us, who was going to the Florence Lake store to meet a friend who was supposed to drive up from SF with his resupply, and join him on the trail for a week. The friend hadn’t arrived yet, and I overheard from a phone conversation that he hadn’t yet left SF. He HAD to get there by midnight, or the hiker wouldn’t get his supplies and his friend couldn’t join him. As it was, if they missed the last ferry of the day, they would have to hike around the lake, since after today there would be no more ferry service. I hope they managed to get together!

The woman running the Florence Lake store (who was also the ferry operator) told us that she had to, on very short notice, close the store down for the season tomorrow. That meant shutting off the electricity, which meant that all of the frozen foods left behind would have to be thrown out. She gave us It’s It ice cream sandwiches (“a San Francisco tradition since 1928”), and offered us more. If only we had had a cooler! I discovered It’s Its when I was in my 20’s, and for years they were my very favorite treat. I don’t eat that stuff much anymore, and hadn’t had one in decades. It was sooooo delicious! Margaret and I were in post-hike ice cream heaven. Plus, the store dog was a real pleasure to hang out with. I wish I had taken some pictures of him. He never begged for food or even asked for attention. But he accepted pets, seemed to enjoy the company, and regarded me with deep soulful eyes.

Margaret expertly drove the slow Kaiser Pass road out to the highway, and then we were zipping back down the mountains and foothills into the smoke-choked San Joaquin Valley. It feels good to be back home, with ocean breezes protecting us from the drifting smoke, but oh, how I miss being at 10,000 feet. Here’s hoping for a big snowpack leading to a late season in 2022. I’m planning the next excursion already. Thank you for sharing the trail with us!

My phone says we have hiked 10 miles. The map says we have hiked 7. Hmmm…I choose to believe my phone.

We are at Blaney Hot Springs, across the San Joaquin from Muir Trail Ranch. For some reason, all the other backpackers are on the other side of the river, which is great for us. We have a spacious, beautiful campsite to ourselves, with nobody else anywhere nearby, a short walk from the springs. We sat for a long time in the hot springs and soaked. I have felt a little beat up, with my Morton’s neuroma making itself felt. Yesterday I dug a sliver out of the bottom of the dame foot—a remnant of the Grand Canyon raft trip last March. I stepped on a sharp shard of something or other on the first night of the 21-day trip. At the time, I got most of it out, but a little bit remained. It finally worked its way to the surface of my foot, five months later.

This morning’s hike was pleasant, but my knee was hurting and I was feeling sad about coming out of the high country. The outside world’s worries were starting to weigh on me again. We haven’t seen much wildlife on this trip. A doe, her two fawns from this year and her yearling daughter, and a fine buck. Chickarees, ground squirrels, chipmunks, jays, dippers, juncos, Clark’s nutcrackers, a few hawks, a marmot or two. It’s a quiet time of year and a fairly busy trail.

Today, at the Piute Creek bridge, we met Vanya. She is from Bulgaria, came to the US as a teenager, was homeless for awhile, and is now a cardiac surgery nurse. She has brought over her parents—for whom she is the primary caregiver—and several cousins who are all doing well. She was maybe in her late 40’s (it’s harder and harder for me to tell anyone’s age), warm and bubbly, full of energy. I asked if she sang any Bulgarian songs. She was surprised that anyone would ask her that, and with lots of apologies about not being much of a singer, she launched into a song, full of the Eastern ornamentation and the bold, committed vocal style. It was great!

So dry! My skin is flaking away. The sky remains thankfully deep blue and smoke-free. At this lower elevation, we are surrounded by aspen and pine.

I highly recommend Fernweh mushroom pot pie backpacking meals. They are really good. Well, I take one meal, open it up and add various other ingredients: home-dehydrated spinach, kale, kashi, and parmesan, and potato flakes. Then I extend it to two meals. Margaret brought delicious chicken broth, and my dehydrated miso is great, too. We are eating really well on this trip.

My knee kept me awake last night, even with three ibuprofen. The hot springs are helping a lot!

Margaret and I stopped to weigh our packs and get rid of a little garbage at the Muir Trail Ranch backpacker station. I haven’t been here since they moved it over from the main ranch yard. Makes more sense for the ranch to have it removed, but I liked being near the horses and snooping around the grounds (exactly why they moved it!). My pack weighs 20 pounds, after I removed about a pound of detritus picked up along the trail, including some wrecked footwear. Nice to be rid of it. I go into the wilderness and gather lost soles—my own personal Savior Complex.

1:58 AM Sleep is hard to come by, but I don’t really mind. The stars are brilliant and the night is still. The river is murmuring in its rocky bed in the distance. This is the most comfortable I’ve felt in my tent. Must be the lower altitude, the flatness, the cool air, and time spent soaking in the hot springs. Such a beautiful unexpected spot. Just took three more ibuprofen and am hoping that they will lull me back to sleep soon.

Crescent moon is just coming up among the trees. I heard the owl far off as I drifted to sleep earlier. It could be one of the same ones we heard on our first night. We are not far downstream from there. Good night.

Margaret and I enjoyed a beautiful, relaxed morning at Evolution Lake. We walked over to the outflow overlook again, just to admire the view. There was more smoke in the valley this morning, but we were blessed with clear skies. We broke camp and shouldered our packs at about 9:00 AM. I suggested that we drop our packs at the faint trail to Darwin Bench and go have a look-see. Margaret was all for it.

It was so beautiful up there. You have to look pretty carefully to find the path at times, especially because everything is calling so loudly for you to come take a look. It’s easy to wander off the trail. Fields of Spring wildflowers were still in bloom, even this late in the season—lupines, mostly—and streams were flowing everywhere. It put me in mind of John Muir writing about the Sierra. He often referred to the mountains as fountains, because of how the water sprang from them. Even in this dry, dry season of a dry, dry year, there is water flowing. Good thing, since it is the drinking fountain for most of California.

We spent a couple of hours enjoying the place, and almost talked ourselves into a swim in the frigid lakes. If the wind hadn’t been blowing, I believe we both would have immersed ourselves completely. If Barbara Higbie had been there, she would have done it! And then I would have to rise to the challenge. Lucky for me, she wasn’t there As it was, I settled for some good splashing and then lying in the sun for a bit.

After a bit, we walked back down and retrieved our packs. We hadn’t seen a human anywhere, since we turned off on the Darwin Bench trail. No evidence of camps, either. Margaret suggested that we camp near Evolution Creek, just above the steep set of switchbacks. I didn’t recall seeing any campsites around there, but it was such a beautiful spot, and I readily agreed to the plan.

We went, but there were no campsites anywhere, search though we did on both sides of the creek. So we ended up hiking all the way down to the San Joaquin, where we have set up camp before the first bridge. There’s lots of space and nice sites, but it all seems beaten-down, dusty and dirty, after our time on the granite slabs above. I hate to leave the high country, but this has been a very good visit. I am still feeling the lack of conditioning, and though I am grateful for what I have, I miss the 69-year-old me!

We hiked 12.2 miles today. More than I would have ideally wanted, but every step was so, so worth it! Tomorrow, we soak in the hot springs.

I realized, in looking over yesterday’s entry, that I didn’t do much to describe the trail we have been on so far. Except for the first 4.5 miles, it is all part of the John Muir Trail, so not the most remote stretch you could find, by a long shot. But the majority of backpackers are going the same direction as us, north-to-south, or as the through-hikers say, “SoBo” (as opposed to NoBo). Still, we walk for hours on end without seeing anyone else. The first 4.5 miles of the trail are heavily trafficked by horses and four-wheel-drive trucks, bringing supplies into and out of Muir Trail Ranch. Then there’s about a mile of dusty trail before backpackers can even think about making camp. The first campsites we saw are lovely, shaded, flat, and near the river. But also, they were all taken when we arrived sometime around 5:30. A short walk away, through a narrow defile between granite ridges, we found a level, shaded campsite alongside the river, and didn’t see another human until we hit the trail the next day. Then, yesterday, we walked along a well-worn trail that ran about a quarter mile away from the banks of the San Joaquin until we came to the bridge across Piute Creek, at the junction with the Piute Pass trail. There is a beautiful swimming hole right there at the bridge, and of course we took advantage of the chance to cool off before continuing. From Piute Creek, the very rocky trail runs just above the steep banks of the San Joaquin, until it levels out and moves on into quiet spruce, fir, and pine forests. We crossed the river twice (on bridges), before we came to the Big Climb. The trail climbs with many switchbacks from about 8500 feet to 9200 feet, in the space of about a half mile. Then you come out at the mouth of Evolution Valley, and smooth sailing. That gets us to last night’s campsite, along the creek in the quiet woods.

Today, we walked through McClure Meadow, which is a beautiful open park, with a meandering stream that flows slowly through the now-dry mostly-golden grasses. We stopped to talk with the ferry guys along the way, and met a young man from Santa Barbara who is a musician. I said I used to know quite a few musicians in that area, but they were mostly retired or moved away by now. But the first person he mentioned was Vince Semonsen, a friend and former river guide on the Tuolumne and Rogue rivers. Small world!

It was a long day today. The climb out of Evolution Valley to Evolution Lake just about killed me! It was a slow slog through beauty, and I felt every muscle on every step. I remember it being kind-of tough in 2014, but nothing like this. But I also noticed that when I would rest, or be overtaken by young, hale backpackers, I only needed to casually mention my age to be called “bad ass.” It does the spirit good! Everyone out here is younger than me. I reminded myself of my former neighbor, Mrs. Sephus, who would start almost every conversation with “I’m 70-something years old. Of course, my husband, he’s younger than me. I walk downtown every day to the Blue and Gold Market.” To which my 20-something self could only reply, “You’re an inspiration!” It’s been a hard year for me to try and stay in shape, what with the knee injury, vein surgery, and carrying around all this worry about my family, and my voice issues. I am getting in touch with the fact that I am just plain exhausted. But I am so, so thankful to be here. Te weather is clear and dry. No smoke today at all.

On the trail up to the lake, I stopped at a nondescript spot to take a little break, and said hello to a young man coming down the trail. He said I was close to the top now, and continued on his way. I watched him go down another couple of switchbacks, stop, and then turn around and come back up. He said he had missed the very faint turnoff to the Darwin Shelf, which happened to be right where I was sitting. He said he was camped up there, that it was beautiful, and was taking day hikes from there. He said that today, he had climbed up to the razor-thin ridge leading to Darwin Peak, and decided it was just too foolhardy to do on his own. Smart young fellow. I filed that information away, and continued the climb.

Evolution Lake is beautiful! There is a broad open flatfish smooth granite bench along the bank, and that’s where we made our camp. We had to share it with three other people, but that was okay. I took a walk over to the outlet, where the creek plunges over a lip and down into the far reaches of the valley below. It was a perfect place to enjoy the sunset, and watch the fish jumping like crazy for some recent hatch, while the bats swooped above. Many of the fish flashed red in the low sun, and though I am woefully ignorant, I would guess they were cutthroat trout—and I’d probably be right.

The alpenglow was spectacular.

Because I hadn’t slept much the last couple of nights, I accepted the offer of an Ambien, a drug I had never tried before. I slept like the proverbial dead for four hours, and then staggered out of my tent to answer Nature’s call. Then I went back to my fitful sleep until morning. I don’t think I like that drug. I would much rather just be awake and aware of the incredible shifting night sky than to be knocked out like that.

The phone says we hiked 9.4 miles. My legs think it was more like 15.

9/9/20, 9:30 AM

Well, last night was hell. When I lay down, my legs started cramping—I guess from the nearly 16 miles of hiking yesterday, which might have been overdoing it for the first day. I rubbed them, tried to quiet them, and drank water, but the only thing that worked was to get up and walk (requiring unzipping the bag, grabbing my parka from the sleeping bag stuff sack which I use as a pillow, finding my shoes, donning my balaclava and gloves). Walking calmed the legs. More ibuprofen and lots of water. Try again to sleep. The night was crystal-clear and the temperature hovered around 29 degrees F.

As soon as I lay down again, the same thing! Got up and walked as the waning gibbous moon was rising and washing out the stars. The road was white in the moonlight, and I cast a long black shadow. As I turned back down to the tent, my knee went crazy again. I decided maybe I should try sleeping in the van, in a seated position. That worked like a charm for my legs, but not for being able to sleep. Ugh. I keep lots of blankets in the car, and wrapped my legs well, but couldn’t get the rest of me warm enough. Back out into the cold to the tent to grab my sleeping bag and back to the van to try again. That at least kept me warm enough, but sleep evaded me.

Finally, at 3:00 AM, I decided to try lying in the tent again. This time, the legs cooperated more or less, and I slept fitfully until 7:30 AM.

My knee is pretty painful, so we drove up the road to the Wheeler Peak trailhead and Bristlecone Campground (closed for the season). B is hiking to the bristlecones and I am hanging out in the van resting my knee. Not what I had planned, but it is fine. Maybe in an hour I’ll walk around some. I’ve been up here a few times in the past to visit the bristlecones and the glacier, and I didn’t want her to miss it.

Now, at 10:30, I have combed and braided my hair (not an easy task after yesterday’s hike and the night in my balaclava cap), taken two more ibuprofen, and laid out my waffle pad in the back of the van. Too cold to nap outside—for me, anyway. Lying down for a try at another bout of sleep, beautiful sleep. Aspens surround me, their leaves talking in the breeze. We are at 10,000 feet on what was once an island in Lake Bonneville. It’s quiet, calm and warm in the van.

I slept like a rock for two hours, and woke only minutes before Barbara returned from her hike to the bristlecones and the glacier—or rather the remains of the once-mighty one. Now it’s just a dusty patch of year-round snow and ice, tucked up against the cliffside of Wheeler Peak. Did I mention that on yesterday’s epic hike, we saw nobody else all day long? We were all alone in that area of the park. Today, we are at the most popular spot, and there are lots of hikers, motorcyclists, tourists of all stripe milling about up here.

I took the ADA trail through the Engelmann spruce, limber pine, and aspen. Read all the informational displays and was thankful that my knee seemed to be doing okay on flat ground. At least there’s that (and that’s a lot!).

On the way back down to our campsite, we detoured to the Lehman Caves Visitor Center. The caves are closed this year. I had toured them decades earlier, long before they were a part of a non-existent park, when they were one of the roadside attractions along Hwy 50. I mostly remember that they had colored lights trained on various stalagmite and stalactite “features,” which bore names like “Madonna and Child,” and such. I’m sure it’s not so hokey now that it’s part of a national park! The cafe at the Visitor Center was a revelation, and I had a delicious, fresh salad and B had world-class chili.

There’s really not much more to tell about today. We went back to the coffee stand in the morning, and met two dogs who sort-of run the town of Baker. We found out about good hikes for tomorrow.

We had each bought beers at the cafe—a Great Basin Wild Horse Ale for me and an Icky IPA for Barbara (named for the Nevada state fossil, the ichthyosaurus). We sat comfortably in the van parked at our campsite and drank. Not the trip we had planned in any way, but full of incredible beauty, and clear smokeless skies. Forecast low tonight will be 32 degrees F. Warming up!

I walked 1 mile today.

9/8/2020

After our last backpacking trip in Yosemite, I wanted to head right back up to the high country, for another backpacking trip. So I applied for a permit to go to Ten Lakes Basin, a relatively short hike up from Tioga Pass Road. I had an idea that Barbara and I could practice our off-trail skills and I could practice my compass-reading. Plus, this late in the season, swimming would be great in the lakes! We were stoked, and had our packs all ready to go two days in advance of leaving. But California was on fire, and the smoke blanketed the state. It was looking really bad, though the AQI still showed clear air in the Sierra. Yesterday morning, I called the ranger station in Tuolumne Meadows and talked to a ranger, who, after a lengthy discussion, said that he would not recommend coming up. He said hikers had started leaving the high country due to the smoke. We were crushed, so I spent some time on the computer looking for another place we could go, out of the smoke and where we could still get a permit, if needed. There was nowhere in the whole state.

Then I had a brilliant idea, to drive 9+ hours to Great Basin National Park! This little-visited gem is on the border of Nevada and Utah, on US Highway 50 (The Loneliest Highway). It didn’t take much to talk Barbara into it, when she realized it was either go there or nowhere. And a long drive for a road warrior musician is no big deal, unless there’s a sound check and a gig at the end of it. I LOVE this place. Long before it became a National Park, it always held a magic spell on me. There is a place on the highway where you can glimpse the cliffside of Wheeler Peak, which reminded me of Blueland, from The Dragons of Blueland, which I read when I was 7. I always imagined there was something special up there, and when, in the 1980’s, I drove by and saw it had become a new National Park, I immediately started exploring it. It IS magical! An island rising up in the middle of the big dry lake which is the Great Basin, crowned with 4,000-year-old bristlecone pines and year-round springs running down to the desert surrounding it.

Driving over the Sierra, the smoke was horrendous, and even worse in Reno. We left home at about 12:45 PM yesterday, and arrived here in the dark at about 10:30, found a campsite at the Baker Creek campground (3+ miles up a dusty washboard dirt road), set up our tents and went to sleep. A crazy powerful wind started up at some point, and woke us and kept us awake most of the remainder of the night. The ground was too hard to drive tent stakes, so we used rocks, which got dragged about by the wind and collapsed our tents. But we awoke in pretty good moods, and walked around the campgrounds looking for a more sheltered site. We decided to visit the Visitor Center and make a plan for the five days which stretched before us.

Okay. I admit, I am being stymied by the new WordPress program. I can’t figure out how to add captions to some of the photos. So here are the captions I would have attached, had I been able to, for the above photos:

1. Barbara standing at the Shoshone trailhead. This park has such great new infrastructure. We kept wondering who made a deal with whom to make it all happen. Not that we don’t love it, mind you!
2. Mt. Washington, straight ahead and up.
3. Looking back down the trail, and across at the white granite escarpment of Granite Peak.
4. I honestly can’t remember which direction I was looking for this shot, or the next one. I was just in awe of the expanse of space around us.

We stopped at the little coffee trailer in Baker, on our way to the Visitor Center, and were really impressed by the quality of the espresso. After studying the maps, we decided to hike up the Shoshone Trail to the bristlecone forest on the ridge.It took about a 45-minute drive up a dirt road to get to the beautiful new trailhead (opened in 2017, I think). It was a steady climb up through aspen, spruce and pine to Mt. Washington and the first bristlecones. Then we wandered along the ridge toward Pyramid Peak, through a wonderland of healthy bristlecones and limber pines of all ages.

All the while, a storm seemed to be brewing up by Wheeler Peak, and deep grey skies were quickly approaching us.

We reached an elevation of 11,775′, and the trail was very difficult to follow. I thought it skirted a peak, so I took off over the scree—you could see that others had gone that way, but maybe they were mountain goats instead of humans. It was rough going and slow. After a while of wandering up and down the slope, I cut back up to the ridge and hollered to Barbara to join me. Suddenly, we were surrounded by more bristlecones, growing out of the gravelly granite. The more exposed to the elements the trees are, the longer they live, as the dry winds keep them from rotting, for thousands of years. That is something to ponder. I mean, what does a 4,000-year-old being think about, minute-to-minute? We must seem like so many ants to them.

I found a sign, which said, “Bristlecone forest. Please stay on trail.” Immediately after the sign, we lost the trail completely in the hard rubble, but we figured it must just follow the ridgeline.

The wind at the top was incredibly powerful, and I confess I was worried that I would be blown off and over the edge, where we could see down 4,000′ or so to the basin floor. I walked crablike, using my trekking poles on the left side to push me away from the edge.

Finally, we saw a trail heading down a draw where we thought we needed to go. It was, by this time, 4:30, and I feared we might run out of sunlight before we got back to the van. We happily left the windy ridge, following the fainter and fainter trail until we lost it. Rather than return to the windy ridge, we decided to bushwhack down the drainage, which we could see fro the ridge would eventually get us in the vicinity of the van. So for the next two hours, we chased the light, going as fast as possible in the right direction, over and under fallen trees and crossing and recrossing the creek. B and I both began to tire, and and I got anxious (because I always feel that if there’s an accident it’ll be my fault for getting us in the situation), though the beauty never failed us. Occasionally, we would hit about 50 yards of an actual trail, probably left over from native Americans or early white settlers, or just a popular animal path through the tangled woods. It always brightened my spirits, but then it would disappear under a windfall or into the creek. When we finally hit the actual, groomed, modern trail, around 6:30, we were ecstatic and exhausted, but nearly danced down the final stretch to the van. Though we were never in danger of getting lost for long (we knew we had to follow the stream down and it would eventually lead us to the road, if not the trailhead), the terrain was really rough, and if anything had happened, it would have been very difficult to get help. I only stopped once for photos in the woods.

A couple more bristlecones for your viewing pleasure. Each one seemed to want its portrait taken.

Somewhere along the way, my left knee began to give me pain, and by the time we got to the van, it was stiff and didn’t want to bend. We got back to our new (out-of-the-wind) camp at about 8:00, and rehydrated our dinner while we set up our tents. I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Walking down to the tent site from the van, I suddenly got a shooting pain in my knee, and hobbled the rest of the way. Took two ibuprofen and bedded down. A cold, cold night, but happily the wind was still. And the most beautiful dark sky with way, way too many stars. The Milky Way flowing right overhead. Saturn and Jupiter shining bright. I wish I could take a picture of that!

15.2 miles, 312 floors climbed. Good night.

8/18/2020

I didn’t make any entry into my journal for this last day of our hike, but it is still vivid in my mind, and so here goes:

Barbara and I popped out of our respective tents, fully dressed, at exactly the same time this morning, sometime near 6:00 AM. We seem to have synchronized our inner clocks perfectly.

We ate our last helpings of oatmeal, drank our last cups of coffee (for B) and tea (for me), with the last of our powdered buttermilk. No snacks for today. We spread out our tents by the river on a lovely smooth clean expanse of granite to dry out after yesterday’s drenching. The wait forced us to enjoy our last campsite, as we slowly pack up our well-worn clothes, personal trash, and detritus picked up along the trail. Finally, the tents were dry, and we finished our packing and hit the trail. From here to the van, it’s mostly a pretty flat wander, mostly along the Tuolumne out to the parking lot, for about 5 miles or so. Easy-peasy!

We had parked in the lot for the stables, so on the way back we took the turnoff to the stables. I kept waiting for the landmarks that I remembered from our hike out, and nothing looked very familiar. Then, suddenly, we were out of the trees and actually at the Tuolumne Meadows stable. Like everything else in Yosemite, it never opened this season, and it looked so desolate. We hadn’t been there before. I was briefly disoriented, until I spotted the parking lot off to the right, and the van sitting patiently waiting for our return.

We tossed our very light packs into the van, and drove the short distance to the Tioga Pass Road bridge over the river. We took one last rinse-off in the bracing waters of the Tuolumne, and done our clean clothes. Heavenly!

Tioga Pass Road is spectacular, plunging over the smooth granite mountains and down the rubbly Nevada side to Mono Lake and Highway 395. I was too busy driving to take any photos. The air looked hazy, and Mono Lake faded out to invisible in the near distance. At 395, we turned left to the town of Lee Vining, hoping to find something to eat. The town is still pretty closed up, but there was a restaurant with an outdoor patio, and we donned our masks, sanitized our hands, and sat down to a fantastic late brunch. I had eggs over easy with hashbrown potatoes, salsa, and sourdough toast with marmalade. We shared a piece of cherry pie for dessert (too sweet for me). It was really incredible-tasting. When I backpacked in my teens, we always used to stop at the A&W drive-in in Tracy on our way back from the mountains and order root beer floats. That doesn’t appeal much to me anymore (at least, I don’t think it does. Maybe I should try one again…), but this food celebration had the same ritual feel to me.

Having to deliver Barbara to the campsite on Highway 50 meant that we got to take the road over Monitor Pass. As long as I have lived and traveled in California, I had never yet been on this road. It’s so exciting for me to have a new road under my wheels, and this pass is a beauty! When we stopped up near the summit to take photos, we talked to two motorcycle riders who were enjoying the road, too. They told us that there was a fire east of Mono Lake that was causing the smoke in the air. And they mentioned the dry lightning storms of the night before last that set off over 300 fires around the Bay Area. So that’s what I smelled all the way up in the mountains. The nose knew. What will we be coming home to?

Now I am back home, and California is on fire. Luckily, here in Berkeley, we are far from the actual blazes, but inundated with smoke. And friends, acquaintances, and strangers are being evacuated and losing everything to the flames. Poor California! We need our water, we need our snow, we need cold winters in the mountains. We need our rivers to flood the valley floor in the Springtime and replenish the groundwater. 

Barbara and I have been planning another hike, in Yosemite, for next week, but just this evening I got news that there s a fire very nearby. Maybe we will just stay home indoors. 

Wishing you well wherever you are.

8/17/2020

Packed up and ready to go in the morning. Thank you, beautiful campsite!

This morning, I could have sworn that I detected a very faint scent of woodsmoke in the air as I sat here by the river. It came and went, and the sky was clear, so I forgot about it. But the afternoon lightning now is making me remember it. It’s a worrisome thing, these extra-dry conditions and fire from the sky.

We stopped three times to swim in the river. So incredibly refreshing every time. It was a hot and sweaty uphill climb all day, and the river seemed to get colder the higher we went. But every time, I was ready to start up again, with renewed energy

We left our camp in the early morning. I love the coolness and freshness of the trail before the sun is overhead.

We passed so many great swimming holes, but it was too early and not yet hot enough to want to plunge in.

Some swimming holes weren’t particularly accessible, though they beckoned mightily.

We walked through an area with huge old cedar trees growing beside the river.

The last three days, I have felt occasional hunger. At first, it felt good, but my energy is starting to flag (Barbara’s, too), and I blame some of that on the heat and the climb, and some on the lack of sufficient caloric intake. You live and learn…

As the day warmed, we gave in to temptation and stopped for our first swim. It was short, maybe more of a dunk and a paddle than an actual luxuriating swim, but it did the trick!

Looking back down the canyon from whence we came.

We skipped this one…

The day got hotter and hotter, and the trail wound up and up.

Tomorrow will be a quick 5-mile hike to the van, a dip in the T and a change of clothes, and we will hit the road over Tioga Pass to Highway 395. I need to drop B off at a family lake camp (which I am happy t do—I haven’t had a road trip in a long time).

Our first view of Waterwheel Falls.

Resting above Waterwheel Falls. In this tree, I saw the chickaree.

The view downriver from Waterwheel Falls.

This little guy/gal ignored us as it concentrated on whatever it was eating. The Douglas squirrels/chickarees are the cutest critters!

Th Tuolumne just before it plunges over Waterwheel Falls

We were joined by four hikers above the falls. I snapped this photo and then sent it to them, when I got cell service.

LeConte Falls. Right before we got here, I slipped on the trail and fell, cutting my elbow. We stopped here to doctor it up and wash my shirt. The amount of blood was awesome, and hardly hurt at all!

I got one mosquito bite, right on my forehead over my right eye. Not bad.

“Cloudy in the east, and it looks like rain” more and more as the day progresses.

At this point, I think we were at California Falls, but I can’t say for sure. The entire stretch of the Tuolumne looked like a waterfall, but maybe they are just classified as cataracts. In any case, this shelf had the most exquisite designs in the polished stone from millennia of Spring floodwaters.

See what I mean?

It takes precious little encouragement for wildflowers to grow.

Barbara is feeling good!

There haven’t been many people on the trail today, until we got near Glen Aulin. Then suddenly, here’s the outside world! Everyone is donning masks to pass us on the trail, and there are fewer friendly hikers. Just people hurrying past on some sort of mission or other. We fished out our masks and joined the parade.

This is really great trail-building all up the canyon. My deep gratitude to everyone who made that happen.

Looking back down the canyon, again.

And suddenly, we were alongside a typical Wisconsin canoeing river, except for those telltale cliffs.

I will miss these clean, bright granite expanses.

We enjoyed stops at Waterwheel Falls, LeConte Falls, California Falls, White Cascade, and Tuolumne Falls. They are spectacular, even this late in the season with a tiny fraction of their Spring flow.

Wait a minute…maybe THIS is California Falls?

When we got to Glen Aulin, we were greeted by a little soft, cooling rain. Lovely!

By the time we got to the bridge at Glen Aulin, the sky had cleared and we had stopped for another swim

5:27 PM

We are in our tents above Tuolumne Falls, and the rain is coming down. We watched the storm approach for a long time, and it finally arrived. Thunder and lightning about ten miles away, but a really nice downpour. We had set up our tents and just finished dinner when it started.

Tuolumne Falls, and the approaching storm.

Looking east from our campsite right before dinner. Something is happening over there!

Shit! A lightning flash and immediate crack of thunder that made me jump and holler involuntarily. That’s close! But so far, nothing any closer, and no repeats of that surprise.

The sun is shining in under the storm. I had been thinking that the hot air coming up the canyon might keep the storm at bay. And it is, for everyone still down in the canyon. But we are up top at the end of it. Oh, well. A storm like this reminds me who is in charge. It’s really raining now.

Whoa! It’s hailing now! The stones are the size of large green peas, and it’s deafening inside the tent. I am so grateful for this little mobile home.

After the rain stopped, we emerged from our tents and explored the area.

Another beautiful campsite. No harm done by the rain.

I climbed a large smooth granite hill near our camp. The Tuolumne disappears over the lip of its namesake falls right here.

The afore-mentioned granite hill. It looks like a whale or an elephant.

View from the top.

My phone shows 11 miles hiked today, from 2 miles west of Return Creek to here above Glen Aulin. I don’t know how that is, as on the map it looks like it should have been 7 or 8 miles.

As the sun set on our penultimate day in the Sierra, the light kept changing and intensifying, causing me to take too many photos yet again.

One moment, the sky was heavy and gray…

…and the next, it was clear blue skies!

It’s off to bed now, and all I can think about tonight is tomorrow’s breakfast. And the chance to eat a big lunch somewhere on the road.

8/16/2020

3:30 PM

Watching the morning come.

I woke after a too-hot night at about 5:30 AM, to a beautiful clear sky. The clouds had vanished during the night, and I was able to lie comfortably and watch the stars. B said that in the middle of the night she heard a loud snuffing and sniffing outside her tent, right where her pack was. She didn’t hear any footsteps or other noise. She turned on her flashlight, and probably scared away whatever it was. I think it must have been a bear, having a look around. The Bear Vault wasn’t bothered, and everything in camp was as it had been when we retired to our tents.

A couple more Phil Brown tribute photos:

I love this river. Everywhere I look, sights remind me of Phil Brown and his paintings and pastels of the South Fork of the Yuba. I miss having him in my life, but he left beautiful work behind, and that’s something. By all accounts, he was a beloved teacher, who showed his students how to see rather than just look at their subjects.

My flashlight—a new, fancy, light rechargeable one—died last night and of course I had forgotten the charging cord, which was tucked neatly into the pocket of the solar charger we didn’t bring because a friend of B’s loaned us a better, lighter one with a battery pack. It’s so hard to keep all the bits and pieces together. It’s a new moon, so only starlight at night, which is okay by me. I miss reading by flashlight, but not so much as I thought I might. There is lots to busy my mind, and also lots of emptiness to be enjoyed and savored.

I don’t know…the way these logs were laid out just didn’t seem “natural” to me. I like to think it was the framework of an Ahwahnechee lodge.

We walked along beside the river much of the time, and as the day grew hotter, the water beckoned louder and louder.

“Amber tresses” of tree.

It was a splendid hike to this camp today, though a bit too hot for my liking. We are in the heart of the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne, and it is magnificent. It took us awhile to get here because we had to stop and swim a couple of times. We are both hungry today. Our allotted portions of food haven’t changed, but we think that the lower altitude makes one hungrier. We have enough food for the trip, but certainly not much, if any, extra. I think I skimped on my snack portions,  overcompensating for the last trip, when I had nuts and fruit left over.

Leading up to this outing, I had dehydrated Damson plums from my backyard trees, and pears and apples from my mom’s backyard. Also parsley and parmesan for the dinners and my big experiment—miso. All turned out great, I have to say. And the soaked and dried almonds are especially delicious.

After about 4 miles alongside the river, we started up over the bypass for Muir Gorge, a particularly steep and narrow portion of the Tuolumne. I hated to part from the banks of the T, even for a few miles.

These trails are works of art. Wait…have I made that observation before?

More rocks in clear green water. Can’t get enough!

This oak started growing out from under this boulder quite awhile ago.

Manzanita is a great sculptor!

We are about 1.5 or 2 miles west of Return Creek, which was our intended destination, but this site is so pretty and shady. Just downstream is a beautiful-looking swimming hole which is calling to me.

Looking westward, back down the canyon.

We leave the river below us, but only for a few miles.

I am constantly amazed, and comforted, by how tiny we are in the world!

Register Creek, as dry as can be.

Looking down into Muir Gorge. See that saddle to the left of the left-side hump? That’s where the trail will take us (I think…).

If I had seen this scene in a Japanese painting, I would have said that it was completely exaggerated and out-of-proportion, but here it is in real life.

The tiny piece of shade offered at high noon by this venerable old juniper at the highest point of the Muir Gorge bypass was most welcome.

And now we head down toward the river again.

The dry bed of Cathedral Creek, across the river from our campsite.

The trail plunged down into the trees again. 

This area had been burned, but not so badly that the majority of the tall trees were lost. The woodland had an open, expansive feel about it. It reminded me of Joaquin Miller’s writings in “Life Amongst the Modoc,” about their use of controlled fires to keep lines of sight open for hunting and such.

Looks like someone had a dinner party here!

One more climb into the granite…

…back down to the trees…

…and back to the river again. We didn’t stop to swim here, and now I am regretting it. That’s an Olympic-sized swimming hole!

We set up our tents and took naps for about an hour or so. B is still napping.

It was a little buggy there, among the trees, but not bad at all.

Our campsite is in a stand of cedar and oak. A fire came through here some years ago, and there are a few tall cedars standing dead. None right by camp, but close enough to hit it if one chanced to fall while we’re here. That’s a scary thought, after having been at a river camp on the Tuolumne a few years ago, when a seemingly healthy and huge old oak, laden with acorns and leaves, fell down in the middle of the night. If anyone other than the quick-witted, athletic river guides had been sleeping under it, I am sure that someone would have died. Or if any of them had been in a tent. They had just enough time to wake and run before it came crashing down, after a loud cracking sound. I have been leery of trees ever since.

Later: The swimming hole did not disappoint. We swam, cooled down, and then sat for a long time watching the changing silver-to-aluminum-to-iron-to-gold lighting on the slick, steep granite. I apologize for the following photos. I took them all within a half hour of each other. This was the view downriver from our swimming hole. The light was just changing all the time, and when I went to choose one for this post, I couldn’t decide. But there are probably 6 more that I did NOT include…

Occasional very distant thunder comes to us from the higher mountains. But I don’t think there’s a chance we will get any rain down here.

Today, my phone shows 10.4 miles and 50 floors climbed. It feels like it. We saw two men headed our way on the trail this morning, and two passed us going the other direction. We saw a group of young backpackers at a campsite we passed, but haven’t seen another soul on the trail today. It’s a change, here in the backcountry, to not see any Europeans this year. Usually, they are in the majority, or at least fifty percent, once you get away from the paved roads.

I’m hungry! What’s for dinner, Babz?

8/15/20

I slept really well last night. Seems to be an every-other-night occurrence. I saw another shooting star as I happened to be awake and gazing at the night sky. Jupiter has been so incredibly bright every night!

It doesn’t take much water up here to create a garden.

Barbara and I were up and on the trail by 7:30 (very early for us), and hiking down into the oak and madrone and Jeffrey pines. We stopped now and again to put our noses into the cracks of the bark and breathe deeply of the sweet butterscotch scent of them. So delicious.

Somebody’s breakfast

Parts of the trail are so dry, that the greenest part is the lichen.

I don’t know if you can see it, but there’s a little lake down there. It’s on the map, but not on the trail, but I had a yen to visit it. I was guessing there might be a faint track that we could take. But we never found it. There was one place where I guessed that we could have gotten to it with a minimum of scrambling, but that will have to wait for the next trip.

Looking down into the Pate Valley

The oak woodlands.

As we descend, the granite takes on a darker aspect.

There is precious little left of this tree, after the fire came through. Or maybe it was a lightning strike, and burned from the inside out.

I see this as a silk bodice with lace ruffles.

The ground is so dry. But so beautiful.

Bear scat. I guess they’ve been eating manzanita berries.

It was really exciting when we rounded the bend and could see up the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne. Once we hit the bottom of the canyon, we turn left.

I love being able to see what landscape lies ahead.

The walls of the canyon rise up thousands of feet above the river.

Now we’re at the Tuolumne, in a secluded spot. I was frustrated, first by seeing and hearing Piute Creek and imagining that our trail would lead us there, and then realizing that it did not. And then by walking through the woods within sound of the Tuolumne, but being unable to see it or figure out how/where to bushwhack through the woods to get to it. Finally, I spotted a faint trail off to the right, and suggested we take it. It led to a clearing with remnants of old Native American (Central Sierra Miwok) storage pits, and we followed an even fainter path through the trees to another clearing and then to the river. Now we are at the T, in a secluded spot. We haven’t seen another soul yet today, though it’s high noon. We took a swim, rinsed out our clothes, replenished our water supply, and now we are waiting for the clothes too dry. The sun is fierce, but the shade is cool and the water is bracing.

Down there somewhere among the conifers is the river!

At last! The water is so precious, in this sere landscape.

The river and its rocks remind me of my longtime friend and Yuba River artist, Phil Brown. He died of pancreatic cancer a couple of yeas ago, and I can’t stop my mind from constantly saying, “Oh Phil would love this!” or  “I wish Phil were here to see this place,” or “I have to tell Phil about this!” I just searched online for a website or some place that I could share his art with you, but there are so many artists named Phil Brown, and so little of his art is online. Mostly, it’s in private homes around Northern California. But some of it looks remarkably like this:

After a good rest by the river, we walked back the way we had come and farther, past the trail junction, to the Pate Valley campgrounds. Just before the bridge, I noticed a large granite rock and a deep backwater pool, where the main river whisked by to the right. I left the trail to check it out. There were at least twenty grinding holes in the smooth, flat rock, in rows spaced about four feet apart from each other. It was so easy to imagine how the women would have sat across from each other in the rows, working away grinding acorns into flour and most likely gossiping. And when the day got too hot, there was the swimming pool. Under an overhang, on a natural shelf, I saw the grinding stones. We pulled them out and looked, feeling how the smooth stones fit our hands. We found a few that had fallen off the ledge, and replaced them with the others. Apparently, this was a large, seasonal village, all along the river. I imagine that Paiute from the eastern Sierra would come over and trade with the Miwok, and people looked for partners outside of their family group. There would have been a lot to gossip about, probably.

The awesome swimming hole at the mortar rock.

Looking back upriver at the swimming hole (to the left) and the main stream (right).

This bridge at Pate Valley campsite was washed out in 2018, and just rebuilt. It’s beautiful!

The view from the bridge.

No doubt about it, this was hard, repetitive work that had to be done in order for tribes to have enough to eat. But the workplace is certainly beautiful and peaceful. The water, separated from the main Tuolumne flow, is a little warmer than the main river, and the pool is very deep. It is a fantastic place to swim, maybe as good or better than most swimming holes in my long river-swimming history.

A few of the many, many grinding holes.

The tools were neatly tucked away under the ledge.

Now we’re back at the campsite, which is hot, hot, hot. Very little shade, as this area had burned sometime between 1990 and 2009 (according to the Yosemite fire history map). Many young trees were growing up in the middle of the faint path we had followed to get here, but they aren’t offering much shade yet. I am sitting in the shade of the few big trees left standing along the river, waiting for the heat to dissipate some. It may be a long wait. It is storming upriver somewhere. We can hear the thunder and see the dark skies to the east, but I think this heat will drive the clouds away from us. There is certainly evidence that people have camped here before us: a t-shirt, some underwear, a hair tie—all of which we packed up to take away with us.

This is the life!

Today, I am hungry. I have eaten breakfast, all my snacks, and am waiting for a reasonable dinner time. It feels pretty good, to have that slight gnawing in my belly, but I am realizing that maybe the ranger at Neal Lake was right: we haven’t brought quite enough food with us this time. Oh, well. We certainly won’t starve.

After our dinner, we walked back up to the swimming hole. Still nobody else there, even though we saw other hikers in the afternoon, and people were camped not too far away from it. It seems that most backpackers are particularly uncurious about what lies just off the trail—in this case, in plain view behind a thin veil of oaks. We saw people walk past on the trail without so much as a glance in our direction. That’s good, for us and for this magic place.

Giving a human scale to the swimming hole. This water was cool enough to be plenty refreshing, and just warm enough that you could actually enjoy a good swim or just hang out in the water without the teeth starting to chatter. Looks like a fish just jumped out there.

It is so sad to imagine all the tools and the grinding holes, just waiting for the next year, when they will be taken up and utilized again. But the next year never comes.

Waiting for hands to make use of them again, the tools sleep under their ledge.

Our secluded campsite.

Evening comes

The last of the sun lights up the canyon walls

Dinner tonight was Berkeley Bowl black bean soup mix, with dehydrated rice, okra, carrots, red pepper flakes, cumin, parmesan, and chicken. Delicious! We are good cooks.

10.6 miles today, and since it was all downhill, the phone tells me we have climbed one flight of stairs. Good night.

8/14/20

6:00 AM  I woke up to a stupendous dawn—brilliant red clouds above Petit and Regulation Peaks. Rushed out to get photos, and then it was gone.

There’s something poignant, or creepy, about this live tree being embraced by the dead. “I am always with you, my darling.”

It started raining last night at about 2:30 AM. A strange, light rain that sounded like dry pine needles falling on my tent. When I got up to check it out, the tent was dry to the touch. A rain that gives no moisture.

Now the clouds are turning pearly with the sun just hitting their eastern sides. Very Italian Renaissance. I had a restless sleep last night. Too dry, and for some reason, even though my tent site seemed level, I kept inching off the sleeping pads.

Volunteer Peak and Rodgers Lake, from the south side.

The granite “boat ramp” across the lake is where Barbara and I sat yesterday, when we first arrived at Rodgers Lake.

After breakfast, I took off to explore, and ended up walking around the lake. It was challenging. No trail, and a few boulder fields to navigate.  It was great to see the changing light as the sun cleared the ridgeline. Barbara and I had decided that we didn’t need to leave this idyllic place until afternoon. Today, we plan a fairly short hike, all downhill. Much of the way around the lake, I was thinking, “If it gets more difficult, I can always turn around,” but then it looked like I was over halfway around, and I committed to keep going. For the first part of my circumnavigation, B and I communicated via yodels (I had taught her how to yodel on our last trek, and she was an excellent student), but after awhile I was too far away.

Near our campsite, I was stopped in my tracks by this weathered fallen tree.

The south side of the lake is a jumble of slides.

A piebald crazy quilt of rock.

The view from the east end of the lake.

I met up with B back around at our first resting place of yesterday, and we walked back to our rock and took a swim. It took a long time to commit to the water, as it’s pretty cold. But we’ve definitely been in colder water. I feel so wonderfully alive!

Neal Lake, under the escarpment of West Peak

On the shore of Neal Lake.

5:30 PM

The only people we saw today were a pair of rangers out patrolling. We startled them at Neal Lake (they weren’t expecting people). It was fun to talk with them. He had been a ranger for eight years, stationed at Tuolumne Meadows, and she was assigned to the toll booth at Tioga Pass. They asked us whether we had a bear canister, and we said yes, we had one, and that we were out for eight days. He said, “You can’t carry eight days’-worth of food for two people in one Bear Vault.” We insisted that we could. More on that point later…

I think B was influenced by meeting up with the rangers.

Rodgers Meadows

The stream which should meander through the meadow is dry, dry, dry…

Farewell to the high country! I feel better knowing that we will end the hike up high again, in Tuolumne Meadows.

After Rodgers Canyon, we began to get vistas, and we could see where we were headed.

We are camped near the junction for the Pate Valley and Pleasant Valley trails. It’s a very hot day, and there is no shade in camp. No water. The streams shown on the map are all dry, except for one tiny trickle, for which we have to compete with the bees. But it would be another four miles to Pate Valley, and we’d rather not push it and just stay here.

Something new on the landscape: groves of aspen.

Looking west toward Rancheria Mountain and Pleasant Valley…

…and down toward Pate Valley

Just now, passing our campsite, we have seen a group of eight people hiking together, and also two young men, all hiking for four days (starting at Hetch Hetchy and ending in Tuolumne Meadows, where we started) and covering more ground than us, with much heavier packs. I don’t know…I would rather do without than carry all that stuff. My back has been really bothering me today. Everyone reported bears. We had seen plenty of sign (lots of scat), but no actual bears. Up here, they are timid black bears, and more likely to run away than cause any trouble (unless you threatened a cub somehow). We had walked a little further down the trail to where the map shows that we cross the creek, as we were on a search for water. The stream wasn’t even a trickle, just a few bee-filled puddles. But it was so much cooler down there than at our camp, that we just laid down on the trail and enjoyed the shade, the slight breeze, and the rattle of aspen leaves, which sounded like water. 

Our only shade in camp.

Our campsite is on a sage-y shelf of volcanic rock amid the granite, out of the trees and bugs. There’s a large granite boulder setting in the middle of it, with mortar holes attesting to the fact that people have found it to be a good place to stay for hundreds of years—if not thousands. In a wet year, or a formerly “normal” year, the stream would have flowed nearby, through a stand of aspen.

Evidence that our camp has been a popular spot for a long time.

We hiked back up to the stream where we had gotten water earlier, and it had completely stopped running by 6:00 PM. jUst puddles, but larger than below. We managed to salvage some water for tomorrow’s breakfast.

Tomorrow will be an easy day, down to Pate Valley, and our first chance at more water.  Then the Grand Canyon! The evening is totally clear, without a cloud anywhere. The sun has just set, at 7:30, behind Rancheria Mountain. It is too hot for my bag. I read to B about Konrad Lorenz’s observations of the mating habits of Siamese fighting fish and cichlids. Very interesting! And so very human. Or maybe we are just fishy.

Because of my morning hike around the lake, my mileage today was about 12 miles. We descended from 9,500′ at Rodgers Lake to 7,780′ at our camp. Tomorrow, we will be at the low point of 4,380′.

8/13/20

Matterhorn Canyon

4:00 PM  Matterhorn Canyon supplied me with a great night’s sleep. I slept uninterrupted from 8:00 until 1:00 AM, which for a woman of my age is damn good. Then I was so comfy and snug, I didn’t budge until 6:00 AM. We hit the trail at 8:00, expecting the worse up to Benson Pass, but it was like a stroll in the park. And what a park it is! The trail led up a canyon, with granite walls rising thousands of feet above us on either side. the weather was ideal, full of fresh sweet mountain air, cool in the shade and warm in the sun. The trail was empty of people until we got to Wilson Creek, and we saw all sorts of birds and flowers, and a magnificently unconcerned 12-point buck who studied us from across the swale. Eventually, he got bored and went back to eating.

Climbing out of Matterhorn Canyon

Up into the morning sun. 

Bless the trail builders! This one is really artfully constructed.

The canyon walls rose above us

Climbing up from Matterhorn Canyon, we passed through lush forests of fir and ferns.

As we got higher, things got drier.

Above Wilson Creek, we passed through a sunlit meadow.

Such a Japanese-garden esthetic!

Looking back down the trail. 

Trees and other vegetation thinned as we worked our way up to the pass.

Today was as easy as yesterday was hard. We topped Benson Pass by 10:30, and took some time out for a snack and to just enjoy being. Then Smedberg Lake by 11:30.

We heard and saw Clark’s Nutcrackers up on Benson Pass. I have certainly heard enough of them on this trip, but they have always been distant, and these were the first close-up sightings. They are such garrulous critters, and their talking is one of the sounds I look forward to. Makes me know I have arrived!

Looking forward to Volunteer Peak. We will walk around the right-side base of the peak and turn left to climb up and over the shoulder to Rodgers Lake.

I considered turning this clockwise, because it looks just like a human torso, but decided against it. The geologists would probably object. But look at those nice legs!

We walked through little gardens all the way down the path.

We walked across an ancient lakebed, which is slowly becoming a desert.

The fractured granite piles look like the remnants of an ancient stone city.

Barbara heads out across the old lakebed.

Sorry! I couldn’t stop taking photos today. Bear with me, please.

Smedberg Lake was cold and windy. It would have been a great time for a swim, had the weather cooperated.

Filling a water bottle in the lake.

Black and white or color? It hardly made any difference.

The trails are so artful!

After descending Benson Pass, we started seeing people, and counted 20 on the trail today, but there hasn’t been a soul since we took the trail less traveled. There were many long-distance hikers, from Bend and Ashland, OR, and Shasta, and who knows where else. One guy had been hiking for six weeks. He said he had hiked the entire PCT a few years ago, and now he’s just going slow, stopping to fish and enjoy the scenery, actually experiencing the places he raced through before, and resupplying every 75 miles. We asked him if he ate the fish he caught, and he said no, most of the time it was catch-and-release. Then he educated us about the difference in flavor between brook and rainbow trout. I had no idea. Apparently, rainbow is much more “fishy” tasting (I guess that means brook trout must taste like chicken).

We took the left-hand trail.

I prefer a trail like this, where the grass can still grow on it—fewer feet stomping it down. The Pacific Crest Trail was nice, manicured and well-traveled. But I am glad to be turning away from it.

Finally reached the top of the little saddle over to Rodgers Lake.

Barbara showed up a couple of minutes later. The sense of distance (which you can’t really get from these iPhone photos) is pretty heady up here!

Looking at the backside of Volunteer Peak. I had considered scrambling up it, earlier in the day, but I don’t feel the drive to do that anymore. Amazing how a few miles on the trail will wear off the edges…

And ahead of us, what’s over the rise?

Pretty Ranger’s Buttons.

Whoa! It’s Rodgers Lake!

Skunk cabbage meadows lined the trail.

A little vernal pool caught the reflection of Regulation Peak behind it..

We got down to the lake, and stopped to rest for awhile on a granite slab. I love this wide strip of quartz in the middle of this boulder.

It helps to stretch.

Barbara looks happy, as usual.

Now we’re at Rodgers Lake, so of course I can’t get the Jimmie Rodgers song, “Away Out On The Mountain” out of my head. It is so, so, so stunning here.

The views from our granite slab, to the left and the right. Rodgers Lake is huge!

And the views from our preferred smooth rock on the lee side of the lake.

The weather is changing. We could be in for some cold or a storm. We shall see. We met a young woman from Berkeley hiking solo, a gardener named Sequoia. Afterwards, I wondered if that was her “real” name, or a trail name. And what is real, anyway? Met another guy named Megaphone, who really enjoyed talking.

View of the lake from below our campsite. So nice to just sit an be.

Of course, sitting is all very fine and good. But I needed to explore what might be over the hill. Turns out, it’s tomorrow’s first destination: Neal Lake

See the rock in the foreground of the previous photo? Well, it has a crack through it, and inside the crack grows the most beautiful chartreuse lichen.

We have set up camp not too far from the lake, in the leeward side, anticipating some weather blowing in with the wind. It is so very pleasant here. Today was Barbara’s hard day, while I was “the Kid,” effortlessly climbing the ridges. Tomorrow starts our two days of downhill to Pate Valley, and then up the Tuolumne.

I think this lodgepole wishes it were a Joshua tree. It just looks so Mojave to me.

My tent site.

Evening comes to the high country.

Every moment, the light changes.

For some reason, my back is extremely sore today, right in the spot where I fractured two vertebrae in our 1994 car wreck. I am very, very pleased to find out that Barbara gives a great back massage! It helped me so much. Grateful for those strong piano hands!

Alpenglow, as seen from my tent. I was too tuckered out to want to get up and actually get a good shot of it, justifying my immobility by saying it’d be gone by the time I got up (it wouldn’t have been…).

13 miles, and 63 floors climbed, according to my phone. A beautiful day!

8/12/20

Brrr! At 6:00 AM, Cold Canyon lives up to its name.

A grueling day! I had a bad night of very little sleep, though I was rewarded by the sight of a long, bright meteorite streaking across the velvety black moon-free sky during one of my awake and out-of-the-tent moments. I couldn’t get comfortable, and it was cold (unless I hunkered down in the bag). We camped in Cold Canyon, just past Cold Mountain, and it is aptly named. I got up at 6:00 AM to the meadow covered in frost and a low white mist just below us. Then, when the sun finally hit, the ground sparkled like diamond dust. It was very dewy last night, and we had to wait for the tents to dry before we could pack up.

Here comes the sun!

Today was mostly unrelentingly uphill, except for the steep, unrelenting downhill into Virginia and Matterhorn Canyons. We went up to lodgepole and down to to red fir and back up to lodgepole and then to red fir numerous times.

Looking down into Virginia Canyon. Somewhere down there is our water source, after 7 miles of dryness (if you don’t count rain and frost).

We were greeted by a dipper running through the granite puddles when we got to Return Creek, at the bottom of Virginia Canyon.

Fantastic fungi!

When we finally got to Miller Lake, a brief swim saved me. I had really been hitting rock bottom energy-wise, and B had given me a couple of magnesium capsules, which were supposed to help with oxygen absorption in the blood but instead mostly messed with my intestines. Ugh! Meanwhile, Barbara was just chugging along nice and steady, and I was thinking to myself, “So this is what 70 feels like. I don’t like it,” but throughout it all, the landscape was spectacular. I didn’t take many photos, as I was too busy just keeping going. I took to referring to B in my mind as “The Kid.”

The Kid

Peek-a-boo views of distant ridges.

The graceful mountain hemlocks were everywhere.

We met one lone young man, hiking from Sonora Pass to Mt Whitney, who told us about the incredible thunderstorm he had been in the night before. It sounded like B’s and my night below Elizabeth Pass. Scary! Briefly met another couple who were on their 320th trail mile. They had that look of wild ecstasy in their eyes. And when we got to Matterhorn Canyon, we met a young woman standing alone in the meadow waving her wet socks around her head. She was hiking with someone else, who we didn’t see. And that was it for the day. This is the Pacific Crest Trail, and I had expected it to be much busier. Thankful that it wasn’t.

Miller Lake showed up just in time. I thought we’d never get there. A brief dip in the cold water brought me back to myself. It would have been longer but for the unrelenting wind. Cold! Clark’s Nutcrackers made a racket from the far side of the lake.

The trail leads on, with a sharp right turn away from Miller Lake to the lip of Matterhorn Canyon.

The Sawtooth Range, and Matterhorn Peak! Now it’s down, down, down to the canyon floor.

The very steep switchback trail down to Matterhorn Canyon didn’t allow for any panoramic views, but the lighting among the trees was soft and golden.

Now, at the mouth of Matterhorn Canyon, we have a lovely campsite, with a beautiful stream nearby and lots of very unafraid large deer. They know that they are living in Paradise. We rinsed out our clothes and set up camp. Barbara walked over to an area she didn’t think she had been in before, and found one if the Wright socks that she had recently bought two pair of.. She said, “Oh, I must have dropped my other!”, and searched unsuccessfully all over the camp area, until she finally realized that all her socks were, in fact, accounted for. She was wearing one pair, and had the other in among her washing. She just happened to find a stray sock, same color, size and make, that someone else had lost! We now use it for our potholder. If you lost a sock in Matterhorn Canyon, I have it. Drop me a line.

Matterhorn Canyon, our own private Yosemite Valley.

Our granite bathtubs at camp. Cold water!

A camp visitor. We have to make sure that any sweaty clothing is not available for the salt-loving critters to munch on.

We didn’t have any fires, but used the former fire ring as our kitchen.

I have been struggling all trip so far with my drinking apparati. Since I lost the water bottle clip (I think it got accidentally “recycled” at home), I have been trying to figure out how to either attach my bottle somewhere that I can reach it more easily than the side pocket of my pack, or rig up a bladder-type apparatus to my pack, which isn’t made for such a thing (a disadvantage to the stripped-down very light pack I have). Today, I decided that my Macgyvered “fix” is much more trouble than it’s worth. Plus, I miss being able to gulp water straight from the bottle. Now, though, my water bottle has a hole drilled into the middle of the cap, so I need to be very careful when I set it down, that it doesn’t spill. And in dry places, ants seem to like to crawl inside.

It was a hard, hard day. Tomorrow will be equally difficult, if not harder. I’m going to sleep early, probably by 8:00 PM.

13.3 miles. Good night.

8/11/20

The view from our campsite in the Stanislaus National Forest

Barbara Higbie and I left Berkeley yesterday afternoon, at about 2:00. We packed up the van and double-checked everything. All good! We caught the first wave of rush-hour traffic leaving town, and inched along toward Tracy. After that, the roads cleared, and as we hit Highway 120, I saw the billboard for Bass World, one mile up the road. Suddenly it came to me: I’d forgotten my trekking poles. Those are invaluable things on these outings, really helping with both uphills and downs for the knees and hips. So we pulled off the road, walked through the 100-degree heat and into the over-the-top Disneyesque shopping experience, past the fish tank with a couple of good-sized sturgeons swimming lazily around, under and alongside the waterfall and past the stuffed wolves, coyotes, mountain goats and elk, to the hiking department. $40 later, we were out of there and on down the road.

We stopped at La Michoacana in Groveland for a shared plate of enchiladas, rice and beans, eaten in their very pleasant outdoor area, and then headed up the highway to Cherry Lake Road. We were too late to get into the backpackers’ campsite at Hetch Hetchy, so we figured we’d just pull off the road in the Stanislaus National Forest somewhere. This was an area that burned in the Rim Fire of 2013, and there were still standing dead trees, but so much life coming back! The shrubs and bushes were full of wildflowers and insects and the air was full of birds. There were lots of young trees. I don’t know if they were planted or whether they are just coming back naturally. In either case, it was nice to see. We drove up a dirt road out of sight of the paved road, and set up camp.

Thunderstorms in the distance, and is that snow still on the mountains? Or the sunlight glinting off bare expanses of granite?

I confess to being pretty nervous when it comes to camping at places that one can drive to. It seems far more dangerous to me than camping where one has to make an effort to get there. But the air was sweet and full of the sound of a million or more crickets, the evening warm, and no signs of recent humans. There were cattle grazing not too far away, and I briefly imagined a stampede in the middle of the night crashing into my tent, before I fell asleep.

Sunset, August 10th

By about 7:30 this morning, we were packed up and back on the road. It had been a long time since I had taken this road, so I ended up taking a wrong turn and followed the road down to Cherry Lake and the dead end at the Kirkwood trailhead. Interesting! There’s a California Conservation Corps headquarters down there, and those guys in their trucks act like they own the roads. Kind-of scary to meet a convoy barreling down around a curve and taking up most of both sides of the road. Luckily, there was a turnout right there, and we took shelter and they thundered past. Then back up the canyon and on in to Camp Mather, the site of so many ecstatic years of the Strawberry Music Festival. We stopped at the Evergreen Lodge for coffee, a cookie and an orange, and then drove on to Yosemite. So exciting, driving into the park!

The Tuolumne meanders through its meadow. Johnson, Unicorn and Cathedral Peaks, and Medlicott Dome in the distance.

Ahhh! The scoured granite expanses! And rain in the future.

The Tuolumne drops into the top of its Grand Canyon.

Tuolumne Falls

We got on the trail at 10:00 AM, and it was astoundingly beautiful, walking along the Tuolumne River as it winds through Tuolumne Meadows, then past Tuolumne Falls and White Cascade, where we stopped in Glen Aulin. That camp is closed this year, but the backpackers’ camp is open. We pondered whether to stop there for the night, but decided it was too early and there were too many people. We rested, had our hot meal at about 1:00, and loaded up with water, as a ranger had told us that there was none to be found between Glen Aulin and Virginia Canyon, some 7 miles distance. We  figure we’d make a dry camp somewhere in  between the two. Now it’s almost 6:00 PM and we have set up camp at the edge of a beautiful meadow in Cold Canyon, just below Elbow Hill. On the way here, it rained a bit (just enough for us to pull out our rain gear, walk for about 20 minutes, and then take it off again). The skies are clearing and it’s starting to get cold as I sit here.

Beautiful new bridges over the Tuolumne. The old ones were washed out in Spring floods a few years ago.

Dressed for the weather.

There is nobody around here, and we are totally on our own. So far, this trip is more than I had hoped for, for scenery, aloneness and weather. And we just got word over the Garmin In-Reach that Biden picked Kamala Harris for his running mate. Exciting news! She is one smart, capable person.

The trail suddenly opened up into a long meadow through Cold Canyon, as the weather cleared.

8:00 PM: No water anywhere. The meandering stream in the meadow is mostly bone-dry, with the occasional tiny stagnant puddle every mile or so. I fear that this may be the case for much of this trip, as the year has been particularly dry and last winter’s snowfall was pretty sparse. 150 years ago, John Muir said, “Every mountain is a fountain,” and I am afraid that may not be the case these days. I’m not used to not being able to wash up before bed. My feet are filthy, but I’ve managed to clean them pretty well with a face wipe. I can’t imagine putting them in my clean sleeping socks otherwise.

Home, sweet home.

Our little tent city in Cold Canyon

Happy me!

There was nobody on the trail from Glen Aulin to here. Three young men did pass us about an hour ago, headed the opposite direction. I have been reading chapters from Konrad Lorenz’s book, “King Solomon’s Ring,” out loud to B. His engaging stories about animal and human behavior, mixed with lots of interesting biological facts, is so enjoyable for both of us. Kudos to Marjorie Kerr Wilson for a beautiful job of translating it from the original German. Such a good read. I had last read it over 40 years ago, and figured it was time to revisit it. Plus, it is a very lightweight paperback, and every ounce counts. Also on this trip, I brought my old Kuhl hiking shirt, which I wore on the John Muir Trail in 2014 (and many subsequent hikes since). It is so worn-out, but I like it better than any other hiking shirt I have had, including ones from the same company. And of course, because it is so great, they don’t make them anymore…

The phone shows 10.8 miles today. Not bad for the first day!

7/28/2020

Barbara and I were up and leaving camp by about 8:30 AM. from here, the trail rises to Timber Gap in aa little over two miles, with an elevation gain of 2,500′. I felt really good and strong, and the pack was, of course, the lightest it’s been the whole trip, since we ate all the food except for today’s snacks. That’s one of the ironies of the trail: when you start out, you are in the worst shape and carrying the heaviest load. As you get stronger, the load lightens. Wish it could be the other way around!

The trail, through lodgepole and sugar pine and various other spruces and the like, led through meadows alive with flowers and butterflies. There were little white ones, orange ones, and on the way down some of those beautiful tiny Sierra blues. Chickadees sang “‘Bye, Laurie” to me as we walked past. Stopping to rest at one point, we watched a whole family of marmots waddling among the rocks. Chipmunks and ground squirrels ran hither and yon. It was a beautiful morning!

Ranger’s Buttons (don’t you love that name?)

The perfect garden path.

There were occasional views across the Middle Kaweah River Valley to Little Blue Dome, Morro Rock, and glimpses of the High Sierra Trail.

The last bunch of switchbacks to Timber Gap were a little daunting—more psychologically than physically—because I couldn’t tell where we were headed. I’d think I’d see the Gap ahead of us, but then the trail would make an abrupt turn and I’d have to rethink where we were going to reach the top.  And then suddenly, there we were at 9,500′, and it was all downhill from there. True to the name, Timber Gap is pretty heavily wooded, so not much in the way of views.

The last leg of the trip was a breeze. My legs felt positively bionic, and i definitely had regained my stride. Feels so good!

It looks very Alpen, coming down to Mineral King, but wilder.

I can see the van!

Coming around one bend, I was surprised to see a Douglas squirrel nearly at my feet. It looked like something right out of a Japanese Manga magazine, with huge eyes, tufts on its ears, a perfect question mark of a tail curled over its back. Its’s definitely the prettiest member of the squirrel family I have ever seen. I had this feeling that i had seen one before in my rambles, but honestly couldn’t say whether it was only because I have read about them and seen their pictures so often. I knew it immediately. It foraged under a tree for awhile, and then ran up onto a branch to munch whatever it had found. My heart leapt for joy. I tried to take photos, but of course they were completely inadequate. So I stole one off the internet.

This is the best I could do…

Back at the van, the unwrapping process was straightforward and without mishap. There was a big puddle of water on the tarp from the thunderstorms. I could hear the stream rushing just out of sight from the parking lot, and suggested we take one last rinse-off before ewe changed our clothes and started the long drive home. Now, that was a GOOD  IDEA!

Driving out on Mineral King Road, we passed through Atwell Mills, and were awestruck, and saddened, by the size of the Sequoia stumps everywhere. Then, farther down the road, we looked back the way we had come, and could see Sawtooth Peak and the beginning of our hike.

Add two feet all the way around, to account for the bark. That was a Big Tree!

Farther still, we stopped in Three Rivers for ice cream. The best I ever had!

Then it was back on Highway 99 and a quick trip back up north to home. I confess, it was good to get home, just in time to harvest the last of the plums, and to see my loved ones again, but I am already ready to hit the trail again. Thank you for traveling with me.

Barbara just sent me some more photos from our trip to share, so here they are. Enjoy!

Whoa! A Sugar Pine cone. I  am standing in mountain misery, FYI.  It’s a very pungent, resinous ground cover. I thought that it was Scotch broom I was smelling at Val’s Cabin, but no. This is it.

Standing on the edge of Precipice Lake

Overlooking the Middle Kaweah Valley, facing east toward Hamilton Lakes. Tiny peak in the background is Eagle Scout Peak, which rises above Precipice Lake.

One last view of Kaweah Gap.

Nature left a piece of Art at our Granite Creek campsite.

7/27/2020

Spent dogwood blossoms lined our path this morning.

I had a rough night’s sleep. It was too hot for my bag, and I couldn’t get comfy. I went to bed at 8:30 PM, and woke at 9:30 to beautiful half-moon light on the bright granite, and again at 1:30 to a black sky full of incredible stars, and then tossed and turned until 6:30. Now it’s almost 9:00 AM, and we are ready to leave camp. I am still worried about that group of 10. Where would they even have done their business here, in this narrow granite defile, without defiling the entire place?

3:50 PM

We arrived at the trail junction with Black Rock Pass, and made camp. The weather is ideal, the river water is cold but something far short of icy, and there is ample shade. The hike today was steep, and passing through Redwood Meadow was extremely emotional—like visiting a former concentration camp. That strip of trees that John muir wrote about is nearly completely gone. In most places, there are just a few skinny survivors. They look so alone, and I am sure they are missing their family members, who stood beside them for 1000+ years.  In their sense of time, the holocaust was yesterday, a mere 100 years ago. Humans. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for the trees, or what it feels like now, to live with such a gaping would still fresh in their memories.

Fallen giants snaked through the woods

B took a moment to commune with one of the fire-scarred survivors.

Looking up from inside the tree.

We reminisced about “My Side of the Mountain”

Incredible fire-retardant bark of Sequoiadendron Giganteum.

Tomorrow will be a big day, over Timber Gap and into Mineral King, where we will unwrap the van, change our clothes, and drive home.Already, the outside world and all I have to do is starting to weigh on me.

Sugar pine cones! They are soooo big!

Every creek has its own lush strip of jungle growing beside it.

As the trail wound through the folds of the mountainsides, we occasionally came across small stands of Sequoias. Even these skinny young ones towered above the pines.

Our concession to our loved ones was a Garmin In-Reach, just in case. B sent a prewritten message saying “We are stopping or starting. All is well. Sending love.” It was often difficult to get any reception at all. I had heard that holding the car remote next to one’s head intensifies the strength of the signal, so B tried it with the Garmin. It worked!

This camp area at the trail junction to Black Rock Pass, is very popular (though there are only 5 of us camped here tonight). The bear box is completely filled with someone’s gear and extra food, which is starting to rot and stink. Apparently, some guy came through with an 80-pound pack (that’s what we were told, anyway), and decided to unload stuff before trying to go over the pass. He isn’t coming back for it, as he’s doing the loop hike back out over Sawtooth Pass. What an idiot. They really should make people take a class before they are allowed to come out here and desecrate their surroundings. Am I being elitist? I don’t think so. I pity the poor ranger who has to come clean it all up and haul it out.

At 7:30, the bugs drove me into my tent. Always more buggy under the trees. Hopefully, I’ll have a good night’s sleep tonight. We visited for a long time this afternoon with a 21-year-old engineering and social justice student at Cal Poly, hiking by herself and a little lonesome for company, I think. Claire is smart, funny, and ready to engineer a new reality! It makes me hopeful for the future to meet people like her.

Our camp at the crossroads. Barbara said, “I don’t think I would design my living room with that giant log poking through the middle of it!”

Squeezing water, one of our ever-present chores of the trail.

The beautiful creek by our campsite. Perfect for rinsing off the sweat and dust of the trail.

9.2 miles today, 62 floors climbed. I’m tired and a little wrung out from the emotional hits of the day. There always comes a time, on these trips, when I feel stripped of my every-day defenses. I welcome it and dread it, both. Today was that day.

7/26/2020

I slept really well! Woke up at about 4:30, and then slept again until 6:30. The day is clear and perfect. The sun hit our camp after a couple of hours. We have the morning to laze around, dry out our clothes, take a swim, and then hike down to Bearpaw Meadows. I am so sad to leave the high country, but the silver lining is being able to sleep again. I guess…

7:00 pm

It’s been an eventful day. This morning, while entering the lake for a swim, Barbara slipped and fell. She caught herself with her left hand, which tweaked her wrist pretty badly. We had just enough first aid tape to tape the wrist, and she says it feels a lot better. So we got to use our first aid supplies! Two kinds of tape, and the little knife.

The view from the bridge over Middle Kaweah River

Looking down Middle Kaweah Valley. The High Sierra Trail (on right side) is a masterpiece of trail engineering.

Pearly Everlasting (love that name!) and Paintbrush

Looking up toward Elizabeth Pass.

Absolutely stunning views along the High Sierra Trail! I was thinking all the way to Bearpaw that I would ask if there are any cancellations for the High Sierra Camp there, so that I could bring Tom out here to see this incredible place. But when we arrived, the High Sierra Camp was just wooden skeleton buildings. Turns out that it never opened last year because it was such a big snow year, and this year  it didn’t open because of COVID-19. So another little dream bites the dust.

We were too late for the thimbleberries this year.

The scent of horsemint woke up our slumbering senses.

We are soon to be at the bottom of this valley, crossing over the river coming from Hamilton Lake, and then the creek leading from the backside of Eagle Scout Peak. Farewell to the High Country!

B and I spent awhile talking to the ranger at Bearpaw. She thought we should move on to Granite Creek, which is still quite a ways down the trail. As we left Bearpaw, we left the popular High Sierra Trail and started down a trail that I think nobody had walked yet today. It was such a quiet, shady, peaceful trail, down, down, and down to the lowest elevation on our trip. That’s where we are now, and it’s idyllic. Or it was, until a group of 10 hikers showed up and said they were supposed to camp there. There was obviously not enough room for 10 people, let alone 12, counting us. We were puzzling what to do, and decided we’d move on to help make room for them (even though there was no water for miles in our direction). The leader said no, they would go on to Middle Kaweah River, about 1.5 miles farther down the trail, since they couldn’t all fit there anyway. The group seemed so ill-equipped for such a long day. It was their first day out, and they had already hiked from Mineral King over Timber Gap and through Redwood Meadows, where the ranger told them there wasn’t any water and they needed to move on to Granite Creek. That’s a 12-mile first day, with at least one person carrying a 45-pound pack. Barbara referred to then as the Donner Party. I felt very guilty for having this spacious (for two people) campsite. And yet, relieved, because we were tuckered out.

The deserted campgrounds at Bearpaw Meadows

We had stopped at Bearpaw Meadows backpacking camp for our hot meal earlier in the day. It was really strange, as the entire campground was totally deserted. We were the only ones there. At one point, as I started to stretch out on a log for a rest, I heard a rustling and looked up to see a young black bear hurrying through the meadow, probably on the heels of his mom, who was somewhere ahead in the trees.

We descended from Bearpaw through beautiful oak and madrone forests, down to 6100′ elevation. Such a change of scenery! We were enthralled, rather than being disappointed, as I had anticipated upon leaving the high country. Tomorrow morning, we will be in a Sequoia grove, which we are really looking forward to. I had just been reading about John Muir’s trek to this area to document the Sequoia groves. He said that there was a wide swath of the trees, from a mile to three miles wide, stretching all the way from what is now Grant Grove in Kings Canyon National Park down through the very area we are in now. He had written his dispatch from the Middle Kaweah River, which we had just crossed a couple of hours ago. All along the trail, I was imagining coming around a bend and seeing the giant broccoli tops of Sequoias rising before us. It hasn’t happened yet, but maybe tomorrow.

Middle Kaweah River

Today, we immersed ourselves in every body of water we crossed: the Middle Kaweah,  Eagle Scout Creek, and Granite Creek. Every time, we were completely alone, and so we dunked au naturel. I’m so glad those ten people didn’t happen by any of those times. We seem to be blessed with good timing. Nothing wakes up one’s senses and refreshes one like a dip in a cold mountain river! 

A clear, cold hot-tub-sized pool in Eagle Scout Creek called to us. We had to answer the call.

Looking downstream from the bridge over Granite Creek. It looks like an amazing swimming hole down there at the end of the chute, but there’s certainly no easy way to get there!

Our snug campsite at Granite Creek

B had a nose bleed in the middle of last night, while I slept the sleep of the dead. She was up dealing with that, and I guess finally got it under control. She said the inside of her tent looked like a murder scene. Poor thing! This evening, something stung my torso, and I momentarily imagined that I would get some sort of allergic reaction, but luckily I didn’t. It hurt like hell, though. Because we thought that someone else might want to show up  and share our camp, we placed our tents as close to each other as possible. I am so worried about that group.

My phone tells me we hiked 10.8 miles today. I hope I can sleep tonight.

July 25, 2020

Early, early morning. Well, it just goes to show—even  though I had the most perfect tent site, I experienced the worst night of no sleep. I just couldn’t get comfy, where I should have slept like the proverbial rock. I attribute it to the 11,000′ elevation. I think my heart kept me awake working harder than usual to process oxygen. But the blush of pink dawn is in the sky over Kaweah Gap, and the chickadees are singing in the foxtails. The sky is without the blemish or beauty mark of a cloud. I’m hungry and want my tea.

Rock Fringe growing where it should, among the rocks. While B slept, I wandered in the growing light and snapped photos.

Foxtail pine “in bloom”

What do you think? Black and white or color?

The rest of the tree. It was a giant, for the altitude!

The “perfect,” sleepless campsite. For some reason, I don’t seem to be very bothered by the lack of sleep. No morning grogginess.

4:00 PM

We had a great stroll out of 9 Lakes Basin and stopped on Kaweah Gap to enjoy the views and try to take some selfies with the timer on my phone. For some reason, it wouldn’t work (which may have had something to do with my not donning glasses to see what was actually going on on that little screen).

Then down to Precipice Lake, where we sat awestruck/gob-smacked and in wonder at the beauty. We stopped on the way down to make up a verse to “Little Birdie” and make a little video of it, which looks terrible, but sounds reasonable.

Those colors are real and not enhanced! The water was cold, but B was indomitable. This time, I sat out the swim opportunity.

Up on the Gap, we saw a Sphinx moth buzz past us. We saw one yesterday, too, while stopping to talk with Donald. He thought it was a hummingbird. They are amazing-looking critters, and the only place I have ever seen one is right up there at Kaweah Gap. They flit and hover like hummers from flower to flower and drink nectar with their long tongues, which look as straight as a hummingbird’s beak. The last time I was up here, one flew all around my ankles, maybe attracted to my brightly-colored Dirty Girl gaiters, and gave me a good chance to study it. At Precipice Lake, we were surprised by a water shrew running under the  water at Barbara’s feet. It’s the largest of the shrew family, and seemed quite at home under the surface. On the walk today, we also saw lots of dark, nearly onyx-colored lizards, one of which flashed its indigo sides and belly at me. Lower down, there were lizards that looked like Zuni or Hopi jewelry, speckled with turquoise down their backs.

The trail down from Precipice to Hamilton Lake is really beautiful, snaking along steep, glacier-polished granite an sometimes wandering through little hanging gardens of wildflowers.

We found good tent sites, and took a lovely swim in Lake Hamilton. It was fantastic, the warmest water so far, so we could actually enjoy it and stay in longer. We rinsed out our clothes, set up our tents, made a meal, and as the meals were rehydrating, it began to rain. This gave me a chance to don my rain pants and jacket, which  I hadn’t used so far on the trip.  I LOVE it when everything I bring gets used! As a further example of this, I was able to repair my pack with two lengths of used dental floss yesterday. Today, the other side got wonky, which required two more lengths of floss. Yay! It’s the little things out here which bring delight. We sat in the drizzle and ate one of the best meals we’ve had: Berkeley Bowl black bean soup mix with dehydrated okra, spinach, carrots, rice and parmesan cheese (I dehydrate parmesan at home. Yum!). It was yummy. We followed it up with a Luna bar for dessert.

Valhalla looms above us in the gathering weather.

Just as dinner ended, it began to rain in earnest, so we retreated to our tents. I am enjoying hearing the distant thunder and listening to the steady drizzle on the tent. It’s a very pleasant temperature. My phone shows that we have traveled 8.5 miles  today. I suppose that’s possible, but it didn’t feel like it, since it was mostly downhill (for a change).

4:30

Now we are having a good, steady downpour—so welcome to these parched lands. We are snug and content.

Today, while walking up to the pit toilet (Hamilton Lake is too popular to NOT have one), we saw a doe nursing her two fauns. They butted their heads, pulled on her teats, and wagged their tails just like little lambs.

By 6:30, the rain had stopped, and the sky was clearing. We sat on the smooth granite dome which makes the lake’s  beach, and drank rooibos tea and split a granola bar, while we watched the light change on Eagle Scout Peak and Valhalla, and the ever-changing reflections on the lake water.

The place has filled up with campers. I count a dozen tents, where there used to be maybe four. The beach is full of socially-distanced little bubbles, taking selfies and yakking away. B recently returned from Wisconsin, and brought back a joke: The toothbrush was invented in Adams County, WI. We know this, because if it had been invented anywhere else, it would have been called a “teethbrush.” I am giddy, and will laugh at almost anything.

Now it’s 8:45, and almost “backpackers’ midnight,” and time to seek sleep. Good night.

7/24/2020

8:45 am

We had a nice, leisurely morning at Big Arroyo. My cup of tea tastes so good—warm, soothing and it perks one up. We had a major stove mishap this morning, and I think I have pretty-much destroyed my little Soto stove. I had bought it used from a guy in Alaska for $15 some years ago, and it has always worked perfectly. This morning, though, I failed to notice that it had come partly unscrewed from the gas canister. So when I went to light it, it started a fire at the base and mostly melted the trigger that lights it before I could put it out. Now the stove won’t light on its own anymore. Luckily, we carry a couple of Bic lighters (one of which seems to have quit working), and we can still have our hot beverages and meals. Whew.

You can’t really see the rock-lined depression from the photo, but to my eyes, it was pretty obvious.

I found an old Native American storage pit near the old cabin here. It’s basically a depression in the ground lined with rocks, which had originally had a cover of some sort. Out in the woods around here, there is a horrid mess of tiny pieces of old toilet paper and stuff careless humans have left behind. I really don’t understand how one can walk so many miles in beauty to get here, and then trash the place!

Big Arroyo log cabin.

I washed off my dusty tent (it’s like a car—runs better when it’s clean) and am waiting for it to dry in the sun before we pack up.

Nine Lakes Basin, later in the day…

We set up camp at 2:00 PM among the foxtail pines. It’s breathtakingly  beautiful—and at 10,000′, it’s breathtaking anyway. We met Donald, a fellow from Berkeley today on the trail, who knows this area very well. He said, “Go up into the trees, and you’ll find a great campsite, and you’ll think you can’t do better. But just a little bit further on, and toward the waterfall, there’s an even better one.” It was just as he said, though we shied away from the first campsite anyway because of its position on the ridge. It seemed like it could possibly be in another wind tunnel. This new camp even has a piece of old wood with “WELCOME HOME” carved into it. It is secluded, sheltered,  near a great water source, and out of the path of the strongest winds. There are views up to Kaweah Gap and down Big Arroyo, and massive cliffs with a cascade pouring down from the upper basin. I am tired and happy.

On the way up Big Arroyo today, we hiked for awhile alongside the creek. It was absolutely beautiful, and we didn’t see anyone for hours on end. Then, when we stopped so that I could fix my pack (more on that later), B went off to pee. As she squatted, she happened to glance up, and noticed a man some distance away with binoculars trained on her. Pretty funny, in all that emptiness!

A morning stroll down a garden path. So civilized!

Sierra Lilies dream alongside to stream

We are surrounded by rocky domes and spires.

Over the past year, I have been walking a lot with someone with serious health issues, and it has been work to slow my pace to his. Now I am feeling like I can’t find my old rhythm. Maybe it’s age-related, maybe I just lost it somewhere. I am hoping that on this trip, I can find that beat of my feet on the trail again. But I am so grateful to be able to get out here. I thank my lucky stars!

One of the things I love about hiking with Barbara is that we almost never pass a body of water without stopping to get wet. I think we spur each other on that way. And it always feels soooo good! This little river was too cold to fully immerse ourselves in.

B is reading a book on the power of prayer, which includes this great quote from Arthur Eddington (astronomer, physicist, philosopher of science): “Something unknown is doing we don’t know what.” I really feel that out here.

Horseshoe Lake, 9 Lakes Basin

Barbara puttering about in the kitchen.

5:45 pm: It’s raining, and we are sheltering in our tents. We timed it perfectly—just got back from a hike into the upper reaches of 9 Lakes Basin. We could see the storm brewing on the other side of Lion Rock, and most likely going strong at Tamarack Lake and over Elizabeth and Colby Passes.

From the first fluffy white cloud to appear, to a full-blown thunderstorm with rain and hail…

We wandered upward along granite shelves, picking our way from lake to lake and stopping to admire the views and approaching clouds. Stopped for a swim in one of the lakes, which didn’t seem to have an inlet and so was warmer (less cold) than some of the others. I just started to write that it would hav been better if the sun were hotter, but damn! It was perfect! The rocks were warm, for drying off.

Everywhere we walked there were tiny flowers. It was impossible not to occasionally crush them underfoot. The horsemint and pennyroyal scented the air and woke our senses.

We hurried to lower ground as the storm threatened. Thunder, lightning, and big ol’ raindrops, reminding us of our trek over Elizabeth Pass, where the storm is sitting now.

I wanted to take this log home with me, for a backyard sculpture.

Now it’s hailing a little, as we shelter in our tents, just to remind us that Nature will have her say, and throw at us anything she wants at any time.

A little while later, it had stopped raining, and B called me out of my tent to watch the sunset. Glorious!

Kaweah Gap

Kaweah Gap a little later. Good night.

7/23/2020

This morning, after a good night’s sleep, Barbara and I awake refreshed and pretty-much recovered, feeling full of energy for the day. We packed up and hit the trail up to Big 5 Lakes. It’s a beautiful uphill trail through golden chinquapins shining in the morning sun, manzanita and oaks, changing to pines and juniper as we ascended. It looked like a series of mountain gardens, with views of rocky crags and peaks every whichaway.

Miranda leads us up the trail to Big 5 Lakes

There were very few people on the trails today. We met up with Miranda, who walks faster than us. We took each other’s photos at the first of Big 5 Lakes, and then she pressed on to explore the other lakes, while we stayed to the trail to Little 5 and on north. Miranda is hiking the very-popular loop trail over Black Rock Pass (which we hear is very steep and grueling and long—as opposed to Sawtooth Pass, which is steep and grueling and short).

We passed a little lake with quite a few standing dead trees. Beetle damage is very prevalent at the lower elevations.

Someone lost their hat on the trail. Looks like it has seen a few miles.

The first of the Big 5’s

So pleasant, walking along the lakeshores, in and out of the trees.

I could stare at the water forever.

Black Kaweah rises above us across the arroyo. The first of Little 5 Lakes appears below us.

We send blessings to the trail crews!

Shaggy Hawkweed

I love the fallen tree roots!

Panther Amanita.

Now, we are at the Big Arroyo campground, where our trail meets up with the High Sierra Trail, which runs from Crescent Meadows in Sequoia NP to the top of Mt Whitney. I expect to see lots of serious mile-eating hikers on their way to the mountaintop, to cross this feat off their to-do list. The sun just went behind Mt Lippincott at 6:30 pm. We have the campsite to ourselves!

Mt Lippincott

Washed up in the creek. Such a good feeling after so much work. I love the chore of rinsing off the day’s dust and sweat. My hips hurt from the pack and the climbing. Our high point today was about 10,800′, and now we are at 9500′ There’s weather threatening over the Kaweahs, and it’s getting very cold. Last night, things froze. I wish I had taken photo of my socks standing straight up and stiff as boards in the morning, and my bandanna, which I could hold upright from a corner. It looked great, sparkling with frost.

All day, we were treated with views of the Kaweahs: Kaweah Queen, Black Kaweah, Red Kaweah and and Kaweah Peak. I remember them well from the other side, while hiking the John Muir Trail. They looked like fairy castles in the distance then, and now they look like mighty crumbling fortresses close-up.

Leaving the lowest of the Little 5 Lakes behind.

Black and Red Kaweahs, and Kaweah Peak guided our journey all day.

It was such a pleasure to have the place to ourselves this afternoon. We ate today’s hot meal at one of the Little 5 Lakes, just a ways off the trail out of the wind and in the shade. So funny! The sun is so hot and the shade is so cool, that’s it’s hard to find the right place to be just right.

A fallen giant, and a still-standing trail ant.

“Oh, give to me a winding stream, it must not be too wide…”

Looking and feeling much better after a good clean-up in the stream.

Barbara makes sure that there are no nutrients left on the wrapper.

The Big Arroyo campsite. Lovely!

Now, at Big Arroyo, we have been invaded by a group of about 7 men, all hiking to Mt Whitney. They are a little noisy, and their cam is a little close, but oh well. I’m glad to see people enjoying themselves out here. B and I made some rooibos tea and I read to her the notes from a couple of our previous trips, which happen to be in this same journal. I hope I don’t run out of room in it this trip!

Today’s hike was about 10 miles. Between Big 5 Lakes and Big Arroyo, we wandered through lush hanging gardens on the steep mountainside, with lupines sporting leaves bigger than my hands. Almost jungly-feeling in some spots. Mosquitos not bad, but they do prefer those damp areas, so we didn’t dawdle there.

The menacing clouds of a few hours ago seem to have just evaporated away. It’ll be a good night on level ground (I hope). Tomorrow: Nine Lakes Basin!

July 22, 2020

Barbara and I set up camp at the foot of Lost Canyon, among the lodgepoles next to Lost Canyon Creek, where we join the trail north to Big 5 Lakes. We wanted to go farther, but we were exhausted. Last night’s camp turned out to be in a wind tunnel, and the tents were so noisy, flapping in the wind, and close to collapsing all night long. We were on a hard-packed mostly granite area, and had used rocks instead of stakes to put our tents up. It was tough. The wind blew the rocks around, and they weren’t little ones! We both got up (not “”woke up”) at 5:30, and hit the Sawtooth Pass trail by 7ish. It was only 1.2 miles to the top, but it took 1.5 hours to get there. Looking back, I would love to have another chance to find the “right” trail! The way was braided with dozens of different paths, and it was impossible to stay on whatever the best one might have been. Lots of walking through granite sand and gravel on steep slopes, where you take one step forward and slide halfway back. Later in the day, we ran across a fellow who said he has a friend who has hiked over Sawtooth Pass five times, and had never taken the same trail twice.

We set out long before the sun had cleared the ridge, which helped with the climb.

Even when she’s miserable, Barbara finds reason to smile. And why not? Just look around.

Looking out into the San Joaquin Valley at the smog, and smoke from the Coalinga Fire. Glad to be above it all!

The last push for the top of the pass.

It was incredible scenery. Lost Canyon Creek is gorgeous—classic high Sierra scenery. Then we entered a lodgepole pine forest as we got into lower elevations. There are great views across to Mt Whitney, which felt surprisingly nostalgic for me, thinking back on my John Muir Trail trip.

Wildflowers everywhere! And as we rested among the trees, we were visited by a varied thrush. He didn’t sing, but he looked beautiful. And a dipper bounced up and down on the rocks in the creek.

possibly Polemonium? I don’t know.

Subalpine Larkspur

Sierra Primroses and I don’t know what succulent.

We think we brought too much food AGAIN! Or maybe we just don’t want to carry it. I recovered from altitude sickness, and feel pretty good today, just very weary, but so alive.

Sawtooth Peak, up close and personal.

Looking down towards Columbine Lake from the pass.

Columbine lake, with Mt Whitney in the far distance. It’s that left-leaning bump a little to the left of center. The highest point in the continental USA.

There aren’t many people out here, but everyone on the trail is so nice. B’s phone says we hiked 9.2 miles. Mine says 7.5. Yesterday, hers said 6.5 miles, and mine said 4.9. I choose to believe hers.

Looking down into Lost Canyon. Whitney straight ahead.

Even in death, the trees can’t stop dancing!

I had a bonehead/too-tired accident today, while trying to adjust the contents of my pack while on a slick mirror-smooth granite slab, and my little Soto stove got away from me and rolled into a stream. I had to jump in to rescue it. Now, at dinnertime, it won’t light. Finally got it going, with the help of a Bic lighter and a little patience.

Looking back up toward aptly-named Sawtooth Peak.

Columbine Lake panorama

We had a socially-distanced dinner party with a young woman named Miranda, a location scout for movies in Los Angeles and excellent photographer, exchanging stories about hiking the JMT and sharing tips on trail gear. Miranda is very up on the latest gizmos! We had met yesterday at Monarch Lake (where she was lucky enough to snag a campsite out of the wind).

Now it’s 9:30 pm. I went to bed to read at about 6:45, and fell into a deep sleep. I woke as the sun was hitting the peaks with pink alpenglow. Fell asleep again, and now the stars are snagged in the lodgepole all around the camp. It’s so beautiful. A cool, perfect, quiet night. So much needed after last night’s hell. Even B, who never complains, said “It was terrible!”

7.9 miles. Not much, but plenty for sure.

July 21, 2020, Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Parks

This day, Barbara Higbie (sometimes referred to here as “B”) and I began a trip that i have wanted to do for a few years. First, I wanted to revisit the Nine Lakes Basin, which I first saw in 2017, on a solo hike. Second, I wanted to show B the magnificent country that we only glimpsed from our hike over Elizabeth Pass in 2016. And third, I just wanted to drive the Mineral King Road, a long dead-end mostly-paved path up the mountains to our jumping-off point. I love a new road under my wheels!

On the afternoon of July 20, B and I headed south the Fresno, and set up camp in the garden of our dear friend and mentor Pat Wolk. It’s about a 4-hour drive from Berkeley, and would give us a really good head-start for today’s hike. On the way down, we stopped for gas in Visalia, and people were not very good about wearing masks, so we kept our distance. The guy in front of me in line for the cashier was slow to leave, chatting up the pretty (masked) cashier, and wearing his mask around his Adam’s apple. He regaled her with such salient observations as, “Friends are just people who are getting ready to screw you over.” Happily, the cashier did not look impressed.

A granite spillway on Mineral King Road. Almost to the mountains!!!

We couldn’t sleep much (traffic noise from Herndon Ave all night), so we got an early start. By 6:30 AM we were on the road to Mineral King. The distance was something like 80 miles, and it took almost three hours! The road from Three Rivers to the trailhead took most of the time, as the average seed was about 10 mph. It wound up into the mountains from the foothills, and eventually entered Sequoia National Park, weaving past huge sequoia stumps around Atwell Mills and a scattering of spared middle-sized sequoia giants.

Sequoiadendron Giganteum, somehow spared by the axe and saw.

At the trailhead, we had to wrap the van in a huge tarp, in order to keep the marmots out of the engine compartment. Seems they like to chew on electrical wiring. I wonder if it might really be a plot to try and keep people from coming here—just one more thing to contend with. We were up for the challenge, though. And a nice man (Steve) offered to help us. Barbara immediately said “YES!” I don’t think I would have been so quick to accept help, but of course I was glad to have it, and he knew the ropes of tying up a car.

We posed for a picture in front of the freshly-wrapped van, ready to start the hike.

Looking down on the Mineral King parking lot. Lots of climbing today!

I think it was about 10:00 AM when we started up the trail to Monarch Lakes, our first destination. It was only about a 5-mile hike, but it really took everything out of me. Altitude sickness hit me hard, and I was just dragging myself along the trail most of the way. When we arrived, I was dizzy, nauseated, and my hips were aching with lactic acid buildup in the muscles. No matter how much I gulped, I couldn’t get enough air or water. It was so hard. But so beautiful.

Lupine leaves and shadows

Lower Monarch Lake, home sweet home for the night.

I dragged around camp, setting it up, while B fetched water and squeezed it through the purifier for me (much of our daily downtime is spent squeezing). Then I took a dip in Lower Monarch, and rinsed my salty hiking clothes, and began to feel quite a bit better. The lake wasn’t too cold, but I felt too punky to swim much. Tomorrow will be one of our most difficult days, hiking up and over Sawtooth Pass. On the way up to the lake today, we stopped to talk to a man on the trail. He said, “Let me give you a piece of advice. Do not go up Sawtooth Pass. Do not ever go up Sawtooth Pass.” You see, it’s very steep, and there is no real trail most of the way. There are myriad “trails” which people have tried, climbing through the granitic gravel, and it’s hard to ascertain which way to go. I was told, “Stay left as if you were going to Granite Pass (who the heck knows where that is?), and then cut right to the top of Sawtooth.” Okay.

Our camp at lower Monarch Lake. Turns out we set up in a wind tunnel, but it was turned off at the time and we didn’t know it.

Disappointed to not be able to see the comet Neowise. I felt for sure we’d have a good view, but the mountains formed a solid barrier to the north. Maybe better luck  tomorrow.

A marmot ate a hole in B’s pack, when she left it unattended for a few minutes. We need to keep everything in our tents tonight, and keep a close eye on our belongings. They will chew on anything salty or if they smell food.

I have been trying to eliminate plastic from my life, so we are experimenting with biodegradable, compostable food bags. It doesn’t work. They are way too delicate for the abuse they get on the trail, and this is only the first day! I think maybe I need to sew cloth bags, which will probably add weight to my back.

We started at 7800′ elevation, and ended today at 10, 371′. It was a hellish day for me physically, but now we are in the Sierra! Good night.

Alpenglow on the peaks, as seen from inside my tent.

July 29, 2019, 5:49 AM

It’s been a long cold night in a dripping tent. Well, I wasn’t cold, except when a tendril of outside air would find its way into my bag, which wasn’t often.

I’ve spent too many hours prone, but  don’t want to get up, or read much, or listen to anything. I find myself thinking about my duets album, which I’ve been working on—or off and on—for awhile now. I have one more song to record, and yesterday it came to me exactly what it should be and with whom. It’s been 30 years since I recorded “Old Friend,” on my “Love Chooses You” album. It’s definitely time to do it again, as a duet with Kathy Kallick! I’m so excited by the idea, which came to me in a flash on the last leg of yesterday’s walk.

Last night, after the rains, it was cold and clear. Stars bright as could be, and so many! The Milky Way was winding across the sky, and I saw a couple of meteors.

Whoa! The tent is frozen! The water droplets from the rain turned to ice in the night.

I got up and took a walk in the crepuscular light to the top of our granite pile, to watch the sun hit the snowy peaks and slowly light the pine and juniper, crawling across the valley to our campsite. Barbara is still sleeping, maybe. I didn’t want to wake her.

I came back down as the sun came up, maybe an hour or so later. Our camp is still in deep shade, and B is up and walking around. She was glad to see me, thought maybe I had gone missing. I should have left a note.

 I found this beauty nestled among the boulders. If I had the time, I would do portraits of all the junipers! Each one is so distinctive and full of character.

Breakfast was delayed by a frozen bear vault, which neither of us could open. Finally was able to wrangle it open with the help of a little stove warmth. Now we are waiting for the sun to do its job and dry the tents before we pack up. And the solar charger is doing its thing with my phone/camera. It’ll be another beautiful day!

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9:00 PM

Now back home in Berkeley, I can fill in the rest of the day.  We hiked to the trailhead at Leavitt Meadows, leaving around 9:30 AM, and didn’t see a soul until we hereabout a half mile out from Lane Lake. There we saw a young couple from San Luis Obispo out for the day. He was tall, blond, sunburned, and barefoot. A young, indestructible demigod. Ah, youth!

Two  different moods of the Walker River

At Lane Lake, we were ready for a swim, but our chosen beach was taken over by a backpacking father and his three small kids. He showed us a 50-mile loop that he loved in Hover Wilderness. It starts and ends with a hot spring, which is a fantastic plus in my book. We have to check it out!

The day is hot and the trail is dusty. At the other side of the lake, we took to the water for a much-needed pick-me-up swim. Watched the crawdads and reveled in the cold, clear water under the blue sky. Lots of people with kids and dogs around the lakes on this Saturday. I’m so glad we got out mid-week. It was perfect trip.

The last couple of miles along the edge of Leavitt Meadows is exposed to the fun mid-day sun, and the trail is sandy and empty of people. Beautiful, but we were hot and tired and it felt like a slog. Often, parts of many trails feel like slogs, and I’m happy to endure them because that’s how you get out there.

I imagine at some point in its history, Leavitt Meadows looked more like Piute Meadows. It’s just a little farther removed from its glacial past.

The contrast from the east to the west always startles me. As we look toward Nevada, the hills/mountains become giant piles of volcanic rubble.

A view of the back of my backpack: a little journal, a copy of John Muir’s “The Mountains of California”, gloves, windbreaker, flashlight. If you look closely, you can see the hole that a marmot chewed in the webbing, sewn together with dental floss. Gotta make do with what you have. I no longer leave snacks under the webbing.

On the drive home, we stopped at Kennedy Meadows for Fritos and lemonade (yum!). It was perfect. The place was crawling with PCT hikers looking somewhat stunned, wandering around the aisles of the store fingering various items. We sat outside near where they were all gathered swapping stories from the trail. All these young people trying to put in the miles and accomplish a task. I much prefer to wander. 

We learned, via a posted article at the store, that in 1947 the Marines from the Mountain Warfare Training Center just over the pass accidentally burned down Kennedy Meadows during one of their exercises. Oops. Not supposed to do that.

Postscript, 7/6/2020: It has been a real treat for me to revisit this hike. As it turns out, it was the only time that entire year that I got away for a backpacking trip. This year, I am making up for that with two planned week-long trips and who knows what other spontaneous outings. It is the silver lining to this strange year of no work and a wide-open schedule. I feel so lucky that, in my 70th year, I can still do this. So I will continue until I can’t. One foot in front of the other, watching the world unfold.

6/28/2019, 3:30 PM

I was up at 7:00 AM, after another on-and-off sleep. I woke at 1:00 AM to see the amazing stars and to settle in to a podcast for an hour. I realized that something was wrong with my sleeping bag, and came to the conclusion that it was inside-out! I kept feeling a draft along the zipper, because the baffle didn’t keep it covered. It was much warmer the other way ’round!

We had a leisurely morning and set off up the trail just carrying water, lunch, the first aid kit and some extra clothes.

I thank the WPA and Conservation Corps for these amazing paths through this high country Eden

Big trees up here! And amazing trail crews.

We encounter our first snow on the trail!

Upper Piute Meadows slowly opened up in front of us. The trail sometimes cut through the higher reaches of the meadow, which were waterlogged and loving it. Impossible to keep the shoes/feet dry, but that was okay by me. It was a classic mountain meadow, formerly a glacier lake that slowly filled in with silt. So beautiful, with water everywhere.

Barbara lost her mosquito net somewhere on the trail, and I thought we should go back and find it, but we decided not to, and just kept going. We forded lots of little creeks and got wet in soaking meadows. I took off my shoes to ford Long Canyon Creek, which was big! It was rushing fast, but really only up to the knees.

I know we look like twins in our nearly identical hiking clothes, but this is Barbara.

I feel so lucky!

I started making up verses to a walking song, with nods to John Muir:

Every time I get the blues,

I put-on my walking shoes

 And I find a trail, for I’ve determined

that going out is coming’ in

Lunch was a bit of a disappointment: turns out that dried hummus gets moldy really fast. Good to know for the future!

We hiked up Kirkwood Creek to a nice overlook, and then turned back toward our camp. The sky was starting to look ominous.

4:15 PM, back at our campsite again.

The old soul juniper near our campsite. The overcast skies finally cooperated, and I was able to capture a reasonably good portrait.

Barbara’s tent

My tent. These are both Tarp Tents, made in Nevada City, CA. A really great, very lightweight design!

The weather is turning cold—the sky is flat gray, with deeper gray in the distance toward Nevada.

We are camped, for the second night, in the same place, among grantees slabs and sparse lodgepole and juniper. Little tufts of grass grow in the decomposed granite sand. We walked through gardens today of little, sweet-smelling phlox. I love that the blossoms turn from white to purple after they have been pollinated. The correlation to virginal brides dressed in white and “fallen women” in purple is just too obvious, making me realize that humans have been observing, and being a part of, the natural world for a long, long time.

The West Walker River is to the northwest of us, running through a steep granite chasm. On the other side is a nice quick stream (the one I fell into yesterday). It’s getting colder by the hour. It could rain, or bring snow to the high peaks. We can look down the valley at the volcanic peaks of the eastern Sierra and up the valley to the granite heights.

6:15 PM

I am in my tent inside my sleeping bag while a biting cold rain is pouring down. By 7:00, it’s over and the birds are singing again, but I have no desire to get out of this bag. Maybe another podcast is in my future…

9.9 miles, 26 floors, 23,219 steps—more or less.

June 27, 6:13 AM

A river of wind has been running above our heads through the pines all night long, strong and steady. Every once in a while, a current breaks loose and slaps my tent around. The day looks perfectly clear and beautiful, but I am loathe to leave my warm bag and begin the chores of backpacking: the morning ablutions in cold water, the filtering of water for breakfast oatmeal and hot beverage, followed by the packing up of sleeping bag, pad, and finally tent, and the repacking of the pack. Invariably, I will be almost finished with packing, when I realize that I need some other item that is, of course, at the bottom of the pack already. Blergh.

On this trip my typical cup of morning tea has been replaced by a hot cup of cacao, which I was loving at home. It’s good on the trail, but at home I lace it with sri racha, which I don’t have with me, and that makes all the difference. Next trip, it’ll be back to tea.

Our path wandered through an aspen grove, and an explanatory sign informed us that these trees were used as sort-of message boards by the mostly-Basque shepherds who used to spend the summers with their flocks of sheep in these mountains. John Muir spent his first summer in the Sierra as a shepherd, with a flock of over 2,000 sheep. He fell in love with the mountains, and became a vociferous opponent to the practice of herding, as he saw first-hand the damage it did to the land. There haven’t been sheep in these parts for a long time.

6:07 PM—83 floors, 8.8 miles and 21,530 steps later

Roosevelt Lake

We are somewhere on a rocky outcropping above meadows and streams and mosquitos. It’s sunny, with a cool breeze. There were lots of little stream crossings today, visits to beautiful Roosevelt and Lane Lakes, and almost no people.

The edge of a little no-name lake along the trail. So green and lush…and probably a mosquito nursery.

Barbara and I stopped on the trail for a nice chat with two English sisters, Helen and Stephanie, who were a long ways from home, and backpacking together. They were able to give us the lowdown on some of the stream crossings. We did well, until the last one, when I slipped and got both feet (and socks and shoes) wet to the ankles. I hike in New Balance Minimus trail runners, though, so they dry rather quickly and there is no chafing to speak of.

The entirety of this hike runs along the east side of the Walker River. Many of the hikes in this area require fording the river, which is what I was trying to avoid when I planned the route. Here’s what it looks like, a good part of the way.

There are areas where I would consider a crossing, but it might require swimming. Best to avoid it altogether, though the west side looked so inviting!

In the afternoon, we left the main trail and hiked up Long Canyon, looking for a place to camp. But it was too steep, with nary a level place anywhere to pitch a single tent, let alone two. So we stopped and took our time preparing our hot meal, and had a lovely nap under a beautiful old juniper.

Once rested, we decided to head back down to the main trail again and push on to Piute Meadows. We came to a big stream crossing, with no chance of staying dry, and Barbara said she didn’t want to do it. It did look daunting, very swift though not particularly deep. Clearly, the trail continued beyond the crossing. So we decided to double back.

Barbara is the happiest camper!

The mosquitos got a bit much, so we reversed direction again to higher ground, and finally found a home for the night, on a high hump of glacier-smoothed granite not far off the trail but very secluded, with a few picturesque junipers and a view down to the river and up to surrounding peaks. It was our own little Shangri-La. I have found a perfect boulder backrest and am watching the day slowly fade while I scribble away.

Pussy paws! Now I know we’re getting up there!

We met four of a group of nine men who had just spent five days camping. They had their equipment brought in by pack horses, and just had to carry little knapsacks with snacks and cameras. It really sounded idyllic, until we saw where they were camped among the pines and mosquitos. I’d have hated that part of it! Aside from these four and the English sisters, we ran into three people we had met in the parking lot yesterday, and that was it for human interaction.

Tomorrow, we will go exploring and leave our packs behind. Piute Meadows, here we come!

It looks like some clouds are closing in, but they don’t appear to be menacing.

On June 26, 2019, Barbara Higbie and I left Berkeley at 8:30 AM and drove against the heavy commute traffic out to CA Hwy 120 and across the Central Valley. Then we hit Hwy 108 over Sonora Pass. We stopped at the overlook above Donnell Reservoir, which dams the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus River. It was at capacity from recent snowmelt.

We expected to see more snow, as the winter of 2018-2019 gave the Sierra 160% of average snowfall for the year. But there wasn’t much to speak of until over 9000 feet—then, it lay in thick drifts across the north-facing slopes.

Because of the heavy snowfall, and this relatively early-in-the-year hike, I had searched maps and trekking books for a fairly high-altitude hike that would help us avoid any major stream crossings, which are raging with snowmelt. Neither Barbara nor I had been to the Hoover Wilderness, which is nestled between northern Yosemite and Tahoe on the eastern Sierra slope.

Gearing up to leave the vehicle. For this trailhead, you just show up, write your name and car license number in a book, and say vaguely where you are headed and when you’ll be back.

We took the trail toward Roosevelt Lake, but then decided to go to Secret Lake (who can resist a name like that?) instead today. Views of the barren mountains of the eastern Sierra are gorgeous. The wind comes in occasional strong gusts, so we have to make sure our hats are tightly attached to our heads.

Notice the outpost in the valley on this little video? That is the United States Marine Corps Mountain WarfareTraining Center! I didn’t know there was such a thing. It brings the modern outside world into our little backpacking reverie in an unsettling way.

Arriving at Secret Lake there are two other groups sharing the area. We decide to rest, and cook our hot meal of the day, and see where the afternoon would take us. Turns out, not far. We opted for staying put and making camp sometime around 4:00 PM. It’s been a long-enough day.

Good tent sites. The other two groups had moved on, and this beautiful lake nestled amid Jeffrey pine and juniper is all ours. We decided to walk around the lake, and stopped for a swim. The water is cold, but not as cold as last week’s Yuba River swims!

Flowers are everywhere: vermilion penstemon, Mariposa lilies, paintbrush, lupines, tiny white and purple flowers, wild irises. I feel so lucky to be able to do this! Only four hours from home, and the mountains are ours!

Mountain Chickadees calling, “Hey, Laurie!”, Clark’s Nutcrackers calling to each other, crawdads and fish in the lake, the occasional jay commenting on our presence. The  wind sounds like a freeway rushing by in the treetops, but down on ground level, it is amazingly calm. The sky is a deep clear blue, with a cloud or two around the edges. It’ll be a cold, dark night full of stars, but right now, I am sitting in the sun, where it’s breezy and open.

A long, slow evening and an early bed. Good night, Barbara. Good night, trees. Good night, critters seen and unseen. We walked a short 5.2 miles, and climbed the equivalent of  83 floors. Feels good to be out in the wide world in my cozy tent, and prone in a warm bag.

July 18, 2018

Wide awake at 5:00 AM, and up and puttering around camp. Took a walk up the granite slabs, enjoying birdsong and first light. Way smokier than yesterday! I can barely see the volcanic spires that were so clear yesterday. 

Early morning light on the granite was too gorgeous not to try to capture.

One last photo of my tent before ewe pack up. I love this little guy! A DW Moment Tarp Tent, made in Nevada City, CA.

Barbara consented to take the obligatory annual photo of me, naked, in tree pose, on this outcropping. And no, I will not post the results here (or anywhere).

Barbara slept in, until 7:00 or so, and we finally got going sometime around 8:30, after our lovely breakfast of oatmeal and dried blueberries and bananas and a cup of coffee, adjusting our packs, and stopping at the lake to refill our water bottles.

Too much smoke!

From the east side of the lake, I thought it would be easy to just walk back through the trees and intersect the trail up to our north, but of course we missed it, and spend about a half hour poking around in the wrong direction looking for something that was slightly more than a deer path. We retraced our steps and found it. Such a big relief, every time that happens! It was marked with a cairn every once in a while, which really helped. I made a mental note of how sure I had been that we were going in the right direction, when actually we were 90 degrees off from it. Belief in infallibility is a real weakness. The first part of the trail is a pretty steep climb, and then we hit the meadows where we once again lost our way amid the flowers and dense growths of skunk cabbage. Lots of wandering in Beauty. One time, looking down, we found a beautiful fresh bear paw print in the mud of a little stream. Never did see who it belonged to.

Trails were hard to find in the meadows, and we hated to step on the flowers.

Bear scat.

We finally located the trail up around the right shoulder of the volcanic cliffs, and found our way to the Underwood Valley. The glacial valley stretched down below us, a bowlful of smoke. We rested under a juniper and thought about what to do next. We had been intending to spend the day in that valley, which has a year-round stream, and just enjoy the water running over the smooth granite slabs, but it looked decidedly unhealthy to try and breathe that air. I thought that if we hiked back out to the van, we could escape the smoke by heading east over Ebbetts Pass, and possibly explore the Carson-Iceberg Wilderness or one of the other closer places on the map. So we decided to escape the smoke, which seemed to be getting thicker as the day progressed. I am disappointed that we didn’t take any photos of the “view” into Underwood Valley! I guess my inner journalist was turned off.

And so we once again headed back to the bear paw meadow, to find the trail back up to the saddle we had crossed over the day before, and from there back over to Wheeler Lake. Retracing our steps was, of course, easier, and we stayed on the trail more often than not. I found that I have a pretty good eye for remembering the contours of the land and individual trees.

This portion of the trail was actually much more obvious than much of it.

Whoa! An actual trail marker!

Looks like it needs to be dug out.

We stopped to enjoy the view up at 8500 feet. Very different from the previous day.

Now, at 4:00, we are at Wheeler Lake again, back at the little cold stream that feeds it. Here we stopped again to refresh ourselves in the water, rinse off the dust and sweat, and boil water for a hot meal. The stream noise blocks out any cowbells. We considered spending the night there, but decided to just push on and get out of the thickening smoke. This ended up being the right decision, as every mile we went closer to the start, the sky cleared a bit more.

So quiet and peaceful in the forest, except for the damn biting flies.

The trail from Wheeler Lake seemed longer and hotter and quite a bit buggier in the forest than it had been coming in a couple of days ago. The deer flies feasted on my legs, but they are so slow that I sent quite a few to their graves—and felt good about it. I really don’t like to hike with long pants on, and I paid the price for my stubbornness, with a good share of red welts and itching.

These red firs were huge, but they look spindly in this photo. You’l have to take my word for it.

About a mile out from Highway 4, Barbara checked her phone and answered texts while I treated a blister on one of my toes. First blister I have gotten in many a year.

We finally got back to the van at around 6:30 or 7:00, exhausted, hot and bug-bitten, and I had a nagging cough from the smoky air. But the sky was much clearer, and it looked like we had made the right decision. Looking at the map, the closest campsite was at a place called Mosquito Lakes. Something about that didn’t appeal to us (though it looked beautiful as we drove past). Barbara suggested that we drive over Ebbetts Pass to see what there was to see, and we checked out the campsites in Pacific Valley. We were both so beat and a little beat-up from our 14-mile trek that day, and, spoiled by our three days of solitude, that we didn’t want to camp cheek-by-jowl with a bunch of strangers. Then we had the great idea (or rather Barbara did) to drive to Markleeville and get a motel room.  And oh, the anticipation of a shower! We were so hot, tired and dirty.

The view going over Ebbetts Pass was spectacular, and the skies were definitely clearer. The road is about 1.5 lanes wide, with no dividing line. Beautiful!

Arrived in Markleeville at about 8:00 PM, and it was completely closed up. There were people sitting in chairs along the road, and they were very helpful in telling us that there were no vacancies in town, and anyway Ron had just left in his red truck, and he was the only one who could have helped us. Luckily, as they were talking to Barbara, I spotted a young tattooed and barefoot man standing in front of an establishment with a sign that read “J. Marklee Provisions and Lodging.” I asked him if there were any rooms available, and he said, “I don’t know. I’ll look.” I followed him down the row of rooms while he opened each door, glanced inside, and closed it again. Hmmm. He turned and asked, “One bed or two?” I said two, and he said, “come back in a half hour and we will have one ready for you.” Great! Barbara asked, “What if the room isn’t any good?” and the young man responded, “Oh, they are terrible!” Turned out that the room was really comfy, with good beds, nice sheets, squeeky-clean bathroom, and a killer shower.

As we drove into town, I was pleased and surprised to see a sign for Grover Hot Springs, just 6 miles up the road from town. So Barbara and I decided to drive up and check it out while the room was being readied. I forgot to mention that earlier that day, when we were deciding where to go, I had suggested finding some hot springs and just relaxing in the healing waters. And here they were! Grover Hot Springs State Park was purchased by the State of California in 1959, to help struggling Alpine County attract some tourist dollars. It’s a beautiful place, with a lovely campground. We decided right then that we would spend the next day at the hot springs and stay at the campground.

Here is the trash we collected along the trail: heavy foil, a mylar balloon, the remnants of a regular balloon with pink ribbon, a Starbuck’s bag, broken glass, and the remains of a shoe.

The trail was long and dusty. Barbara documented her feet before her shower.

Back at the motel, we started thinking how nice it would be to have a cold beer. But of course, the town was closed up. We pooled our few dollars, and decided to ask a couple of men we saw grilling dinner if we could perhaps buy a couple of beers from them. They appeared to be like likely suspects, but first, Barbara said she would ask the motel people. The woman making our beds told us that some other group had left a case of Fat Tire in the communal fridge, and we were welcome to as much as we wanted. Hallelujah! We sat out under a big cottonwood in the evening’s fading light drinking some of the most delicious beer I have ever encountered. Then showers. And checking email. Egad. The world is burning up in every way.

I slept well, though something bit my big toe and the itching kept me awake until I remembered to take a benadryl from our first aid kit. Then I passed out.

14 miles, 29 flights of stairs, according to my iPhone.

Today, according to the hiking book, we should be away from people. Boy, is that the truth! There is no sign of anyone, except for the remains of a mylar birthday balloon blown in from who knows where, a metallic Starbuck’s bag, and a large piece of tin. We packed the trash into Barbara’s pack.

Leaving Wheeler Lake, we found a beautiful cold stream, and spent awhile there  filtering and filling our water bottles in the cool shade.

There was a large flock of Canada geese at Wheeler Lake. When we first arrived, we mistook their vocalizations for dogs barking, and assumed there were humans nearby. Not so.

We started up over to Frog Lake, and missed the trail turnoff, so we hiked a couple of miles down Jefferson Canyon toward the Mokelumne River. We figured out that we had missed the trail, but thought maybe we would just keep going, and spend some time at the river. The mosquitos got thicker the lower we went, and the slow and vicious deer flies started biting, so we turned around and headed for higher ground. It’s nice to wander without a real agenda.

Purple monkeyflower grew in profusion.

Alpine Lilies hugged the bank of the creek in Jefferson Canyon

I don’t know what this little fern-like plant is, but it was so sweet and tender-looking that I had to snap a picture. What is it?

We found the trail, and had to be constantly vigilant to stay on it. We lost it a few times under fallen trees and in lush meadows where the vegetation grew much faster than lonesome travelers could beat it down. Barbara and I are good travel companions. She has more stamina than she did two years ago, and I have less, which evens us out somewhat. I love that she is so wiling to be in the moment and go wherever. And I’m so glad to be away from the cows!

Termites were hard at work clearing the forest of fallen trees.

Today, I practiced my map reading and compass skills, and luckily found the right path every time, though there were some stretches of cross-country while we looked for the very faint trail. I felt so relieved every time it reappeared, even though I was pretty certain of our direction and the map. Some of the streams shown on the map were already dried up, which made things feel iffier. I find that my eye is sharper, and more able to catch the faint deer prints, broken twigs and bent blades of grass that sometimes are the only trail markers.

The view northwards from the saddle. The high point didn’t have a name, so we called it      Mount Lewigbie. May as well..

The trail led up and over a saddle at 8550 ft, in a funny area of mixed volcanic rock and glacial granite. It was wonderful resting under the windswept lodgepole pines at the top of the World.

Finally, after more losing of the trail, we arrived at Frog Lake. I don’t know what I was expecting—probably something more alpine-looking than it turned out to be. It is a lovely lake surrounded by forest and meadow. The stream feeding it was dried up, and we had to get our water from the lake itself. It’s full of lily pads and very pretty, but after yesterday’s run-in with leeches I didn’t want to risk immersing myself. We settled for rinsing the day’s salt and grime at the water’s sandy edge.

The volcanic rock and lichens were so colorful, compared to the smooth granite nearby.

A little stunted and gnarled ponderosa pine curved itself into a very comfy seat.

Mariposa Lilies shared the shade of the lodgepole pine with us.

The volcanic rock and lichens were so colorful, compared to the smooth granite nearby.

A little stunted and gnarled ponderosa pine curved itself into a very comfy seat.

Volcanoes and glaciers formed this place. And probably earthquakes, too.

Finally, after more losing of the trail, we arrived at Frog Lake. I don’t know what I was expecting—probably something more alpine-looking than it turned out to be. It is a lovely lake surrounded by forest and meadow. The stream feeding it was dried up, and we had to get our water from the lake itself. It’s full of lily pads and very pretty, but after yesterday’s run-in with leeches we didn’t want to risk immersing ourselves. We settled for rinsing off the day’s salt and grime at the water’s sandy edge.

I decided to explore a bit to find us a campsite, and I’m really glad I did. On the far side of the lake, there was a long granite ridge, and nestled among the boulders was a real gem of a site, with views down the valley and up to the volcanic spires which we had seen on our left as we crossed the saddle, at about 8000 ft. We set up camp at about 3:30 and had a mid afternoon dinner.

The well-dressed backpacker, ready for dinner with titanium spork in hand

Volcanic spires and granite slabs, the view from our campsite.

The glacier-polished granite shone brightly in the magic light of late afternoon.

I was really tired, and thinking of bed by 6:00. But it was way too sunny and beautiful out to retreat to my tent. Smoke started to blow in from the Yosemite fire, but it appeared to be high up, and we couldn’t smell it. The wildflower fields continue to amaze us, with lupine and aster joined by vetch, mariposa lilies, shooting stars, columbines, penstemon, and a myriad of flowers whose names I don’t know.

A natural jigsaw puzzle near or camp.

still life

The only other humanoid for miles around kept watch over our camp.

I am feeling much more comfortable with the map and compass now. For some reason, though we get no phone signal, Barbara’s iPhone is still able to find us on Google Maps. That seems rather sinister to me, but it does really help to have another point of reference to corroborate my semi-educated guesses. We walk in Beauty.

Our camp, nestled among the boulders.

Every tree was worthy of a portrait.

It’s a hard life for plants in this environment.

A perfect bonsai and cushion buckwheat

Barbara glowing in the magic light.

Barbara brought a small book by Thich Nhat Hanh on being present and practicing the Buddhist principle of “aimlessness.” She ripped it in half, so that we could both read it. Today, we managed to do that a lot Every day up here, without an agenda other than to keep to a very loose itinerary, keeps me very much in the moment.

We made ourselves stay up long enough to watch the sun’s fiery orange ball sink out of sight into the smoky Central Valley. Then it was off to sleep by about 8:30. I woke several times in the night to star-gaze from the comfort of my bag, watching the slow drift of the Milky Way snake across the sky. So beautiful and clear!

Today was 9.1 miles.

MORE COWBELL!

A dragonfly checked out my toes at Wheeler Lake. I reached for my camera, but s/he flew off.       I waited, and after a couple of minutes, s/he returned.

On July 16, Barbara Higbie and I took off for what we expected would be a 5-day backpacking trip in the Mokelumne Wilderness, in the Sierra north of Highway 4, west of Ebbetts Pass. I had purchased an older guide book at a bookstore in Oakland for $1, and the itinerary for the area seemed promising. I was interested in seeing the area that furnishes 90% of our East Bay drinking water, for one thing, and the descriptions of the mix of volcanic and glacial terrain sounded visually promising. I had purchased a topographical map of the area from mytopo.com, so that I could plot our trek. I love maps!

Orange highlighter marked our travels, starting from Hwy 4 on the lower right side.

Barbara and I got together and planned out our meals, snacks, and so forth. I had been dehydrating nectarines, peaches, and blueberries, and my latest delicious find for the trail: parmesan cheese. You can get rid of 75% of the weight, and have a wonderful and welcome addition to boring trail food! We divided up packets of fruit and nuts for munchies during the day, and took packets of almond butter and crackers and a few bars for lunches. Our favorite hot meal ended up being something I had thrown together, with dehydrated  black beans from the Berkeley Bowl bulk foods section, mixed with dehydrated brown rice, carrots, spinach, and kale that I had purchased online. Throw a little of that parmesan on it, and it was delicious! Breakfast was a mix of oats and toasted amaranth flakes with protein powder and dried whole milk, with dehydrated blueberries and bananas. I’d say we ate well, except for one suspect dinner that we couldn’t force ourselves to eat. We ended up burying it somewhere in the woods. Barbara had gotten her hands on a book on ultralight backpacking, and wanted to use the suggested food amounts from there. Turns out that we don’t eat nearly as much as the guy who wrote the book (who was hiking 20 miles/day). I pointed that out before we left, and we cut our rations down somewhat, but were still left with too much food to carry for five days. Next time, I’ll probably pack too little to make up for it.

Dehydrated fruits and cheese, plus nuts and milk, getting ready for the trail.

I started out to pick up Barbara before 7:00 AM on July 16, after having spent the last three days on the road with the Right Hands, playing in Winters, Santa Cruz and Rohnert Park. I was working with a sleep deficit and was pretty tuckered out by the run, but also psychically energized by the great audiences and terrific band. Of course, half-way to Babz’s house, I had to turn back because i had forgotten things that at the time seemed really important: my balaclava for cold weather and extra velcro to affix our gaiters to our shoes. After a slow start, we made it to the Sandy Meadow trailhead shortly after noon, on a clear, warm day. Left the van in the dirt parking lot, and took off up the trail. The first thing that greeted us was a large swath of Mariposa lilies —the most I’ve ever seen in one place. A good omen. Then huge meadows of lupine and purple mountain aster. We met a woman and her Jack Russell terrier out for a walk as we started up the trail, and then didn’t see another human for the rest of the hike.

Barbara pauses in a field of flowers

The little mountain hemlock. They rarely get bigger than about 6 feet tall.

We walked through red fir and lodgepole forests scattered with little mountain hemlocks (John Muir’s favorite tree). The new sage-green growth on the tips of the branches were so full of of life, silently singing, “Look at me! Look at me!” And how could you not? We heard a hermit thrush singing somewhere off in the woods. The trail was relatively gentle, but still kicked my tired butt. It was only that, though—standard tiredness—and really I had nothing to complain about. The streams were a rich brown from the tannins in the duff.

Rich tea-stained water.

We arrived at Wheeler Lake, and were surprised to hear, out in the lush, swampy meadow surrounding the lake on two sides, the sounds of cowbells. It felt like we had walked into Switzerland accidentally. At least at first it wasn’t so annoying. The cattle were on the far side of the lake. We found a nice campsite among the granite boulders above the trail, and set up camp and had an early dinner. Afterwards, we decided to wash off the dust and sweat in the lake, and take a swim. The lake was surprisingly warm, and the bottom was squishy with decaying plant matter (and probably cow dung). Nevertheless, we got in it, and it felt great, until I suddenly remembered reading about leeches in warm mountain lakes. We swam fast to shore, and in fact I had two of the little suckers trying to attach themselves to my leg. Ugh! Barbara had been spared. It is obvious to me that the lake could use a little less fertilizer in the form of cow poop. I doubt there is a fish that could survive in it at this point.

Danger! Leeches!

Still, it was beautiful in its way…

At 6:30, there were, thankfully, still no mosquitos, but the cowbells started getting louder and louder. The cattle were working themselves over to our side, eating as they went. The bells must really drive them crazy in some way. There is no way they can move without the damn things ringing! There were 16 head of cattle, big and fat and feasting incessantly on the rich grasses.

Wheeler Lake is bound on three sides by tall, rugged volcanic cliffs. It looked like we must be inside some ancient caldera.

Today, I read the compass backwards and told Barbara that South was North. I need to brush up on my skills!

We were in our tents by about 8:30, and even with the cowbells I slept like just another log in the forest. My phone tells me we walked 6.5 miles. My body is trying to tell me it’s more like 10.

July 13, 2017

The incredible snowplant!

Katie and I were on the road back to Yosemite by 6:45 AM. We finally discovered that the reason there isn’t any information online for the Tuolumne Hikers Shuttle is that the Tuolumne Meadows structures sustained so much winter damage that they aren’t running shuttles up there. So much snow! So we drove to the Porcupine Creek trailhead on Tioga Pass Road to hike to North Dome, then along the North Rim to Yosemite Falls and down to the Valley floor in time to meet the one and only bus back up to the trailhead and the car. It was scheduled to leave to Visitors’ Center at 5:00 PM.

By 9:30 AM, we were on the trail. The weather was absolutely perfect! I had hiked this trail on my 50th birthday (16+ years ago), and remembered it as having  truly great vistas.

Looking across the Valley to Half Dome

The view of Clouds Rest

Katie and me, stopping for a rest and the view before we head down to North Dome

Unlike the previous day, the first part of today’s hike was populated by happy duos and groups bound for the first scenic overlook and North Dome. An easy hike through forests, across creeks (I took off my shoes and waded across, while Katie took a circuitous route somewhere upstream to avoid that while I waited), and up gentle slopes led us to the first views of Half Dome across the Valley, and of the vast expanse of slick glacier-scoured granite rising up to Clouds Rest.

The last bit of the trail down to North Dome is somewhat of a scramble at times, and then when you reach the saddle the trail branches in every direction leading up to the summit. It’s just wide-open stone, with very little vegetation, just a scraggly lodgepole pine hanging on here and there in a crevice. There is something about being out in all this grandeur that I think leads people to speak quietly, like being in a cathedral. Though there were lots of groups scattered across North Dome’s bald pate, it was calm and peaceful. I fought my vertigo to sit as close to the edge as I dared, among the roots and in the shade of a weather-beaten pine. We rested and just enjoyed to views for probably a little to long.

I can’t imagine a place I would rather be!

Katie consults the map, and we decide we had better get a move on.

Next time: Clouds Rest! I’ve never hiked up there before.

Look at how that cloud imitates the rocky outcropping on the skyline! Did the wind blowing across the rock sculpt that cloud?

As we bid farewell to North Dome, and headed west along the north rim of Yosemite Valley, the crowds dissipated, and we seemed to be the only people on the trail. It led for awhile through an old burned area, where the blackened trees stood stark in the brilliant mountain light.

I wondered if this were the area that I had noticed being over-ripe for burning back in 2000. There was so much built-up branch and fallen-tree litter on the forest floor, that it scared me back then. I could imagine the devastation wrought by all that fuel catching fire. These trees couldn’t withstand the intensity of the resultant conflagration.

A view into the Valley, and across to Half Dome.

Judging by the miles left to hike, Katie and I kept up a good, steady pace along the North Rim trail, and to the top of spectacular Yosemite Falls, still running full this year from the enormous winter snowpack.

As we approached the Yosemite Falls, we started to see lots more people, who had hiked up from the Valley floor.

The creek looks pretty small from this view.

When you add people, you can see that it’s not that little!

Katie on the bridge across Yosemite Creek.

As the day wore on, we realized that it was going to be a very tight connection to catch the bus back to the car. So we picked up our pace, and didn’t stop for miles and miles. We were counting on the trail being about 12 miles, but it ended up being quite a bit more than that. So we spent the last few hours rushing, tuckered out and barely stopping except to snap a few photos. The day was hot, it was dusty, and all I wanted to do was laze around and enjoy myself up there!

The first view back up to Yosemite Falls. The water thundered down to the Valley, thankfully spraying the trail on occasion with a gentle, cool mist.

The trail had been changed since I was last on it. At one point, I saw the old trail leading off to the left, and we debated whether to take it or not. It looked sort-of closed off and I worried that we would run into some obstruction that we wouldn’t be able to get around if we left the mail trail. This turned out to possibly be a mistake, as the new trail wound much further west and added miles to the trail (though it was a much easier grade).

The hours and miles seemed to crawl by, as we hurried on to catch the bus. I am a pretty fast hiker, generally passing people on the trail and swinging along quite comfortably. These last few hours, though, I was really trying to push myself. It was reminiscent of the day on the John Muir Trail that I got separated from Betty and tried to catch her (without the emotional component: see Day 5, August 17, for that story). Finally, we hit the valley floor, and realized we were still about a mile from the bus stop at 4:40PM. We ended up doubling our pace, right when I was bonking. I was ready to give up and try hitch-hiking back to the car, but Katie proved her mettle, and led me on along the paved road. No stopping for photos. No stopping to refill water bottles. No stopping to eat anything that required stopping in order to be eaten. Tired and dusty, we walked as fast as we could through the throngs of sightseers, kids on bikes, and inadvertently bombing visitors’ souvenir photos as we barrelled through.

We arrived at the bus stop about 5 minutes before the bus. I was completely fried. My iPhone showed that we had hiked 16.8 miles that day.

Finally! A place to just sit!

I have never felt so happy to be in a vehicle, I think. It meant that I was forced to just sit there and rest. By the time we returned to Yosemite bug Resort, we were somewhat recovered, but cured of hiking for a day. So we took it easy the next morning and lazed around until checkout, and then lazed around some more at the spa. On the way home, we went through Mariposa and stopped for breakfast at the Sugar Pine Cafe. It’s interesting going to a restaurant with a dedicated restaurant worker like Katie. She has a different and much more nuanced POV for all that is going on around us. We sat at the counter, and watched the highly efficient cooks and waitstaff doing their jobs with care and precision. And the food was great.

I can’t help but feel a little irritated at the maps for understating the mileage, and thereby throwing our timing off, so that the last few hours were more-or-less a blur for me. Still, it was an incredible, breathtakingly beautiful hike, and I would do it again in a heartbeat, and take more time. Maybe camp out somewhere on the North Rim, and just “be” for some precious hours. And next time, I am going to forsake the new trail and explore that old one along Yosemite Creek. I found it on some old maps, and it cuts off quite a bit of trail.

This ended Katie’s and my adventure for 2017. This year (2018), Katie will be hiking the John Muir Trail, and if I’m lucky, I’ll find a time that coincides with her schedule so that I can resupply her along the way.

A sudden wind whipped up Yosemite Falls, no doubt refreshing some happy hikers along the trail.

Here it is, getting on toward the end of May, 2018, and I am hankering for the High Country. Still a bit early for me to venture up into the High Sierra. So I have decided to take a little vacation in my mind by revisiting a couple of days of hiking last summer. Here is Day 1 for your reading enjoyment.

July 12, 2017

I woke at 5:45 AM and was out the door by 6:30, riding with my friend Katie Renz up to the May Lake trailhead in Yosemite. Katie and I had met the previous summer, hiking on the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park. She was on her way to Mt Whitney, and I was just wandering and enjoying a certain aimlessness. Since then, we had been planning a backpacking trip for this time period, expecting to be able to hike above the treeline somewhere.But with the enormous snowpack, the high country was still too impassable and many creeks too dangerous to ford. So in lieu of the backpacking trip, we had opted for a couple of day hikes, staying at night at the Yosemite Bug Resort, where I was cashing in on a comped two nights’ stay to make up for a water problem during the Yosemite Songwriting Retreat the previous Summer.

We stopped in Groveland at the venerable Iron Door for breakfast, which seemed to take forever. No, it actually did take nearly forever. So frustrating to be slowed down so near to our destination. When the food did come, it was pretty good, I have to say. Finally, we were climbing up Hwy 120 and into the park.

I had picked a loop trail that I hoped would let us avoid the snow, which in mid-July still lay deep in the high country. The first couple of miles from Tioga Pass Road up to May Lake were easy and mostly clear of snow. The lake, however, was a different story. It was still mostly frozen, and drifts lay deep under the shade of the firs and pines. There were a few other people scattered about the lakeshore, enjoying the clear day and sun. After a pleasant rest at the lake, we spent about an hour, or so it seemed, trying to track the trail through the snow. We finally located it, and for awhile the trail was clear and dry, and the day seemed like it would be an easy stroll from then on. We met only one other person on the trail all day, headed the opposite direction, and he remarked in an irritated tone on the amount of snow further along. He didn’t like it. Nor do I.

There were gorgeous views of the Murphys Creek drainage, and beyond to the high peaks. The next few miles were perfect hiking: deepest azure cloudless summer skies and expanses of polished granite. Everything I love about the Sierra. Katie and I were good hiking companions, well-matched speed and endurance-wise, and equally and alternately quiet and talkative.

Skunk cabbage was sprouting everywhere in the saturated ground.

We came to a stream crossing where the water sluiced across slick, glassy granite. I liked to keep my phone/camera in a zippered pocket just above the knee of my pants, where it was easy to access. I had just stepped out of the creek and onto the dry trail when I felt a strange slithering, and my phone dropped to the ground out of the bottom of the pocket. The seam had just come unraveled. I spent a few moments feeling grateful for the timing of the accident. A moment earlier, and it would have landed in the stream, and possibly have been swept downstream before I could retrieve it. It might not have killed it, but it probably would have been the end of photos that day…

We took a short detour off the trail to Raisin Lake, a little gem that is reputed to be a great place to swim, later in the season. Those trees don’t look like they could be hiding so much snow!

This little guy was hoping for a handout.

As soon as we came off the exposed East-facing side of the valley and were in among the trees, we hit huge drifts over the trail, which required that we were constantly searching on the frozen crust for scuff-marks and signs of the trail, which was somewhere beneath us, under four-to-six-feet of the darned white stuff. Bits of the trail showed themselves on occasion, usually streaming with runoff. So we alternately slid on the snow and splashed through the water and tried to avoid the worst of the mud.

As we had to watch our step constantly on the slick snow, I didn’t take many photos. That often happens when I’m busy working, and then afterwards I am always disappointed that there is no photographic evidence.

At the top of the valley, we headed east for a bit before we turned sound along the west-facing slope, and eventually returned to Tioga Pass Road, a good 9 miles later. With so much snow, it was more than I had anticipated doing the first day, but I only have myself to blame. I think Katie would have been happy turning back at May Lake.

We finally completed our little loop, and happily exhausted returned to the car. Then we had a long drive back to our lodging at Yosemite Bug. No mishaps, except that we got pulled over for speeding (going 35 in a 25mph zone) through what turned out to be a bear crossing area. Oops! Luckily, no ticket and no mishaps with the wildlife. We paid assiduous attention to all the signs after that.

Got back to the lodge just in time for dinner, but with not much of an appetite after all that work. Neither of us could finish our dinners. Now we are in our beds and I am finishing up these notes before I hit the pillow. Tomorrow: a hike that I have taken before, from Tioga Pass Road to the Yosemite Valley floor via North Dome and Yosemite Falls. Stay tuned.

6/21/2017

Much of the contents of my pack, waiting to be organized and packed for another day.

I just realized that today is the Summer Solstice. So I will have my full share of a good thing! The sun is just clearing the ridgeline, so I can dry the underside of the tent before I pack up and head down the trail. It’s really buggy here, and I look forward to getting to a higher elevation. I’m getting bitten through my woolen leggings that I put on this morning to fight the chill. I am using my bug net over my beanie while I write. It probably looks kind-of silly, but whatever works…

The astonishing snow plant! “…the free-thinking radical of wildflower society, eschewing photosynthesis altogether in favor of a symbiotic relationship with underground fungi.” Yosemite hikes.com

I was up at 6:30 AM, and puttered around the camp until 9:00, when I finally hit the road.  As the day warmed, the mosquitos dissipated (thank you!). I saw a fat timber rattler cross the trail ahead of me, and watched as it slithered off into the chaparral.

That’s some good camouflage. Can you see it? Just left of the trail.

Dewey Point is gorgeous! I spent a couple of hours there soaking it all in. Struck up a conversation with a young German man out for a day hike. He’s traveling the US and Canada until October, when his visa expires and he flies back to Germany. He has been working in Canada for a few years, and saving up money, planning for this trip. He’ll be hitting almost all of the western National Parks, mostly sleeping in his used Toyota van. For the second half of his trip, he will be joined by his mom. Awww. Tomorrow, he plans to hike up Yosemite Falls. I envy him the freedom and the strength of his youth.

I prevailed upon a hiker to take my picture at Dewey Point.

I was spell-bound, watching two lizards in what appeared to be territorial dispute at Dewey Point. They kept circling, head to tail, keeping just out of striking distance of each other. But every once in awhile, one would lunge at the neck of the other and bite. Then they would continue their wary circling, pausing for push-ups once in awhile. Finally, one chased the other away, and he turned and went back under his rock. War is everywhere.

This is some precipitous country!

Looking northwest

This little guy looked like he was carved out of jade. Please excuse the lousy photo!

Way too early in the year to munch on wild currants.

Bridal veil Falls, far below but clearly audible in the mountain quiet.

Farther along, I spent a little while at Crocker Point, another beauty. I couldn’t say which of these places was my favorite. Each is gives a different outlook over the valley. Now, I am at Stanford Point. From here, you can see all the way up the valley, and hear Bridalveil Falls crashing down into the depths below. The farther I go, the fewer people are on the trail. Midweek, it’s pretty sparsely populated. There are fallen trees everywhere over the path, which I have to walk around or clamber over. The trail crews haven’t gotten this far yet this year. As I was leaving, a young man running full speed passed me, on his way to the point. I watched as he got there, stopped for a few minutes, and then turned around and flew past me back the way he had come. He was on a mission, for sure! In contrast, I feel like I am dragging today. I can barely make myself walk at my standard mile-eating pace. I hear a siren coming from the valley floor. Civilization is not far away, but I feel totally alone. Sitting on the edge, I am getting the willies. Every time I look down, I get a jolt of vertigo. I may have to move…

I stopped at a little creek crossing for a bandanna bath. It was so refreshing, but it didn’t make me walk any faster. Ribbon Falls is full and beautiful across the valley. The water breaks up and turns to mist after the first 1,000 feet of fall.

I got a little blister on my left foot. Is this part of my left-side problem– hip, knee, and now foot? I doctored it, drained it, cleaned it with an alcohol wipe and applied a nice covering of Moleskin, the hiker’s friend It should be fine, now.

More clouds are approaching from the north side of the valley. Coming my way like a slow-motion invasion. I may get a storm!

Somewhere past Stanford Point, I have found a perfect sandy campsite off the trail, hidden by the chinquapin, very near the canyon rim. I am watching the storm clouds form over the peaks. The wind is picking up, blowing them toward me slowly, slowly, and I hear distant thunder. I suppose in a couple of hours could get a storm here. At 6:30 it isn’t yet to the far side of the valley, but over by Half Dome it is looking very dark and menacing. Brilliant blue skies behind me, and at least two more hours of sun. This day stretches on and on.

I walked back to the last stream (Meadow Brook?) I had crossed, and went a little ways upstream of the trail to bathe. There was a perfect little pool down a steep bank, clear of sediment but with the water stained the color of weak tea by the tannic leaves. I washed off the salty sweat, rinsed out my hair and clothes, and walked the half mile back to camp in flip flops. I hung my wet clothes in a tree and tried to nap. That didn’t work. I ran out o storage space on my phone and started madly deleting old photos and apps so that I can still take more pictures. Every moment the light changes, and I want to capture some of it.

All cleaned up!

Woodpeckers, robins, ruffed grouse, mountain chickadees (“Hey, Laurie”), and suddenly a little Merlin streaking past.

I am determined to stay up until sunset at least, but if it starts raining I’ll go to ground.

Granite rocks still warm from the sun. I lay back to look at the clouds, but it was too deep, too blue and white, too huge to comprehend, and I had to sit back up, dizzy from the immensity of it all.

7:15. The storm has suddenly dissipated. It’s as if hitting the far edge of the valley did it in, and the clouds just evaporated. Everything is sunny and unthreatening. Now I realize how much I was actually looking forward to the excitement of riding out a storm in a good tent. Darn!

Sunset at 8:25: the mosquitos are out in force! I have donned two pair of pants, gloves, hat, mosquito net, socks, and shoes. But they still seem to get me. Into the tent to escape.

I am so sad tonight. Thinking of “all my long-lost friends and lovers,” as Rosalie Sorrels sang. Phil, I am going to miss you when you’re gone. Tom Size, there is still such a sharp pain when I think of you. Sarah, Charles D, Charles S…I realize most of my lost friends are men. My women friends are mostly still here.

10:30 PM Woke up with itching legs. I guess I got a lot of bites before I suited up. Luckily, there is hydrocortisone cream in the first-aid kit. It’s still very warm at this lower elevation at 11:00. I wish it would get cold so that my bag would be useful. Hot, hot, hot… My flashlight quit, but no worries. The solar lantern is still going strong. That’s a nice piece of light-weight equipment. Starry skies! Finally, my phone agrees with my map, and shows I have hiked a scant 9.5 miles today. I forgot that my hip and knee were hurting.

6/20/17

Last night I went to sleep early. I crawled into the tent at 7:30, intending to just nap a bit. I woke at 9:00 in the last of the twilight, and considered going to sit by my neighbors’ fire, which looked very inviting. A tame fire is a thing of beauty, that tugs at some fundamental aspect of being a human. But I fell asleep again, waking a few times in the night to admire the clear skies and bright stars slowly arcing overhead. Illilouette “Creek” was super-loud, and I had to make earplugs out of toilet paper to quiet it down so that I could sleep. It helped a little bit.

I was up at 5:00 AM and on the trail by 6:30. Some of my neighbors were up, and I talked with them a bit. They had been too cold to sleep, in their lightweight summer bags, unprepared for the precipitous temperature drop that happens in the night at this elevation. I felt bad for them, having experienced that discomfort last year with a defective sleeping pad and inferior bag. I was so very cozy last night, though, and was thankful that I had the right tools for the job.

Soon the sun will be up. I enjoyed the cool and quiet of early morning on the trail.

The heat was brutal yesterday, and I wanted to get a headstart on it today. The trail was so quiet, the air so fresh. I saw a black bear come down the slope in front of me and cross the trail. It didn’t see me, and I crept along the trail trying for a photo as it roamed among the chaparral and fallen trees of the old burn area. Every time it showed itself, I wasn’t quite prepared. It finally looked up and saw me, which stopped it long enough for me to snap a picture, and then turned tail and skedaddled down the slope and disappeared.

The creek I fell into yesterday, looking benign and innocent at the proper fording spot.

The Illilouette starts to build up speed for its downward rush…

…and plunges into the canyon.

I passed a trail-maintenance crew laboring away clearing the winter/spring overgrowth of the path. What incredible views they had for their work! I was also stopped by a ranger, who asked if I had had any run-ins with bears. I recounted my morning sighting. He said that there was a bear in the area that they had had lots of complaints about. Not my bear, who was suitably shy and foraging as a natural bear is wont to do, without human intervention.

Coming around the corner, anticipating the view up the Merced River canyon.

Vernal and Nevada Falls, plummeting out of Little Yosemite Valley behind Half Dome. I am so grateful that this landscape belongs to us all!

The view across the valley to Yosemite Falls. Amidst the beauty, I can’t help but notice all of the dead and dying trees. One good winter of snowfall can’t make up for the effect of years of drought.

It was about 8:30 when I arrived at Glacier Point. My left hip and knee have been troublesome, with sciatic pain and accompanying weakness on that side. So I rested and waited for the store to open. It was supposed to open at 9:00, but finally they unlocked the doors at 9:20. I bought a small bag of potato chips, an orange, and a bottled coffee, just because I could. It was a delicious repast.

Of course I had to stop for a portrait at Glacier Point!

I took off along the Pohono Trail, and in 1.5 miles I ditched my pack and made a short detour to Sentinel Dome. There were lots of day hikers up there admiring the views, and you could see the snow still lying heavily up in the high country to the north, east and south.

Sentinel Dome

Panorama of the high country from Sentinel Dome. Lots of snow, and I am grateful that I opted for lower elevation.

I continued along the trail, enjoying the scents of Jeffrey Pine and honeysuckle bush.

In the midst of such beauty, I am occasionally overcome with sorrow, thinking of my friend Phil Brown, who is in the process of dying as I walk in his beloved mountains. I wish he could be with me. Phil is a member of my chosen family, a wonderful artist and funny guy, approaching his death with dignity, humor and openness. It breaks my heart.

Next stop was Taft Point and The Fissures. These fissures are narrow clefts in the granite which plunge 2000 feet straight down to the valley floor. There were young people there “highlining” across the fissures. This is something I had never seen, but which appears to be quite popular. They rig slack lines across the fissures, and then walk across them. I spoke to one highliner who insisted that it was quite safe, as they all wore safety harnesses. Still, it scared me to just watch (and yet I couldn’t turn my eyes away).

Rigging a line across one of the Fissures

I watched a guy freeze up on this line. He had to sit down and scoot back to safety. Hmmm…I wonder why…

I got a nice campsite along Bridalveil Creek, the closest to Glacier Point that backpackers are allowed to camp. It was occupied when I arrived, but by the time I had finished washing up, the guys had left and I snagged it.

The bridge at Bridalveil. No camping allowed on the east side.

I love washing up after such a hot and dusty day. The creek water (snowmelt) is super-cold but refreshing. Rinsing out my socks, gaiters, shirt, and gloves is a chore I really enjoy. And I cherish the fleeting taste of salt as I (quickly) submerge my head in the water.

It was 2:00 PM when I arrived here, a nice early day. Map mileage shows somewhere around 9.5 miles, but my phone mileage shows 15.4 miles, 28,783 steps, and 76 floors climbed. I am tired!

A party of 15 just arrived, all young teenagers. They said they hoped they wouldn’t be too noisy. I couldn’t hear them at their campsite, but can certainly hear them whooping and hollering down by the creek. I am feeling guilty that I have the best, flattest and most expansive campsite in the area all to myself. I could rent out the extra room. Or just give it away. I feel sort-of lonesome, and wish I had brought a book (one of the other things I forgot) There are still a couple of hours to kill before I can reasonably go to bed, as it’s only 6:30 now.

It suddenly got buggy (mosquitos) at around 7:30, and drove me into my tent where I am writing about the day. I didn’t want to put bug dope on. I think it’s the Summer Solstice eve today, so nightfall is a long ways off. It’s nice and comfy in here, and soon I’ll be asleep. My limbs ache. The left hip and knee are not too bad, but I notice they are not right. I took ibuprofen, which will probably knock me out sooner than later.

2:55 AM

I just had a funny dream about someone I know (no names here) freaking out and maybe  even starting a war because people didn’t learn the “right” harmony parts to Jean Ritchie’s “Now is the Cool of the Day.” I had spent much of the day thinking about this song, and working out harmony parts in my head, wishing I had three other people to work it out with, so the dream is based in fact.

The Milky Way is directly overhead. Trees are all around, so star-gazing opportunities are limited. It’s a beautiful night, cool and quiet, aside from Bridalveil Creek, which of course won’t shut up. My ears can’t stop listening to it. Tomorrow I’ll visit Dewey Point, Crocker Point, and Stanford Point. The captains of financial industry (except Dewey…who is he?)*

*editor’s note: I just looked this up, and Dewey point is named for Admiral George Dewey, of the US Navy (December 26, 1837 – January 16, 1917). He was a war hero, and in later life a horseback-riding pal of Teddy Roosevelt. Hence the naming of the point for him. It’s all who you know.

The Merced River at Happy Isles

6/19/17

It’s about 6:00 PM. I have a nice, flat, sandy campsite by Illilouette Creek, which is more like a raging river. It is really full, running fast and furious and rising. I started out this morning by about 7:00 AM I think, stopped at the car to get my forgotten toiletries, and started the uphill climb. I realized today that it is the month of my 50th anniversary of the first time that I hiked up the Mist Trail alongside Vernal and Nevada Falls. That time, I was 16 years old and on my way to camp in Little Yosemite Valley and from there up to Half Dome, with my sister Kristin and friend Mike McCarthy. That was my first backpacking trip, and I was completely exhausted and had no stamina. And on that trip, I received a valuable piece of information from a man who I remember as looking like the quintessential Sierra Club member of the time, wearing green and khaki, with a red backpack and big hiking boots. He was probably in his 40’s and to this 16-year-old looked really old. He stopped and said, “Always take two steps where one will do,” meaning small steady steps on a climb are less wearing on the legs than trying to pull oneself up big steps. I have found this to be absolutely true over the years, and thank him, wherever he is, for having taken the time to stop and teach a novice. On this ascent, I just steadily trudged up the trail, and felt pretty good about it. Somewhere, I have a photo that Mike took of the younger me, sitting on a rock beside the trail, looking utterly wasted. I’ll have to hunt it up and post it.

View from the first bridge, Merced River

Looking back down the Merced, from below Vernal Falls on the Mist Trail.

Thundering Vernal Falls, looking like a painting through the mist.

Looking up through the trees, on the aptly-named Mist Trail. It was warm enough that the cooling mist was quite welcome.

Nevada Falls, which claimed my lovely little pocket knife two years ago. I still miss it.

Nevada Falls again, without the human blocking the view.

Finally, the top of Nevada Falls, where the Merced was overflowing its banks. I don’t think we needed fences and signs to warn us of the dangers.

The top of Nevada Falls and Liberty Cap, where I stopped to dry my feet and have lunch. It was bustling with day hikers, and there was a happy, festive mood.

This guy wanted me to share my lunch. I didn’t.

I passed a couple heading up the Mist Trail who were planning on camping on Illilouette Creek as well. Miles farther along, at Illilouette bridge on the Panoramic Trail, where I had stopped for a little nap, they caught up with me. The man said he thought I was like a little rabbit hopping up the trail past them. That was then, though, and this rabbit was pretty tired out by the time I had reached the bridge.

A swallowtail takes advantage of the many blooming azaleas along the trail. There were so many wildflowers everywhere!

Looking back toward Nevada Falls from the Panoramic Trail, with the back of Half Dome on the left.

Across the valley, you could hear the thundering of Yosemite Falls. There were lots of dead and dying trees this year, the result of a perfect storm caused by years of drought and a beetle infestation. I heard a forester say that he expected a nearly 100% loss of pines between 5,000 and 7,000 feet elevation in the next few years.

Panorama along the Panoramic.

I passed the couple again on the way up the creek. When I got to a stream crossing, I stopped to figure out the best way to proceed. The stream was basically a boulder field with water running through it—very rough and steep. I went upstream a bit to see if there was a better way to cross, but it only got worse. So back I went to the original spot. I had just decided to go for it, figuring the water would only be maybe up to my thighs for a short while, and had taken my shoes off to keep them dry and go barefoot, when the couple showed up at the same place. I showed them the route I was planning on taking, and then shoved off into the stream, stepping carefully and taking my time on the slick rocks. Unfortunately, I slipped and in very, very slow motion fell backwards into the water, trying to stop my fall with my trekking poles and very nearly succeeding. I recovered quickly, and was up again and through to the other side. From there, I could see a little further downstream where the creek widened out and crossed a flat, ankle-deep gravel bar. Damn! That was obviously where I should have crossed. I felt like an idiot, especially because those people were watching me the whole time. The only consolation for my soaked pride was that they hadn’t seen the crossing, either. I pointed it out to them, and the woman crossed easily, The man took off his big hiking boots, and not wanting them to get wet, decided to throw them one at a time to his partner. The first one caught on a finger, though, and the throw went wild. The shoe arced spinning into the air and came down nearly mid-stream. The woman clambered after it, grabbing it just before it was swept into the Illilouette where it would have been lost. So much for keeping the boots dry! The second throw whizzed past my head while I was putting my shoes back on, and bounced off my pack. No harm done. He walked across uneventfully and put on his one wet and one dry boot. I took off again up the trail, through an old burn area that was coming back nicely, with lots of low currant bushes and chinquapin. The trail wound up away from the Illilouette, with beautiful views of river canyon and the swirling green waters. I walked off the trail after awhile to explore a ledge which I thought might have a good campsite. But there were so many fallen trees, and so many still standing, that it felt sort-of spooky and unsafe in there. And I kept thinking I heard voices, but couldn’t see any people. I decided to get back up to the trail and keep walking.

Illilouette “Creek” in flood stage. I’m thankful for a bridge!

Farther up the Illilouette, the creek raged below me.

A last view of Half Dome before the trail winds out of sight.

Finally, I came to the designated camp sites along the river, and after searching about for a nice flat spot away from other people, I opted for the far end of the same sandy beach where a group of 7 people were camped. Easy access to the water, big flat granite boulders for drying my clothes after I rinsed out the sweat and dust of the day, and they seemed like a nice group, who left me alone.

It had been a pretty busy on the Panoramic Trail, and very busy on the Mist Trail. but when I turned off to go up Illilouette, I didn’t see anyone else on the trail, other than the couple. And now here I was away off in the “wilderness” next to a bunch of friends and family from southern California. It was a hard day. The map showed 9.5 miles, but my phone listed 15.7 miles. It felt much more like the latter, especially for the first day out, following a less-than-restful night’s sleep. Originally, I had intended to take a trail that cut over at a diagonal from near the top of Nevada Falls. It would have cut miles  off of the day, but would have required crossing Illilouette Creek to get to my first camping spot. I had been advised to go around and cross by the bridge, and I’m glad that I did. The Illilouette was huge and wild, and I doubt that I would have been able to cross safely, or even that I would have tried once I saw it. In the evening, at my campsite, though, I noticed a deer across the river. I turned back and continued to set up my camp, and the next time I looked up, that deer was on MY side of the river! Braver and stronger than me!

Off to sleep early tonight.

My comfy campsite beside the roaring Illilouette.

Home, sweet home!

6/18/17

Yosemite Falls, which a Valley bus driver proudly announced was the 5th highest waterfall in the world, reflected in the flooded valley floor. I looked it up, and it’s actually 20th on the list. But some of the others have very little volume, so maybe his list went by volume as well.

For my first outing of 2017, I had planned on a round-trip hike that would take in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne in June. I wanted to go early-ish in the season, to see all the waterfalls at their most glorious and wild. But as Fortune would have it, following this year’s record snowfall in the Sierra, the trails were still impassable in mid-June. Bridges had been wiped out by the floods, the Tioga Pass road had only been open a couple of days, and it was just not going to happen. So I cast about for some way to get into the Sierra without having to brave the very dangerous creek crossings and late-season snowy conditions. After consulting guide books and my personal oracles, I decided to visit Yosemite Valley, and hike the south side of the valley, starting at Happy Isles, going up past Vernal and Nevada Falls , along the Panoramic Trail to Glacier Point, and then continuing along the south rim to Wawona Tunnel and down through the Valley and back to the car. The advantage, for me, was that the trails would be clear of snow and for my first outing of the year, I wouldn’t be so alone.

Just one of the puzzling sights at this year’s bluegrass festival.

The week before, I had gotten the opportunity to hang out with one of my heroes, the great Alice Gerrard, at the California bluegrass Association’s Fathers’ Day Bluegrass Festival.

Sunsets were gorgeous, especially when adding my very musical friend Luke “Nandi” Forrest, to the shot.

I arrived in Yosemite Valley, straight from the Fathers Day Bluegrass Festival in Grass Valley, after driving the winding Highway 49 through the sere landscape of the California foothills.

Enroute to Yosemite, I watched the thunderclouds mass over the Sierra in the late afternoon.

In stark contrast, the Valley floor was flooded with Spring snow melt and rain, and the waterfalls were all pumping as I’d never seen them before!

I had picked up my backcountry permit just inside the park, and was told that I would need to hike the long way around to the backpackers’ campground, as there was flooding on the main entrance. Truly! The water was about up to my knees and it was impossible to see where the path might be. Off to the left, I saw a small group of backpacking tents, and I thought that might be the place I was looking for. There was one young man there, and I engaged him in conversation. It turned out that the tents belonged to a group of college researchers who were spending the summer studying recycling and waste in national parks. He pointed the way to the backpackers camp, but before I hit the water again, I asked if they might have room for one more little tent at their camp. He said, “Of course!” So I was able to save myself more wading and possibly getting lost, pitched my tent and made myself at home. I eventually met all four: Bo, Jeremiah, Montana and Mary. They were spending a month in Yosemite, followed by a month in Grand Tetons, and a month in Denali, working for the Leave No Trace Institute. Nice summer job!

A dry oasis in the flood.

The view from outside my tent in the morning.

I seem to have forgotten a number of important items: baking soda (for brushing teeth), dental floss, and my handy-dandy spork a cross between a spoon and a fork, which saves carrying both, but is less effective than either). Luckily, I think they are in the car, and it is parked near the trailhead. My gas canister was nearly empty. The stove lit and burned for a few seconds before it went out. Luckily, I had another full one. More bad planning, and I am relieved that the car is close by. I also forgot my water shoes, so I guess I will either be fording creeks in my hiking shoes or barefoot. Most likely the latter. That worked today, wading to camp.

3:00 AM

For some reason, my right shoulder is hurting, as is my left hip. I think it’s from apprehension about the trip. The river is rising and very loud! Keeping me awake. Part of me wonders whether I will be flooded out of my tent before morning.

My mind is flooded with worries that I have been trying to keep at bay in the daylight hours. I am hoping that this solo saunter through the mountains will give me time to turn things over in my mind, and maybe hit on some plan of action. Or if not, at least give me some breathing room by myself. It doesn’t bode well, though, that I am not sleeping…

It has felt so good to have so much rain and snow in California this last winter, but I confess that i am growing increasingly anxious to get up to the high country again, and I know that it is pretty-much impassable until at least late June this year. I am not one who likes to ramble through too much snow (which for me is a pretty small amount). This last winter brought a record snowpack to the Sierra, dumping more snow than has been seen in over 100 years! Which, don’t get me wrong, is great for everything. The trees depend on the slow snow melt to water them through months of no precipitation. The rivers need the cleansing/scouring action of the Spring snowmelt to clean out algae and restore pristine salmon spawning beds. The Valley needs the flooding action of the rivers to replenish the soil. It’s all good. Except that I want to go to the mountains NOW!

I have been dreaming of mountains. Here’s a chorus that popped into my head recently:

When I close my eyes

I see the mountains rise around me—

Stark and wild above the timberline

And I find my place

When that immensity of space surrounds me—

One tiny spark in the forever flame of Time

Now, I know there are other places to go, and this agitation to be in my particular Holy Land is just a minor and inconsequential nag. There are closer, more accessible places of worship which I could stop in to at any time. So I thought I’d share some photos and stories from my recent month, mid-March to mid-April, in Ucross, Wyoming. Tom Rozum and I applied for an artists’ residency program, where we imagined ourselves hunkered down and rehearsing and working on a duo recording project. It didn’t turn out that way, because I caught the flu (or something) the first week, and it lingered on for most of the time we were there. Then, when I started to feel better, Tom started feeling bad. The best laid plans, and all that…

On the way to Ucross, we passed through Thermopolis. I wanted to stop and soak, but alas, there was no time. I love a hand-painted sign!

We were surprised to find an F-5 mandolin sign in Big Horn, WY. 

Finally, the lights of Buffalo, WY, appeared ahead of us, after 20+ hours of driving. 15 more miles to go…

Before and after my illness, I managed to take some walks in the hills surrounding us, and to write one new song, which may or may not be any good. The hills have amazing rocks, petrified wood, and what they call “mud boulders”.

The first walk I took was out to the teepee circles, that are located on a nice bluff with a commanding view of the confluence of two river valleys. I imagine that it would be a great place to camp while hunting the bison on their annual migration through there. The circles are difficult to see right off the bat, but once you see one, they all become clear. Most are probably about 18 feet across. The rocks were used to hold down the sides, I guess, and the same sites were used year after year, but it’s probably been about 150 years since they were last used.

The view from the teepee circles, looking quite a bit more tame than it probably used to.

It was great watching the seasons change, seeing a beautiful undercoat of green slowly take over the dried brown grasses of last summer.

We crossed Piney Creek every day on our way to dinner.

Mornings were frosty, and the frost persisted in the shadows until the sun finally hit it. Last year’s ash seed pods made a lacy curtain through which to view the river. With all the subtlety of Wyoming Spring, lichen stood out as being especially colorful.

We were given bikes to ride around on. A great way to get to the trailheads.

The next outing was to a hill where Tom and I had been told we would see petrified wood. We hopped on our bikes and rode up the dirt road to the much smaller dirt road that wound up into the hills. Impassable for bikes, as the ground was still too wet.

The sun was starting to sink.

Right at the top of the hill, we found a beautiful big log of stone.

Then we turned around and found this huge fallen tree. Or that’s what it looked like to us:

The striations in the rocks were so pronounced.

The next day, I left on my own to find a fossil I had heard about. From the description of the area, I figured it might be in a boulder field about a mile from where we had hiked to see the petrified wood. I was told that there was a split boulder, and right on the exposed surface there was a big “maple” leaf. So okay. Off I went.

It turned out that nearly every rock on the hillside was split open, and so I decided to methodically walk the area back and forth across the boulder field, starting at the top. It was an excellent way to get to know the area. I saw lots of little cottontail rabbits, crevices containing raptors’ nests, a lot of petrified wood, places where cattle obviously liked to shelter, and some really fascinating rock formations.

Is that the cross-section of a tree embedded in this boulder? Looks like it could be.

A close-up of the edge of the “bark” sure looks like it could be a tree to me.

Way at the top of the hill was a swirly line of rock covered with the most vibrant lichen display!

I continued to search every exposed face of every rock on the hillside. This one seemed promising to me, and very strange, and maybe another giant tree part.

Finally, when I was almost to the end of the last row of boulders,  found myself standing on the lower part of a nicely sliced rock. Nothing to see here, until I turned around, and BAM! there it was, about as big as my hand and just as plain as can be.

As soon as I saw the one, I began to see more.

How many can you see here? At least four, and some pieces.

And on the other side of the split rock, there were the other sides of the leaves.

All in all, a very satisfying hike, with many happy surprises. More later. Even with the health issues, and the disappointment of not being able to do what we set out to do, there were so many wonderful small adventures in the Wyoming hills. I will post more photos later.

Tom Size    October 10, 1959-October 30, 2016

I am toiling up a mountain of grief these days, dealing with and processing the illness and death of my friend and musical collaborator, Tom Size. I had the great good fortune to begin working with him in 1992, when he engineered my album, True Stories. A former engineer at Fantasy Records in Berkeley, he had just recently started recording at his home studio in Pacheco, CA. I will always be grateful to Mike Marshall for bringing me there. I loved the flow of the work with him, the way nothing ever had to be said twice (or sometimes even once), the way he was always one step ahead of me and always, always listening so intently–not just to the recording mechanical aspects of the music, but to the emotional impact as well.

 I met and loved his four-legged companions Roger, Rosie, Red, Roxie, and a couple of others whose names have faded (except for the indubitable fact that they started with an “R”). Here are a couple of photos of Roxie, relaxing on the lawn and with her favorite item (a ball). She was found when she was a few weeks old, thrown away in a dumpster. Tom took her in and she grew into one of the happiest, most loving and trusting dogs I have ever met.

Tom and I worked together for 24 years on over 30 projects, from reel-to-reel through ADAT tapes to digital platforms of many iterations. Always he was learning, embracing the new, listening, listening, listening. He was a real gearhead, and always had the latest gadget, and he loved sharing what they could do. Very unlike me, who finds what she likes and then just sticks with it until forced to change.

Here is a list of albums that I worked on with Tom, either as artist or producer, not in any particular order:

True Stories (Rounder 0300)

Steve Edmunds Lonesome on the Ground

Erica Wheeler  The Harvest (Signature Sounds)

with Tom Rozum The Oak and the Laurel (Rounder 0340)

Laurie Lewis and Her Bluegrass Pals (Rounder 0461)

Seeing Things (Rounder 0428)

Earth and Sky (Rounder 0400)

Blossoms (Spruce and Maple SMM2005)

Skippin’ and Flyin’ (Spruce and Maple SMM2006)

Steam and Steel (Spruce and Maple SMM2007)

Deidre McCalla Playing For Keeps (MaidenRock 3050)

David Thom That Old Familiar (Swollen Records SW 1016)

Nell Robinson Loango

Ray Bierl Any Place I Hang My Hat

Wendy Burch Steel Open Wings (Dragon Fly Bridge Music)

with Tom Rozum Winter’s Grace (Spruce and Maple SMM2003)

Laurie Lewis and the Right Hands Live (Spruce and Maple SMM2004)

Laurie Lewis and the Right Hands The Hazel and Alice Sessions (Spruce and Maple SMM1013)

Alice Gerrard Bittersweet (Spruce and Maple SMM1008)

The T Sisters Kindred Lines (Spruce and Maple SMM1010)

Birdsong (Spruce and Maple SMM2002)

Laurie Lewis and the Right Hands The Golden West (High Tone HCD8194)

with Tom Rozum Guest House (High Tone HCD8167)

Melody Walker and Jacob Groopman We Made it Home (Maker/Mender Records MM1002)

One Evening in May (Spruce and Maple SMM1009)

Tom Rozum Jubilee (Dog Boy Records)

Peter McLaughlin Cliffs of Vermilion (Dog Boy Records)

with Kathy Kallick Laurie & Kathy Sing the Songs of Vern & Ray (Spruce and Maple SMM1012)

Kristin’s Story (Spruce and Maple SMM2001)

Susie Glaze Green Kentucky Blues

Charles Sawtelle Music From Rancho DeVille (Acoustic Disc ACD-44)

In addition, there were many one-song projects, overdubs, and guest spots on other albums recorded there.

Tom with the T Sisters and me, 2014          l-r: Erika, Rachel, Tom, Chloe, me

At the impressionable age of 14, I was smitten by the bare-bones, no-frills music of Doc Watson. For Tom, at the same age, it was Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. Tom’s personal taste in music ran decidedly more to the complex, modern, electric, and metal than mine, but his ear was just as attuned to a fine pre-war Martin as to a Strat, to a mandolin chop as to a full drum set.

On the rare occasions when we were lucky enough to have Tom run the sound at concerts, it was a revelation in how smooth a sound check could be. And he helped out in so many other ways, always checking in to see that everything was good both onstage and backstage.

There was never any artifice in Tom’s dealings with me (or probably any of the other lucky enough to work with him). We had disagreements on occasion, and I always did want the banjo up louder in the mix than he did. But he always tried to understand and give me what I asked for, and together we worked and grew. When I started recording at home, Tom was remarkably generous with his knowledge. I could always call him and he would talk me through my various (usually operator-error) problems. Through his discerning ears, I developed mine, and I feel gratified to know that I influenced his art at the mixing console, too. He was a good man, a fine soul, and exceptional human being. It’s so hard to know that he is dead at the young age of 57. For 23 of the 24 years I knew him, he virtually crackled with vitality, with that great thick bush of reddish hair barely under control. He loved to sail, loved the natural world, loved his garden and the sun. The sun did him in, in the form of melanoma. He was beautiful and I loved him and will miss him always.

Dave Meniketti of Y & T posted a beautiful tribute to Tom on Tom’s gofundme page.                Read it here

Read more about Tom’s background and accomplishments on his website.

October 11, 2016

I didn’t take notes of my last day of my solo walkabout. So I haven’t gotten around to writing anything about that day. But it feels incomplete for me to leave my last entry in bed at Bearpaw High Sierra Camp. So I will recreate the last day for you, out of my ever-more-fuzzy memories. Here goes:

August 1, 2016

I awoke feeling refreshed from a comfy night’s sleep on an actual bed (though I did feel it was a bit too soft. I am like the Princess and the Pea when it comes to beds). I was all packed up and ready to hit the trail home when I came into the lodge for breakfast. I can’t remember what I had, but it wasn’t oatmeal. Of that, I am sure. Suitably caffeinated and ready for the 11-mile hike back out to my car, I started down the trail. After about a mile, I noticed that I was just grinning ear-to-ear, for no apparent reason. I was just, plainly and simply, happy. All alone, nobody to share it with, just damned happy!

This stretch of the High Sierra Trail is pretty tame: gentle ups and downs, with about equal parts of both. I was hoping to see Tony and Asenath again, and the outside World was starting to weigh on me. A week of no internet means that I have close to 1,000 emails to sift through. Ugh. It almost negates the beneficial effects of being away. But not quite! So I started out at a quick clip down the trail, stopping only for a water refill at Mehrtens Creek and a side trip a little ways down the canyon to check out something bright orange that appeared to be discarded. Turns out it was someone’s pack, and he was just returning to it from farther down the creek when I reached it.

It was a lovely warm day, and the wildflowers were everywhere. I only stopped a few times to snap photos, drink water, and feast on the now-ripe thimbleberries.

I passed other westbound hikers, and a few groups just heading out on the trail (lucky ones). One was an all-women group from Modesto who make a yearly trip to Bearpaw. I was dressed in my hiking skirt, favorite (and not quite as dirty as it had been yesterday) shirt, Dirty Girl gaiters—essential what I had worn almost every day—and they commented that I look like I had just stepped out of an REI catalog (never mind the fact that my trekking poles, shirt, and hat were the only parts of my ensemble that I purchased there). It gave me an extra spring in my step for a half-mile or so to think that I actually looked somewhat “stylish.”

As I descended gently into the lower elevations, it seemed to me there were even more dead standing pines than on the way out a week ago. I found out later that this was probably true: once the beetles infest a drought-and-pollution-weakened tree, they can pretty-much finish it off in 24 hours. The air was full of smoke, which I blamed on Central Valley pollution. I found out later that it was mostly smoke from the Grouse Fire, which had started up while I was out in the backcountry and was burning not too far away. That made me feel a little better about it, in retrospect. At least it was “natural” causes, not factory farms and vehicle emissions.

About eight miles into my hike, I caught up with Asenath and Tony, and a couple from Danville we had met at Bearpaw. It felt good to have an enforced slow-down, taking up the rear of the group as we walked back toward the Sequoias and our waiting cars. Asenath told me about her family. She was one of 22 (I think that’s the correct number) siblings, born to her father’s three wives. Although there is not a tradition in Kenya of educating girls, her father had a policy of helping whoever of his children wanted to go to school, provided they got good grades. Asenath said this was very unusual in her community. And lucky for her.

We stopped for photos at the first Sequoias we encountered, where I had taken photos on the way out.

It was a great feeling, having been out in the high country solo—though, of course, it wasn’t all that remote, or all that “solo,” for that matter. Still, I had plenty of solitude to feed my soul.

Asenath posed next to the mileage sign. She and Tony had hiked 42 miles, to Kaweah Gap and back. I had gone a bit farther, with my side trips and foray into 9 Lakes Basin. According to my phone, I had hiked 58.93 miles in 6 days. Not bad. How I would have loved a swim in Hamilton Lake again before I got into my car! I said my goodbyes, got in my car, and started driving. I stopped at a store for a little shopping, and there wasn’t anything I wanted. So I went to the first Kaweah River crossing and immersed myself in the water to rinse off the trail dust and refresh myself for the long drive home. Thus ended my High Sierra solo walkabout, and most likely the last backpacking trip of the season. I am already longing to be back up there.

California is in such dire straits with the drought and the strain of so many people. My poor beloved state, which used to be green and golden has mostly turned a distressed gray-brown. They (the weather pundits) say that rain is expected this weekend (I’m back in October now), and that it will be the most rain we will have seen in six months. That’s not saying much… Please use water wisely wherever you are. I am planning on installing a rain catchment system for my parched yard, and am already bummed that I won’t have it in place to catch this weekend’s water.

Laurie

7/31/2016

The thimbleberries, which weren’t ripe when I passed them five days ago, are now starting to ripen nicely. I stopped to graze often along the trail.

Some backstory is due at this point. Today, I am checking in to Bearpaw High Sierra Camp for one night. One of the reasons I originally decided to do this hike was that I figured that if I booked two nights at this incredible camp, I would be able to get Tom to backpack there with me, and he would have a chance to experience the High Country with minimal pressure to his previously injured hip and knee. In order to get a reservation, you have to call or go online on January 2, when the yearly reservations open. I did that this year, or so I thought. Turns out that I reserved two nights at Sequoia High Sierra Camp rather than Bearpaw High Sierra Camp. I didn’t realize my mistake until months later, when I was working on planning the hike in and read that you could drive to within a mile of the camp. That CAN’T be right, I thought! Turns out it wasn’t. Tom and I ended up spending two great nights at Sequoia and hiking in the Jennie Lakes Wilderness, and Tom realized that his hip and knee weren’t very happy even with that amount of hiking. But that’s a whole ‘mother story. Back to the here and now: while I was feeling distraught about my error, I went online to see if there were any openings at Bearpaw, and found a cancellation for one night, July 31. I grabbed it, thinking I would share the night with someone, and would figure it out later. I never found that person (though I know you’re out there!), and began really liking the idea of a solo sojourn into the wilderness, with the last night spent at Bearpaw. So that’s what happened. Now back to the day.

Lovely azaleas!

I slept late, and didn’t get up until about 6:30 AM or so. I had a very leisurely breakfast, and spent a few hours cleaning and drying my tent and sleeping pad. Turns out the Sea To Summit pad was truly defective, and I will be returning it to REI. As the day warmed, I swam in the lake, taking advantage of the far side of the little island to strip and keep hidden from any prying eyes. So luxurious! For some reason, on this Sunday morning, Asenath, Tony and I are the only campers at this most perfect lake! It’s so peaceful. I love the feeling of the smooth granite under my bare feet. It reminds me of childhood summers spent at the Twain Harte lake, which featured a huge glassy expanse of granite in place of a sandy beach. very nostalgic!

Sierra daisies

With all the chores done, and after a final dip in the lake, it’s time to head down to Bearpaw. Asenath and Tony plan on stopping in for a beer on the deck on their way, and we made plans to meet there. A beer on a Sunday afternoon in the mountains sounds pretty great right now.

The spot where the trail to Elizabeth Pass meets the High Sierra Trail. I have about a mile and a half to go to camp. Easy day.

Looking back up toward whence I had come, I can see where the trail winds now, but only because I know where to look.

Heading back toward the lowlands and the smoke and pollution. I was actually relieved to hear that much of the pollution today was caused by the Grouse Fire burning not too far away. Weird that that should make me feel better…I guess woodsmoke seems less poisonous than whatever noxious chemicals our vehicles emit.

It was a beautiful walk down the trail to High Sierra Camp. The engineering is remarkable. My hat is off to those intrepid trail builders in the 1930’s, who must have had quite the scramble on these cliff sides, finding a place wide enough to even widen into a trail! I got to the camp at about 2:00 PM, and had my choice of tent cabins. I chose the one that the host said was the most popular, perched right on the edge of the cliff. I hate to be so mainstream, but it is a spectacular setting and I couldn’t pass it up. I took a shower, initially with my shirt on in order to more easily wash it as well as me, and I enjoyed watching the seemingly inexhaustible amount of dust and grit swirl down the drain. It wasn’t inexhaustible, of course, and I emerged lighter in both weight and color.

The view inside my tent cabin. Clean sheets, towels, washcloths, and a mirror. Uh-oh…

The view outside my tent cabin. Not bad.

I asked the hosts whether either Asenath or Tony could share my dinner, since after all it had been prepaid based on two people. They said that was fine, and that the other person could purchase dinner for fairly reasonable fee (considering the remoteness of the camp: everything has to be carried in on mule-back over a 12-mile trail). I munched on a fantastic brownie, drank icy lemonade, perused the excellent little library of reference books, and studied up on the sphinx moth and the wildflowers I had encountered. I identified meadow lotus, bindweed, hummingbird trumpet, rabbitbrush, thimbleberries (yum!), mountain misery, ranger’s buttons, cow parsnip, pussy paws, and mustang clover from a great book, “Wildflowers of the Coast and Sierra,” by Edith Clements. Now if I can only retain it all for next time…

Arnica

When I came back to the porch, there were Tony and Asenath, enjoying their beers. We had a great visit, and I suggested that one of them utilize the shower (as I had paid for two). Tony did that, and I visited with Asenath, sitting in the shade of a gorgeous old oak on the smooth granite in front of my cabin. They stayed for dinner, and we enjoyed visiting with the other guests, all of whom had hiked in 12 miles to get there, and were leaving in the morning. It’s funny–they all seem to have done what I had done and had grabbed a cancellation. We were so happy to be there, the weather was gorgeous, and food plentiful and delicious. It’s pretty expensive for my budget, but I highly recommend the place. One of the workers there referred to me as a “trail angel” for including Tony and Asenath in my good fortune. I beamed a little inside, feeling so good that I was in a  position to be generous.

Our dinner table at Bearpaw (photo courtesy of Asenath)

Toward the end of the meal, I looked across at the cliffs facing us on the other side of the Kaweah River gorge, and exclaimed at the perfect shadow of what looked like a little fat kid in a hat, with something sticking out of his back pocket. Everyone saw it, though some people saw him as facing the other direction. Just then the cook walked in and said, “Oh, you’ve seen ol’ Double-Dick!” Sure enough, with that descriptive moniker it was easy to see this weird guy with two protuberances in just the right place. Of course, I didn’t have my camera with me…you’ll have to hike in and see it for yourself.

After dinner, my friends went farther down the trail to camp, and I went to my cabin to enjoy my cushy surroundings and write about the day. Tomorrow, after what I suspect will be an excellent and large breakfast, I will hit the trail and hike back to Crescent Meadow and my car, and drive back home. I hated leaving the high Sierra, but now that I am headed in a homeward direction, I am feeling the pressures of the outside world bearing down on me, and the need to get back and take care of a million things. One of which is what to do about my car. Yes, folks, I was one of those people who bought on of the so-called “clean” diesel VW TDI’s. I am so angry at that company! I had previously loved my car, and expected it would be the last fossil-fuel vehicle I would own. Now I need to replace it, and say goodbye forever to the lovely handling, oomph, and mileage that thing had going for it. Nearly 50 miles/gallon combined with race-car road-hugging is hard to give up. Apparently, it was too good to be true. Good night.

Today’s mileage: 5.97 miles, and 40 flights of stairs climbed.

7/29/2016

Up at 5:45 AM. I took a Benadryl and a Zyrtec last night, because the deer fly and other bites from Mehrten Creek were driving me bananas. I slept heavily, and woke up tremendously thirsty. But well-rested. I have been struggling with my defective air mattress every night, but last night I somehow managed to fill it and get the valve sealed before the air leaked out. Ahhh!

Looking back at the Hamilton Lake camping area, I hit the switchbacks to Precipice.

Katy comes up the trail behind me. She was going fast to beat the sun on the switchbacks (we both did).

I hit the trail shortly after 7:00 for the climb to Precipice Lake. I was dreading it, as everyone was talking about how brutal it was. Only 2.5 miles, but these guys were saying it was harder than the climb up to Hamilton Lake. But Katy and I cruised up there in under two hours, leap-frogging each other all the way up. Katy said that a guy told her that only the most in-shape boy scouts can manage it in two hours. Well, all right, then!

The sun crept over the peaks, where we were headed.

Sunlight kissed the Valhalla heights.

Looking down a seep to Hamilton Lake far below. Dizzying vertical drops!

There are wildflowers everywhere! Angelica, seep-spring arnica, golden aster, sierra daisy, golden yarrow, black-eyed Susans, western wallflowers, snakeweed, shooting stars, alpine columbine, ranger’s buttons, mountain pennyroyal, pussypaws, paintbrush,to name a few. Katy knew the names of quite a few. Every time the trail crossed a small waterway, the cleansing scent of pennyroyal would rise up to greet me.

The trail is engineered to snake along tiny ledges on the steep cliffs above Hamilton. In this area, there was a canyon wren singing, magnifying his voice in the narrow canyon. And this really cool little tunnel! I am full of gratitude and admiration for the trail builders of the 1930’s who made this trek possible for us flatlanders.

This is the little lake before Precipice. There’s still a lot of climbing to do to get to Precipice. I didn’t know what to expect, and considered just camping here instead of continuing. I decided against it, and am glad I did.

From Precipice, you look out at the backs of the peaks that Barbara Higbie and I saw from Elizabeth Pass. I dropped my pack and took a swim. It was cold, but really refreshing. My skin tingled and I felt so alive.

Precipice Lake at last!

The outflow from Precipice, looking out at Copper Mine Peak (on the right), near Elizabeth Pass.

Looking down on Valhalla from Precipice.

Katy was continuing on over Kaweah Gap to a campsite down the other side. I decided to walk with her up to the Gap and take a look-see. Such a perfectly beautiful trail, ascending through three little perfect terraced wildflower gardens above the treeline. The view was great, and I just wanted to keep going on down the other side. I hung out there for awhile and saw Katy off. The wind started picking up and getting colder. I hadn’t brought any other layers of clothing with me from Precipice, and just a handful of trail mix to eat. It threatened rain and spit a few drops. I’ll come back up tomorrow.

I couldn’t stop taking photos of Precipice. This is taken from the middle of the outflowing stream, looking back at the lake.

Here comes Katy, arriving at Precipice.

9 Lakes Basin, from Kaweah Gap, looks so enticing and wild! Tomorrow I will explore it.

Another view into 9 Lakes Basin from Kaweah Gap.

Looking down into the valley, into which the High Sierra Trail descends. All those people hiking to Mt Whitney get to walk through this lovely vale. But every step down means another two up somewhere farther along.

Eagle Scout Peak rises nearly vertically from Precipice Lake. I met a couple of boy scout groups who were intending to climb that peak. Apparently, there’s a trail up the backside, but when you get to the top, there are just these little boulders to stand on. It gives me vertigo to imagine being up there. This is the view of Eagle Scout Peak from Kaweah Gap.

Looking up to Mt Stewart. I thank Col. George Stewart for helping to give this park to us the people.

Heading back down the trail, I can finally fit all of Precipice Lake in one shot, with Eagle Scout Peak rising above.

Beautiful granite striped with water seeps from snow melt. Water is everywhere up here at this point in time, but i’m sure there’s not as much as there used to be.

Katy saw a pika on the way up the trail. I only saw a marmot. Darn. Flycatchers are flitting all over the place, buzzing to each other. When I got back to Precipice, I watched an American dipper (nee water ouzel) work its way around a portion of the lakeshore, diving under the water, swimming on the surface like a duck, and then running out onto a rock to do its little dipper dance. They are the coolest birds! I sat as still as I could while it worked its way towards me. At about 15 feet away, it must have sensed me, and abruptly flew back up the shoreline. When I heard the call, before I saw it, the name “dipper” floated into my brain. My conscious mind didn’t realize that I know their call. Its nice to know that I recognize it. Though I couldn’t describe it.

My little tent site above Precipice. Up here, one is usually sleeping on hard granite. So a sleeping pad that won’t stay inflated is a real problem. Grrrr.

The view from inside.

I couldn’t stop gazing at the Elizabeth Pass area, remembering being up there in the stormy weather a year ago. It’s quite different this year.

Yet another view toward Copper Mine Peak and Elizabeth Pass.

Yesterday, I saw a rescue helicopter bringing someone down over Kaweah Gap, maybe headed to a hospital in Fresno. Today I saw it headed out again over the Gap. Really close. I thought they were going to rescue someone else, and I would see them on the return flight, but I never did. Maybe they are stationed over on the other side somewhere. It made me think about how easy it would be to get oneself in a compromised position out here. On the way back down the trail from the Gap to Precipice, I slipped on a slick granite slab and skinned my arm. Somebody call the ‘copters! Oh, wait…there’s absolutely nobody else up here.

The wind is blowing, keeping it cool. No shade to be had almost anywhere. I fixed lunch, and then napped in my tent for a half hour. I have a view of Elizabeth Pass from my tent site. That is so exciting to me. I can start to put together a mental map of the mountains around here. A family of five hikers from Fresno came up the trail.  They come to the mountains almost every weekend, and every year they do a long hike.  They are hiking to Mt Whitney this year, which is what most of the people I meet on the trail are doing. They ask me where I’m headed, and I say I’m just on a walkabout. No particular destination. Just enjoying the mountains. Though I am happy to be by myself, I realize that I DO like running into these other people and spending a few minutes with them. I like having someone to share the experience with. I met another woman, hiking solo to Mt Whitney. She had started out with a friend who turned back because of a knee problem. I feel so lucky that I can just be up here and walk relatively pain-free. Everyone (the hiker family and the solo woman) are taking dips in the lake. I had to, too. It feels so great!

Oh, the water!

Photographic proof that I got in the lake.

Looking over the precipice to the lower lake.

I ate my mid-afternoon snack, and felt like I wish the sun would go down so that I could go to bed. But there are hours and hours of the day left. I am spending it trying to hide from the sun.

I didn’t write any more today, and can’t remember how I passed the hours until bedtime. Just being. Oh, yeah…and taking pictures in the ever-changing light.

Panorama shot of my surroundings.

Shadow play 1.

Shadow play 2.

Shadow play 3.

The sun hits the cliffs of Precipice.

Sunset (finally).

Last of the sunlight on the peaks above Precipice.

7/27/2016

It’s almost 5:00 AM, and I am awake after a fitful night’s sleep. Driving here yesterday, I got super-sleepy around 4:30 PM, and stopped for a pick-me-up. I picked up a cold Blue Bottle New Orleans coffee, in a little half-pint container, and it was both incredibly delicious and effective, but too late in the day for a lightweight like me. Altitude didn’t help, either. But that’s fine–an early start and I’ll be assured of getting the itinerary I want for my wilderness permit.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I heard a branch fall from a tree nearby and hit the ground hard. I imagined it falling on a tent, but I didn’t hear any screams, so I drifted back to my semi-sleep state. It was a good reminder to look around for those sorts of dangers before pitching a tent.

1:50 PM Mehrten Creek

Crescent Meadow, shining in the morning sun as I start my trek.

I had a forced leisurely morning. I couldn’t get my permit until about 8:00 AM. Cost was $15, and I’m good to go. I ate a breakfast tea and a breakfast burrito at the Lodgepole market, and then drove down to Wuksachi Lodge to send my itinerary to Tom, so that someone would know where and when to start looking for me, should anything happen. There was super-slow internet there, and it took mealiest an hour to log on and send the message. Then back to Crescent Meadow and the start of the High Sierra Trail. It was nearly 10:00 AM by the time I got going. Hot, smoggy, so many dead trees. Out here, I am always aware of the life and death all around me all the time. Lately, it seems like Death is getting the upper hand. Poor trees!

I balanced my iPhone on my trekking poles, which I leaned up against a tree, to take this photo with the timer. The sequoias are amazing! I’ll be leaving them behind for the rest of this hike, as I climb to higher elevations.

At every little stream crossing, there were dozens of little monarch-colored California Tortoiseshell butterflies that flew up at my approach. I tried to take a photo of one with the wings open, but they were so fast, and uncooperative. Finally, I found a wounded one lying on the trail, and managed to get a photo.

I saw 9 people on the trail all day. I was really dragging today, wondering why I “like” doing this. My pack is heavy, though I don’t think I’m carrying anything extra. I plodded along, looking out at the visibly brown air below me, feeling hot and cranky. My right shoulder is burning, my hips are hurting. Taking time to adjust my pack straps gives a certain amount of relief.

Looking back toward the way I had come. That’s Morro Rock on the right side.

The air is clearing up, but I am still walking past many dying trees.

At Mehrten Creek, I rinsed the trail dust off, washed the sweat from my clothes, and now what? It’s early afternoon, still hot, and I am alone with my tent on a ledge above the creek. The deer flies are really getting to me! Luckily, they are super-slow and I can take some satisfaction in lessening the population by one every time I get bitten. I want a nap, though, and will have to cover up for it.

5:00 PM

It’s clouding over, it’s very buggy, and I am tired. I got ready for bed and got in the tent to get away from the bugs. It started raining as soon as I got in! Just little gentle drops, but it sounds lovely! Didn’t last very long, though.

Afternoon thundershowers gather over the mountains. Today, it’s stormy where I’m headed. What will tomorrow bring?

I have made a decision to boycott all Nestlé products (again), after learning that the company is pumping groundwater from our national forests to bottle and sell. This is the people’s water! I know that nobody reads my blog to get preached to about this sort of stuff, but there’s a lot to this story. You can read all about it here. There are many, many other reasons to boycott this company, but I generally don’t buy any of these products anyway. Here’s a list of Nestlé’s water brands, followed by a list of their other products:

7:00 PM

My little home on the trail.

I just woke up from my nap. It looks nice outside. I emerged from the tent, ate some salmon and crackers, and inhaled a tiny piece of fish. I just spent about 20 minutes coughing and wheezing, trying to get it dislodged. I finally feel better, but I wonder what might have happened if I had needed a Heimlich maneuver out here all by myself. Luckily, I don’t need to find out. Now it’s 8:00, and I think I am going to go to bed for real this time. My phone tells me I hiked 8.82 miles today, and climbed 31 flights of stairs. Not too bad. No wonder I’m tuckered out!

7/26/16, Sequoia National Park

This is the first day of a planned 6-day solo backpacking trip along the hight Sierra Trailing Sequoia National Park. Last year, when Barbara Higbie and I hiked from Roads End to Crescent Meadow, we hit the High Sierra Trail for the last 14 miles of our trip. The views up toward Kaweah Gap were entrancing, and I decided right then that I would head up there this year, just to take a look around. Here’s what it looked like then:

Looking east toward Kaweah Gap from the High Sierra Trail, July 3, 2015

I managed to leave Berkeley at 2:45PM, surfing along at the front of the rush-hour traffic wave. Traffic was slow at first, but I still got up to Sequoia in five hours. I happily handed my senior pass to the ranger, and got my free 7-day sticker. There are some things about getting older that I just LOVE! For a one-time fee of $10, I now get in to every national park for free for the rest of my life! Plus, I get discounts in many state parks and campgrounds! By 8:00PM, all the stores and restaurants are closed up here, and I forgot to think about dinner. Luckily, I had half an avocado and some crackers, and that was enough to stave off hunger pangs until morning. When I backpack, my food is carefully rationed in advance, with each meal and snack accounted for, so that I don’t have to carry more than I need. But if I break into the stash before the trip starts, I chance coming out short at the end.

My plan was to just pull in to a campground for the night, and get my wilderness permit in the morning before I hit the trail. The first two campgrounds I passed were full and I started worrying about finding a place without backtracking and heading up on a side trip to Big Meadow. But then, the Dorst Campground loomed ahead, and there were spaces available. I pulled in, found a pretty nice site and pitched my tent in the dark, accompanied by the babble of voices from all the campers around me. There were lots of kids and more than a couple of foreign languages. There was also a campsite that had music cranked up, past the posted official noise cut-off time of 9:00 PM. That reminded me that I had neglected to bring earplugs. Generally, I don’t travel anywhere without them, so that I can deal with noisy air conditioning units, roommates who want to watch TV, noisy revelers in the hotel hallways, whatever might happen. But I hadn’t thought that I would need them in the wilderness. Granted, I wasn’t in the wilderness yet…

I had trouble filling my new inflatable sleeping pad, which had felt so very comfy (and super-lightweight) at REI. Either I don’t know the trick or it’s defective. We’ll find out, but I hope not at the expense of sleep. When I finish blowing it up, lots of air escapes before I can get the valve shut. I found that I actually had to put the entire valve in my mouth, and keep blowing while I tamped the valve into place with my tongue and the help of a finger. Sheesh!

Driving up, I was shocked by the quantity of standing dead and dying conifers. They stretched out as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t as far as I’d like, due to the smog rising from the Central Valley. On the way down, I listened to the weather report on a Sacramento station, and they consistently referred to the smog as “haze.” That seems so innocuous, and actually natural. I wish they would refer to it by what it actually is. Then maybe people would be more motivated to try and curtail it. I was talking to a very knowledgeable fellow last week about the dying-tree problem, and he said that the main cause of death was the weakening of the trees due to air pollution, and further weakening by drought, which makes them easily fall victim to beetle infestations, which finish them off. Generally, the trees fight the beetles by physically pushing them out with sap when they start to bore, but there’s not enough moisture for the sap to run freely. And the beetles, historically, were kept at bay by occasional fires (about every 15-20 years in most forests) and cold winters. The last 100 years of fire suppression coupled with climate change have done their job. Then the man said that some experts predict 100% conifer death in the band between 5,000 and 7,000 feet elevation. Oy. Here, at over 8,000 feet, the trees are looking pretty healthy, though it sure is dry.

With these thoughts, I will try and sleep.

A hillside of mostly dead Ponderosa Pines greeted me as I drove up Hwy 180 from Fresno. The road winds through thousands upon thousands of dead and dying trees. Poor California!

Our host is leaving this morning to attend a funeral in Los Angeles, and Kristin and I are left on our own for a day in Big Sur. Before she left, Lygia took some photos of my sis and me, looking very much twin-like.

The walk to the beach is about two miles down a dirt road that hugs the hillside.

Now we sit naked, or nearly naked, on the beach, watching seals, dolphins, pelicans, seagulls, cormorants, terns, and some other birds I can’t identify fishing and carrying on in the relatively calm waters and kelp beds. Beautiful!

The sand was streaked beautifully with pink from the crumbling rock cliffs.

A floating tree trunk kept us guessing what it might be for quite awhile. the waves would turn it, changing the shape by exposing different sets of truncated branches. Sometimes it looked more animal than vegetable. Like a Nessie sighting.

Then suddenly: what’s that? A humpbacked whale, surfacing and diving just this side of the kelp beds, very close in to shore! It’s huge black rolling back keeps on showing itself for almost enough time for a good photo, and then it disappears again. It’s rare to see humpbacks here, I think. Usually, it would be the gray whales. I feel lucky!

OK. They aren’t very impressive photos, but to see a 66,000-pound creature rolling in the waves is impressive. I guess you had to be there.

There is a little cache of items that might come in handy someday, nestled in a rocky niche

A little tunnel through the rocks gave us a glimpse of further down the coast.

I saw a very interesting sight on the beach: on close inspection, I determined that it was an otter who had choked on a seabird, causing them both to die. Weird.

I had fun taking photos of shadows.

Lulled into complacency by perfect weather, agreeable company and delicious food, I have no more notes about our lovely few days in Big Sur. However, I do have more photos, which I will share here, from our next day’s excursion into the Ventana Wilderness:

Then we wandered north to another beach, and met a very nice goose who seemed to want us to take him/her home.

And finally, back home to Berkeley by late afternoon.

Now that I am caught up with last year’s rambles, I can start on this year’s adventures. I just spent 6 days hiking solo in Sequoia National Park, and there is much to talk about.

Very smoky today! Good idea to leave. It’s 7:00 AM and the breakfast bell just rang. There’s already a big line to get food.

At dinner last night–which was delicious, by the way–Kris and I sat with two couples who had just come to hike a short distance of the JMT, going out at Bishop Pass (from Le Conte Meadows). They had decided to scratch the trip and hike elsewhere. We sat with a very sunburned-faced, tense man of about 60, who said he was waiting for his daughter, who was out hiking the JMT solo. She had said she’d be at the ranch yesterday and hadn’t shown up. He said he wasn’t worried, that she was tough and defended death-row inmates in San Quentin. He had flown to Fresno from St. Louis, MO, rented a car and driven to Florence Lake (dodging all the cars full of vacationers fleeing the smoke on Kaiser Pass Road), and walked the 4.5 miles to Muir Trail Ranch. Suddenly, a hiker walked through the gate, and his face lit up. “My daughter!” He ran down to her, they embraced, and there were tears not only from them but in the eyes of all six of us watching the reunion. Kris took a couple of photos of them, which was so thoughtful, and arranged to email them to the father.

It felt so good to sleep in the bed, piled high with blankets. Should I awaken Kris for breakfast? I think so…

After the delicious breakfast, we packed a lunch for the trail, packed up our packs once more and walked the 4+ miles to Florence Lake. The smoke was worsening by the hour, and I was glad to be getting away from it. I’m starting to cough, and have a low-grade headache, smarting eyes, and a chronically dripping nose. No fun!

At Florence Lake, waiting for the ferry, we watched two guys–a hippie and a cowboy–unload trash and empty propane tanks from a truck into a boat, and exchanged small talk. When we said that we might be headed to the ocean, the cowboy said, “Take me with you! I’ve never seen the ocean, except once from a different continent. Spent most of my life around Elko, NV, cowboying.”

I said, “Well, come along! We’ll take you.”

“Can’t. My boss wouldn’t like that. Got another month of work here.”

“Well, just walk away, and find another job somewhere else later on,” I jokingly suggested.

“A cowboy can’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.”

Good man.

It felt good to get back in the car and drive the crazy Kaiser Pass Road back to Hwy. 168. Very narrow, and many blind curves and crests. It takes an hour to drive the 17 miles or so.

When we got in email range, I wrote to my friends in Big Sur, asking if we could come to Rancho Rico for a couple of days. Then we just started heading that way. My friend Lygia called, all bubbly and sweet, and said, “Yes! Come!”

California is an amazingly diverse state. Driving from the high Sierra to Big Sur in only a matter of five or so hours, we traversed the fertile San Joaquin Valley, and rolled into the rolling and golden grassy hills that eventually became a dense oak woodland with scattered chaparral. Then to the thriving farmlands near Salinas and the artichoke fields of Castroville, on through Monterey and Carmel and the astounding Highway 1 through Big Sur. Darol Anger once said, “There’s no other landscape where the vertical and the horizontal vie so hard for your attention,” or something close to that. The steep hills plunge into the restless surf and the Pacific stretches out to the horizon.

Lygia greeted us warmly with Chappellet Pinot Noir that featured her own label art, a big salad, homemade goat cheeses, ravioli, and conversation. Then we helped to put up the goats and horses for the night, collected eggs, and listened to the coyotes calling from the rugged surrounding hills. Jag, the enormous Great Pyrenees mountain dog, warned them off with incessant barking.

I didn’t take many photos today, as I was just anxious to get away from the smoke, and then I was too busy driving. Photos of Big Sur tomorrow! Now it’s off to bed in our little cabin under the redwoods.

Smoky air makes for some great diffuse lighting!

We awoke early and very quickly retraced our steps down the exposed switchbacks and into the woods to Muir Trail Ranch, where I was able to snag the only room available, from a last-minute cancellation. The MTR folks were really great (I was going to say “accommodating,” but that goes without saying).

A little grove of birch along the switchback trail added color. The forests are so incredibly dry! And the smoky air gives me a feeling of impending doom.

Beautiful Blaney Meadows

Check-in time is not until 3:00, so Kris and I had the day to just wander around. We waded across the San Joaquin to Blaney Meadows with our books, a lunch, and our water bottles, and explored the hot springs there. Some are basically mud holes and not very inviting, but there was one beautiful clear steamy pool that seeped up among granite rocks, and we spent a few hours luxuriating there.

Kristin wades the San Joaquin, looking like a real “lady hiker”!

One of the Blaney hot springs

Our lunch spot, beside a venerable juniper.

I read Kristin the Peattie story about Death Valley, and was surprised to find how emotional it was, read aloud (you can access it online from a link in my last post). I got all verklempt, right at the time that our idyll was invaded by other hikers. Even with the smoke (which was still fairly light), it was really lovely to be there. Talked to hikers about their ordeals walking north through the smoke, and others who were still considering heading south. As one who could say what they would be missing by not being able to see where they were, I advised against it. There were rumors that the rangers in Evolution Valley were telling people that they would have to evacuate over Bishop Pass. But what do you do, when you have saved and planned, and only have this possibly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hike the JMT? I met a group of young Spanish men who had been looking forward to their ramble on the trail for years. Here they were, and couldn’t see a damn thing, to say nothing of having to breathe smoke at high elevations. They decided to keep going. I guess they will have stories to tell.

Smoke wasn’t so bad this morning, but last night it hung heavy most of the long night, with the scent of woodsmoke constantly in my nostrils. I tried to imagine I was at home by the fireplace, and remember how much I liked that smell, but it didn’t help much.

Breathe the morning air!

After checking in to our cabin, Kris and I gathered up our dirty clothes and did a load of laundry in the old washing machine, manually draining the dirty water, rinsing, and then cranking the clothes through the wringer by hand. It feels good to be clean! I got recognized by four people here. I don’t think I really like that. I haven’t seen a mirror in days, and who knows what I look like. Me, I guess. But oh, well. My fan base is definitely aging along with me. I occasionally idly wonder what I could do to attract younger listeners. Probably stop singing songs about death, for one thing. Maybe I don’t even care. My season of popularity has come and is fading like autumn leaves. Although when the 20-something kitchen worker recognized me a little later, it put a spring in my step, I must admit. She was so pleased to have us visiting the ranch. I didn’t want to ask how she knew my music. Generally, I get “Oh, my mom used to make us listen to you in the car.” I thank those moms from the bottom of my heart!

Those strange pink splotches are the color of the sunlight through the smoke. Everything else was in shade.

Of course, we took a good long soak in the “domesticated” hot spring at the ranch, which is very sweet. Here’s a photo from when I was here in 2014:

More comments and stories tomorrow! I’m done writing for the day. Hot springs will do that to you…

8/22/15

I slept much better last night. I was in the tent by an un-heard-of 6:30 PM. I wrote, read “The Road o a Naturalist,” by Donald Culross Peattie, and slept until 11:30 PM. (Peattie wrote a wonderful and nerve-wracking story, “Death Valley Christmas, 1849”. You can read it online here) Then I read some more, and slept again until about 5:00 AM. I decided to wait for the dawn chorus to get up, and at about 6:00 AM the Clark’s Nutcrackers started hollering and making a racket. OK! I’m up! No gentle, dulcet tones of thrushes and chickadees this morning…

The gentle trail to Selden Pass

Kristin and I decided to leave our camp set up and go over Selden Pass to Marie Lake, to see if the smoke conditions are better there. It’s a really nice hike, past Heart Lake and on over the pass, which looks like a movie set. Every rock is placed just so, and the trail follows alongside a little mountain brooklet lined with nodding wildflowers, and through a narrow meadow. It’s quite a different scene from last August, when Betty and I hiked through here headed south on the John Muir Trail. Everywhere is shrouded with smoke, but not nearly as bad as along the San Joaquin. At the top of the pass, Marie Lake appears suddenly spread out below us, appearing rather like a landscape from Norway, with the scoured flat expanses of glacier-polished granite.

Marie Lake, surrounded by smoky peaks

While we were enjoying Marie Lake, though, the wind picked up and we could see the smoke starting to drift over the pass. We decided to call it quits and head back to camp and pack out. Unfortunately, it took us so long to pack that we decided to spend another night only two miles from Sallie Keyes Lakes.

Marie Lake

Distorted panorama of Heart Lake

The light is so strange–rosy-orange in color. I hope the smoke doesn’t do damage to us overnight here! Tomorrow we’ll head out early, hopefully (OK. Kris is a great backpacker and trail companion, but she packs up more slowly than anyone I have experienced) to Muir Trail Ranch and see what can be done about our reservations there for 8/26.

Rosy-orange light on the lodgepoles

Marie Lake is noticeably lower than last August. Somewhere, I have a photo to prove it, I think. Poor California! Burning up and desiccating in the wind.

We hiked about six miles today. Tonight we’re above Sanger Creek, only three miles from MTR. We shall see what conspires in the morning. My niece, Chloe, Kristin’s daughter, will be racing in Italy at about 4:00 AM Pacific Time in the World Cup Mountain Bike race in Val de Sol. I think that’s in the Dolomites. So by the time we wake up and get to the Ranch, we will be able to get some news of how she did.

At first, I found this campsite almost devoid of charms, but a second look reveals that we are among a real, mature, un-“managed” forest of lodgepole pines. Every age is in evidence everywhere, with beautiful openings filled with now mostly-spent wildflowers. A red sun is setting slowly through the smoke.

Kristin filtering water, an ever-present task

The lovely lodgepole forest

8/21/15

Stayed awake most of the night planning and replacing our trip to try and avoid the smoke. If we didn’t have a paid reservation at Muir Trail Ranch in six days, I would suggest aborting the whole thing and driving north into better air. But that non-refunadabl reservation puts a crimp in those plans. Sallie Keyes Lakes and Selden Pass may be better, but today it looks like the smoke is butting up against the steep slope that gives access to that area. I guess we’ll head to Evolution Valley as planned and talk to the ranger there, if he or she is around.

8/21 continued

About 20 minutes later, the smoke started pouring in. Scratched plans for Evolution Valley and Goddard Canyon. Sallie Keyes it is! We packed up and I went with Kris to the cutoff to Muir Trail Ranch from the JMT, so that she would stay on the right trail heading out. This is that damn section of the JMT that I said I never wanted to hike again. Endless switchbacks on a hot, south-facing steep ascent through chaparral. Not many trees to shelter from the sun. I wanted Kris to get as early a start as possible. I stashed my pack in the trees and hiked unencumbered the mile to the Ranch. I used the computer there to inform Tom of our change of plans. Really slow connection! But it’s a way to communicate with the outside world, and that’s what counts. Then I poked around in the free bins of hiker stuff, and headed back out and up. It’s a very nice service that MTR provides for hikers. You can leave anything you don’t want to carry, and take anything that you might need that you find in the bins. Generally, there’s lots of oatmeal in there, but often yummy things to eat and many useful items. I heard that Evolution Valley and environs were super-smoky, though the actual fire is miles away. Talked to a hiker who came down Goddard Canyon, and couldn’t even see the canyon walls. The fire is out of control and burning rapidly. It’s a mess–a perfect storm of 100 years of fire suppression, a long drought, higher temperatures, and who knows what else.

I saw a little movement along the trail, and stopped to watch this perfectly-camouflaged grouse walk nearly right up to me.

It’s almost 6:00 PM now and we are camped above the first of the Sallie Keyes Lakes. The sky is clearing! It was terrible today. Every step was difficult, with the combination of lack of sleep last night and the heavy, smoke-filled air. I hope I sleep better tonight! I have to fix whatever is wrong with my left shoulder and the bottom of my right rib cage. Neither side wants to be slept on, and I have never slept well on my back or stomach.

My little tent at Sallie Keyes, among the lodgepole pines.

Evening at Sallie Keyes

8/20/15

Kris and I got up pretty early, and while we were packing up, the campground manager came around to check us out. She was riding in a little golf cart decked out with red, white, and blue bunting and American flags. For some reason, she made me feel like I was breaking some rules that I didn’t know about.

We continued up Hwy 168 past Shaver Lake, which looked pretty socked-in with smoke. The air was thick and scratchy in my throat. The water level was way down, as evidenced by the bathtub ring on the exposed rocks along the shore.

A little way further up the road, we took the turnoff onto Kaiser Pass Road, a beautiful 20-mile winding path through the mountains. Our average speed was probably under 10 mph, due to the narrowness of the road, the lack of visibility, and the many twists and turns. We stopped at the ranger station to pick up our wilderness permit, and drove on to Florence Lake (I just Googled “Florence Lake” and discovered that she was a comedic film star. I wonder if the lake was named after her). The air was thankfully clearer, but the lake was so low. I was going to blame it on the drought, until I found out that they had emptied it out in order to do work on the dam.

Florence Lake, with the exposed dam to the left, and the high country rising above it all.

Kris and I took a little swim while waiting for the boat that would ferry us to the other side of the lake, cutting out something like 4 miles of dusty stock trail. It was a hot, hot day, and the water felt deliciously cool.

Woo-hoo! On our way!

Once on the other side of the lake, we hiked about 6 miles to a beautiful campsite along the San Joaquin River. We dropped our packs and went into the river to rinse off the salt and dust from ourselves and our clothes. We changed into dry things and hung our wet clothes to dry on some bushes by a nice sweet-smelling Jeffrey pine. It was getting on to dusk, and I noticed a bat flying around. I pointed it out to Kris, and then it suddenly became apparent that the bat was attacking us! It flew at our faces repeatedly, expertly dodging our attempts to swat it away. It chased us all around the campsite, and at one point landed on Kris’ back, holding on to her t-shirt. We feared rabies, of course, but thought that we also might be close to its nest and babies, up in that Jeff pine. It was beautiful to look at and absolutely fearless, and scary as hell!

Site of the bat attack

Kris was fending it off with her shoes, and accidentally made contact when she swatted towards it. The bat fell to the ground, stunned. She felt terribly guilty, but a few seconds later, it was back up and flying at us again. We grabbed our stuff and retreated to a second-rate campsite (still beautiful) a little ways away. It didn’t follow us, and went off to hunt bugs above the river. We sneaked back over and collected our wet clothes. Kris said, “Beauty has an underbelly.”

Our campsite on the San Joaquin

It was an exhausting day of less than 6 miles. I am out of shape! It’s 8:00 PM, the sliver of moon is setting over the pines and we’re hoping that the winds favor us and keep the smoke away. The fire in Kings Canyon is out of control completely and burning many acres. We are out of danger as far as the actual fire goes, but the smoke is real. I’m worried about our friend Mike W’s cabin in King’s Canyon, and him, along with other things (like the critters and trees…). I crawled into my tent fairly early, but sleep eluded me for a long time. Too much to think about, with the fire and the bat.

Hiking from Florence Lake, we skirted beautiful big meadows.

Shaver Lake, shrunken and enshrouded in smoke

I took one other High Sierra hike last year, which I never wrote about. I just recently discovered my notebook while cleaning up my desk, and reading it made me want to relive the experiences in public. Also, I just got back from a few days in Desolation Wilderness, and I feel like I can’t write about that until I get caught up. So here goes!

My older sister, Kristin, flew out from Colorado on August 17 to join me on a hike that was intended to be about 6 days, and take us from Florence Lake along the San Joaquin River up through Evolution Valley. Then we planned to hike overland from Lake Wanda (named for one of John Muir’s daughters, btw) to Goddard Canyon, and thence back down to the San Joaquin and a night at Muir Trail Ranch before we headed back home. It didn’t turn out that way.

8/19/2015

Kristin and I finally managed to get out of town into early rush-hour traffic at about 3:30 PM. We arrived eventually at the Dorabelle Campground, just off Hwy 168, at 5,500′ above sea level, in Fresno County. Such a strange place: clean to the point of obsessiveness. It is situated among a grove of dusty pines, and I can’t help but feel that if the campground manager were able, she would vacuum the lower boughs, at least. All the camping areas are freshly raked, with no footprints in evidence, like a Japanese sand garden. Plus, it’s a pretty expensive place to pitch a couple of tents for the night at $24/campsite. But oh, well. It’s quiet. I can smell woodsmoke, and there are no campfires. Kris and I set up our tents and crawled in. It’s 10:30 PM and I am off to Dreamland.

End of the Trail

Early on the morning of July 4, 2015, Barbara and I rose from our warm sleeping bags in the chilly crepuscular light. We ate our final breakfast of oatmeal, tea, and dried fruit, broke our camp, and packed our bags. By about 6:30 we were on the trail to Giant Forest Museum and the shuttle bus that would take us to Visalia. I left our mostly-full gas canister for a young couple who were hiking to Mt Whitney. They had started to worry that they would run out of fuel, and I was glad to give them what we could.

The day broke slowly and beautifully over the Keawah Valley and on the high country all around us. The clouds were ever-changing along with the light and I couldn’t stop taking photos.

Beautiful morning sky!

more clouds

We hiked for a long time before seeing anyone else on the trail that early, and it was a great way to start our last day. Over the tops of the tallest pines in the distance, I saw the bushy tops of the Sequoia Gigantea, unmistakable in their broccoli-head fullness and their lighter green that distinguished them from the other trees over which they towered. I was excited by the prospect, not just of seeing them, but of watching Barbara experience them for the first time.

Babz, ready to hit the trail

Flowers grew in profusion along the High Sierra Trail

Perfect design!

Monzanita is so picture-worthy.

It was a bittersweet hike out of the mountains. As the day grew brighter, we could look down to the west in the direction we were headed and see a dark band of pollution hanging in the sky. I tried to keep my focus on the surrounding peaks, but there was no escaping our future

Babz

Civilization encroaches in the shape of a floating band of smog.

Looking west into the Central Valley. I want to turn around and go back over Elizabeth Pass. Well, maybe not…

Finally, and quite suddenly it seemed, we were among the Sequoias, and it was a beautiful sight. It was still early in the day, and the park visitors were scarce. We decided to forgo the free shuttle through the park and walk the extra mile or so to the Museum. We wandered through the Sequoias, stopping for photos and just enjoying the wonder of these giants. The Sequoia woodlands are particularly quiet, I think in part because the birds in the canopy are so far away. And every being seems to know not to raise one’s voice in church.

The Big Trees surrounded us.

Finally, we arrived at the museum, and were stunned by the number of visitors to Sequoia National Park. They lined up in droves for the shuttles to see General Sherman (the largest of the giants) and the other sights. So many different languages blending together! German, French, Chinese, Japanese, Norwegian (or maybe it was Danish), Spanish, and some I couldn’t recognize. There was a strong penchant for red, white and blue clothing, hats, earrings and necklaces. We joined them and took a shuttle to the lodge at Cedar Grove to find some lunch.

An actual seat! And a moving vehicle. How novel!

Close-up of Babz’s feet-saving shoes: New Balance Minimus trail runners. they’re a discarded pair of mine that she brought to use as water shoes and around-camp wear. Now they are REALLY worn out!

Lunch wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. Not much of a step up from our particular MRE’s. But honey in my tea was a real treat!

Goodbye to the trail. We turn around, and walk through the tree trunk into the reality of 21st century living.

I am happy to say that Barbara is now a backpacking convert, and even through our travails her spirit and love of the trail remained bright and alive. Whew! I was so afraid that I might have killed it with an excess of nature’s bounty. The most eventful part of our trip home was our ride from Visalia to Fresno with a talkative Uber driver. I keep getting flashbacks of the trail over Elizabeth Pass. What an amazing place we have been! I feel so lucky!

June 30, Moraine Ridge

There were crazy mosquitos on the north side of Avalanche Pass. As soon as we were out of our tents in the morning, we hurriedly packed up in order to escape them. It was a rude awakening for me, who had gotten very blasé about the critters, based on my Muir Trail hike last year, where I could count the number of mosquito encounters on the fingers of one hand. Now there were 20 on each arm and swooping in on my face and neck. I occasionally inhaled one. Not fun! The only thing to do was to keep moving through them, hoping they would dissipate as we climbed higher. The mosquitos seemed to prefer me to Barbara, which made her happy (not me so much).

a lovely juniper at the top of Avalanche Pass

We slowly climbed toward the pass, and were suddenly there sooner than I had anticipated. It’s a wooded pass, at 10,013′ elevation. We should have lazed around at the top longer, as we descended into another cloud of mosquitos and had to keep moving.

Barbara on Avalanche Pass, our high point so far

As we descended from the pass, we walked along a beautiful somewhat marshy (read “mosquito-rich”) drainage, full of wildflowers. I kept thinking I would take photos of them all, but the bugs kept me moving. No people in sight, no fresh footprints on the trail. However, we did come across some fairly fresh evidence of bears.

Nice bear scat! My hand is there for size comparison. We saw lots of this, but so far, no bears.

Here are a few of the flowers that graced our trail. The entire mountains were exploding with blossoms!

Sierra Tigerlily

Common Parsnip

Penstemon?

Above Moraine Creek, on a south-facing slope where the mosquitos seem to have disappeared, we stopped for our hot meal at about 1:00 PM. We ate a backpacker pre-packaged meal of “chicken risotto,” which I DO NOT recommend. Plus, there was so much of it.

We stopped at little Moraine Creek where the trail crossed, and  took a break to bathe in the last running water we’d have today. There wasn’t anybody around, and the place was ours completely. It felt so good to rinse off the salt and grit, and dunk my head in the cool water. The sky was mostly sunny, though little clouds would pass overhead on occasion and spit raindrops at us. We had decided to camp high on Moraine Ridge, to escape the mosquitos we felt certain would be waiting us at Roaring River.

Stormy weather threatened as we walked through an old fire area.

There was rain off and on for a few hours in the afternoon. Now, at 4:00 PM, we are already camped for the night, overlooking Roaring River and with a great view of tomorrow’s hike, up Deadman Canyon. We haven’t seen another person in 27 hours, and that one was just at a distance at the Sphinx Creek campground. We don’t expect to see anyone until we hit the Roaring River ranger station tomorrow morning.

Looking back the way we came.

Looking ahead to the ominously-named Deadman Canyon

I saw a Clark’s Nutcracker today, and heard more of them, making a racket in the trees. I know we’re in the mountains now! l also saw a Ruby-crowned Kinglet, flitting among the low-lying shrubs and flashing his red crest. And of course, the ubiquitous juncos, robins and jays, which are everywhere.

Sharing the Earth with the “real” ants

Barbara is doing great, but has blisters on both baby toes. Very painful. She didn’t stop and wrap them soon enough, so we stopped, drained the blisters, wiped with alcohol swabs and bandaged. I hope they are better tomorrow! A blister can wreck a hike really quickly!

Every moment, the light is changing on the glacier-scoured sides of Deadman Canyon as clouds gather and move and the sun appears and is obscured. So quiet, except for a few birds. Actually, quite a few birds–just not really close by. Our camp appears to be in a manicured park-like setting; tall Ponderosa pines and very little undergrowth. Dry and with nice level tent sites. I feel lucky!

Our campsite, Moraine Ridge

Even though I was very concerned with weight, I ended up taking two cameras with me: my iPhone and my trusty point-and-shoot waterproof Nikon. I had forgotten about the Nikon by the end of the trip, and just now discovered the photos I took.

Here are a few from our first day. Looking fresh and hopeful, we arrived at the shuttle stop at 6:50 AM.

Pat Wolk drops us off at the AMTRAK station in Fresno. Ready to go!

Barbara and I took turns having our picture taken with a peek-a-boo tree

After we crossed the Kings River, we headed up-country and left the crowds behind.

Do you avid blog-readers remember the photo of the rock that I posted on Day 18, at our campsite at Rae Lakes? In case you don’t recall, here is the photo again. 

My caption was “A natural formation? I think not…”

My friend Richard D. Smith was intrigued, and sent the photo along with pertinent location information to his friend Sean Long, a professor of geology at University of Nevada at Reno, who replied with the following message:

“As far as your rock question, to me it looks like a chunk of granite, which makes up the majority of the Sierra Nevada.  The dark-colored, triangular-shaped pieces that you can see I’m pretty sure are what we geologists call ‘xenoliths’ (funny word, I know).  Basically, when the granite was molten, and intruded into surrounding rock (what we call ‘country rock’), pieces of the country rock will often break off and fall into the melt, and will then be transported along in the melt, going along for the ride.  The xenoliths look like they are made of a rock called gabbro or diorite (hard to tell exactly from a picture), so that means they probably are sourced from the lower crust of the Sierras, maybe as deep as ~20-30 km or so.  They are the ‘roots’ that the Sierras are built on.  So…this rock is pretty neat, lot’s of history just in one little piece!  Pieces of the lower crust embedded in a granite melt that then traveled up and was emplaced and cooled and crystallized in the upper crust, and has now been eroded to be at the surface today.  Gotta love geology!”

FYI, the rock is about two feet wide. This made me very happy that I had decided to snap a photo of it. Think of it as a High Sierra jack-o-lantern. I hope you all had a happy Day of the Dead, Hallowe’en, All-Saints’ Eve, Samhain, or whatever other holiday you celebrated or may be celebrating around now.

Laurie

Early morning, above Guitar Lake. Photo: BW

Betty is ready to climb.

I didn’t write a journal entry for this day, so everything I write here is from memory, which is still very vivid. We’ll see if we can get the important stuff down.

I was awakened sometime in the middle of the night by a flashlight beam raking across my tent. Apparently, many hikers start the ascent up Whitney in time to see sunrise from the summit. That means leaving Guitar Lake by about 3:00 AM. Betty and I opted not to do that. But looking out my tent, it’s a pretty neat sight, seeing small points of light spread out all along the switchbacks ahead of us. They look like stars that lost their way and fell to the ground, moving very, very slowly up the mountain. Seeing all this activity made it difficult to go back to sleep, but I managed for a couple more hours. Then I woke up Betty and we started getting ready for the ascent. First, breakfast. I had my absolute worst meal of the trip, quite by accident. Betty had brought some sort of broccoli cheese thing (just add hot water), which I thought might be good. I had tried this at home pre-trip, and it was pretty tasty. So I decided that I would add a little oatmeal to it to give it more body. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice that the oatmeal was one of those horrible, way-too-sweet mixes. the combination of the salty cheese/broccoli and the sweet oatmeal was ghastly! But I ate most of it anyway, because I needed to eat something and there it was. Yuck! Never again!

A raven talked to everyone passing by, sending us on our way up the switchbacks. Photo: BW

We set off by about 6:30 AM, I think, and immediately began to climb seemingly endless switchbacks up the side of Whitney. Up, up, up we went, first one direction and then the opposite. The whole mountain seems to be made up of giant broken squared-off boulders, piled up to the horizon far above us. As the sunlight grew stronger, the tarns below us changed colors from deep steely blue-grey to coppery gold. All the way up the miles of switchbacks, I marveled at the trail-building skills of the people who made it possible for us to hike as easily as we did. It seems like a nearly-super-human effort of blasting and grading and moving rocks. We are on a section of the JMT that isn’t open to stock animals, unlike most of the rest of the 200+ miles. John Muir himself disliked bringing stock into the mountains, as he saw firsthand how they degraded and changed the ecosystem so dramatically in the mid-1800’s. Thankfully, these high mountains are no longer open to herds of sheep and cattle to feed in the summertime. But without mules to bear supplies of food and equipment, these trails might never have been built for us to enjoy. It’s complicated…I found myself thinking often how Muir would probably have disliked, if not outright hated, the trail named after him.

The lakes changed from India ink black to gold as the light changed. Photo: BW

Climbing, climbing, climbing in the shade as the sun rose. Photo: BW

For some perspective, note the teeny figures at the bottom of the photo. Photo: BW

So much fractured rock! No smoothing glacier activity here. Photo: BW

This little lake was constantly changing its face as the sun rose. Photo: BW

The mountain walls rose around us, exhilaratingly steep and uninviting. Photo: BW

Finally, the switchbacks ended, at the trail junction with the summit trail and the trail that headed down some 5,000’ and 8.7 miles to the parking lot at Whitney Portal, and the store/restaurant’s ice cream and french fries. People are talking about what they are going to have to eat first. A parking lot! How novel! At the trail junction, everyone drops their packs to make the hike to the top relatively unencumbered. When we arrived, there were probably 20 packs lined up, and it was interesting to see all the different models and hiking styles represented there. mostly very nice technically-advanced stuff, like titanium bear canisters. Betty and I rested for a bit and organized our makeshift daypacks in anticipation of the summit. My “pack” was a small zippered container tied around my waist with Tom’s Roy Rogers bandanna. Such a useful item!

Guitar Lake and our little campsite tarn are way below us to the right. Photo: BW

The trail junction sign, and backpack dumping ground. Photo: BW

From the trail junction, the summit path gets very rocky, and we sometimes had to use our hands to climb over or around them. The downhill side of the trail drops off precipitously, with views of Guitar Lake, looking like a teeny-tiny ukulele below us, and spires of broken rock rising above us. We crept along the edge, fighting off vertiginous feelings, up and up the long (1.9 mile) spur trail to the top of Whitney. Every once in awhile, the trail comes to a saddle between the east and west sides of the ridge, and a window opens up to the Owens Valley, 7,000’ below us. Breathtaking! Finally, the trail turned west and wended its way over the broken granite slabs that make up the surface of the highest point in the Lower 48, at 14,505’.

The trail from the junction to the top of Whitney was crazy with fractured rock spires. Photo: BW

Another view of the trail. Photo: BW

One of the “windows” that open suddenly to the other side of the ridge. That is a long, long ways down! Photo: BW

When we got to the summit, we found probably about 20 or 40 fellow-hikers spread out over the large gently-sloping carapace of broken granite slabs. You could walk straight up to the edge, which fell away to the valley floor far, far below.

Hikers lounging about on the top of the world. Photo: BW

The weather was perfect, warm and fresh with a gentle breeze. I called my mom from the top, but realized that while I was on the phone I had to close my eyes to prevent vertigo from overtaking me. Move away from the edge! Betty and I signed the log book at the summit hut, and a man told us that this day, September 3, was the 50th anniversary of the passage of the Wilderness Act. It was signed into law by a nearly unanimous Congress. I think there was one lone dissenter (a Democrat defying the Democrat President L. B. Johnson). Can you imagine that??! I am full of gratitude for the trail builders, the preservationists, the visionaries, the politicians who made it possible for us to spend 22 days in such uninterrupted Beauty.

Signing the logbook, Sept 3, 2014, on the 50th anniversary of the passage of the Wilderness Act. Photo: BW

Betty the Giant and her little sidekick.

Nice sign, but the elevation listed is no longer correct. Apparently, the depletion of groundwater has made the entire Sierra range higher. Photo: BW

This guy really thought there was a good chance I was going to feed him, or at least drop some crumbs accidentally. Didn’t happen. Photo: BW

We spent perhaps an hour at the summit, and then started our long trek down off the top. When we got back to the trail junction, we were happy to see Kenny there. She was suffering from altitude sickness, and had decided not to go for the summit. We exchanged phone numbers and Betty invited her to come stay with us in Independence that night, if she made it down to Whitney Portal. Neither Betty nor I had any altitude problems, and while we were tired out, we felt like Super Women.  Reunited with our packs, we started the long 8.7 miles downhill to the parking lot, where Dwight would be waiting for us (we hoped). The trail was far more populous that we had experienced in previous days, as there are lots of hikers starting from Whitney Portal and just going to the summit. It was difficult not to feel a little smug, surrounded by all these weekenders and daytrippers. The hike down made me grateful that we had decided to start from the north end of the trail. I would have hated for that climb up Whitney to be our first experience of the trail! Now that the hike was nearly finished, we were motivated to keep moving and get down the mountain. Even so, it was beautiful, and we walked through many places I would like to revisit. For a few miles, I kept a fantasy in my head of swimming in the lowest of the lakes that we would pass, imagining my cold-awakened skin and how refreshed I would feel. So Lone Pine Lake was my carrot. Turns out that Lone Pine Lake is off the main trail about a half-mile or so, and we opted not to spend the extra time or energy when we got to the turnoff. I had thought the path was going to wind right alongside it. A small disappointment.

The view from the top. We’ll be walking past those lakes in a few hours. Photo: BW

Three rocky points stick up off the side of Whitney. I forgot their names. Photo: BW

The trail down gave me one last time to visit the various biomes, from high above the tree line, into the stunted lodge poles and flattened willow bushes, through chinquapin and manzanita, into the tall trees, past profusions of wildflowers, and eventually to a paved road, the first that intersected with the JMT since Tuolumne Meadows 20 days earlier. The trek was marred for what seemed like hours, though, by an ear worm I couldn’t seem to exorcise. I kept hearing a loop of Homer and Jethro singing “There were nine buttons on her housecoat, but she could only fasten eight.” I finally had to put my mind to figuring why this wouldn’t go away, and then realized that a few days before we had met a guy on the trail whose nickname was “Jeffro.” We had seen him again up on the summit of Whitney. Ah-hah!

Consultation Lake, far below us. Betty spent the night there last year, when she climbed Mt Whitney. Farther down is a glimpse of Lone Pine Lake. Sure looks like good swimming! Photo: BW

Almost down to the parking lot, feeling good, but also feeling like I just want to turn back and stay in the mountains. Photo: BW

When we arrived at Whitney Portal, Dwight was there, along with Betty’s lovely dog, Molly. We dutifully bellied up to enormous plates of french fries (which weren’t nearly as satisfying as I imagined they would be. I couldn’t finish them all), loaded our packs and trekking poles into the car, and left the trail behind. I would jump at the opportunity to revisit the JMT, and immediately started wondering whether I could take a month off next year and do it again. The high country has a deep hold on my heart.

Betty and I arrive at Whitney Portal, tired but happy and ready to eat french fries. photo: Dwight Worden

We pulled into our rental house in Independence, and met up with Tom. First order of business: a shower. Man, that felt good! Dwight had made a lovely spaghetti dinner, but I really couldn’t eat much. My stomach has shrunk and it needs so little to fill it. It was great to be reunited with my guitar, fiddle, and banjo! Tom and I are looking forward to two nights of rest before we played  a concert in Sugar Pine, on the other side of the Sierra above Fresno.

Epilogue:

The next day, Tom and I stayed in Lone Pine and didn’t do much of anything except play our instruments and wander about town. The following morning, September 5, we drove up Hwy 395 to Hwy 120 and crossed over Tioga Pass in Yosemite National Park. It was so smoky there that we didn’t want to get out of the car. By the way, driving again was interesting: I actually wandered onto the shoulder on three separate occasions while gazing at the landscape around me. It took awhile to get used to the speed at which we were traveling. Luckily, I got us back on the road again with no problems, and within 30 or 40 miles I guess I was back in the here-and-now and once more trustworthy behind the wheel.

On Sept 6, the dense smoke that had hung over Wawona had magically dissipated, and the skies were brilliant blue. Just a slight change in the wind direction, and you’d never know there was a massive fire burning not so far away. So Tom and I stopped at the Mariposa Grove of Sequoias for a little rehearsal before our show. We pulled out the guitar, banjo, fiddle, mandolin and mandola and walked a short way up the hill from the very busy parking lot to play in privacy. It was lovely, sitting on a perfect log in the dappled shade and quiet, reveling in the joys of music. After awhile, we packed up and headed down to Sugar Pine, about 10 miles and 30 minutes away on winding mountain roads. It wasn’t until we were setting up for the show there that I discovered that my banjo was missing. I had left it just sitting on that log back up the road. I felt sure that it was gone by now, what with the area being so crowded. One of the people at the party worked at Mariposa Grove, and he called the ranger office there and asked someone to go look. There was a tense 20 minutes or so waiting for the return call, and when it came in, the person said there was no banjo to be seen. But our hero of the day, Steve, jumped in his car, taking a hastily-drawn map of exactly where the banjo log was located, and drove up to the park. An hour and a half later, he returned with banjo in hand! Turns out that our log was quite a bit farther off the beaten path than I had thought, and the banjo was undisturbed and undiscovered by any of the many tourists. Walking distances aren’t what they used to be for me. Every stroll is so much shorter than I what have become accustomed to. I am happy to say that I am now reunited with my Deering Goodtime frailing banjo.

I am sad to be finished with my blog. As I think back on our trek, I see that it really was pretty uneventful. No bad weather, not a drop of rain, easy creek crossings, still plenty of water, relatively light packs, very little in the way of equipment or physical malfunctions, easy companionship, mostly good food. How can something so “uneventful” take such hold of me? Finishing writing about it means that it will recede into the past much more quickly, and I mourn that. Next summer, I know I’ll be in the high Sierra again. I can hardly wait. I hope and pray, as we all do, that the drought will break its hold on the West, and we will have abundant snows and rains. The experts do not expect that to happen.

If you are reading this far, I thank you for sticking with me on my journey, and urge you to get out there and make one of your own. See you down the trail somewhere.

Laurie

Dirty Girl gaiters, New Balance Minimus trail runners, and wool leggings.

I imagine that some of you (probably mostly the banjo players among you!) are curious about my gear. So here is what I brought:

1 GoLite Pinnacle backpack, size M. This was a spur-of-the-moment purchase, with absolutely no pre-planning or knowledge involved. My sister picked me up at the Denver airport about 5 years ago and said “GoLite is having their annual sale! Let’s go!” So before doing anything else, we went there, wandered around, and before I knew it I was the proud owner of a new backpack, replacing my external frame Sierra Designs, ca. 1966.

2 pair of New Balance men’s Minimus 10v2 trail runners. I LOVE these shoes! They are very light-weight, fairly rugged, and I was able to go the entire 220+ miles with not one foot problem. No blisters, no swollen or sprained ankles, no nothing bad. Over my long life of walking, I have had my share of sprained ankles, and I eventually came to realize that they only happened in the aftermath of wearing hiking boots with ankle support. Hike for a few miles, take off you boots, sprain your ankle. So I figured out eventually that it was the ankle support that was the problem. Now that I hike/walk without support, my ankles don’t rely on it. After about 3/4 of the trail, I brought in a new pair of shoes (I had them in the resupply package, just in case), as I felt that the old ones just weren’t gripping the granite like they used to. Brand-new shoes, never been worn, and no break-in period. I was also very concerned about my Morton’s neuroma acting up, which is extremely painful and would have ended the trip for me, had it recurred. I am very happy to report no problems there, either.

The gear and I.

1 Kühl hiking shirt. I really like this shirt, except that it had a hole in one of the two zippered pockets, which caused me to lose my very sweet customized Swiss Army knife. But it breathes well, and dries quickly.

1 pair REI pants with zippered legs. I began to regret having to carry the bottom legs, as I only used them once on the trail. I like these pants lots and have had them for a few years now. Unfortunately, the zipper started to irritate my calf and by the last 1/4 of the trip, I had jettisoned them in favor of my skirt.

1 Prana cotton jersey skirt, bought on sale years ago in Stanley, ID, at the beginning of a river trip. This skirt was a big hit with women on the JMT. Very comfy. Length is just below the knees, so you save on sunscreen application.  But it doesn’t dry quickly, and weighs more than synthetic materials would. But oh, so comfortable!

1 pair Mangrove Sun Gloves. These things, bought on the way up to Yosemite at a big sporting goods emporium in the Central Valley, were fantastic! They kept my hands from being chafed by the trekking poles, and I never had to worry about putting slippery, icky sunscreen on my hands. Plus, they kept my hands just a little bit cleaner than they might have gotten otherwise. I saw people hiking with heavy gloves on their hands, or trying to protect them with bandannas tucked in the ends of their sleeves. This solution was ever-so-much better!

1 pair Black Diamond trekking poles. I found hiking with poles to be invaluable. They kept me from a few falls, I’m sure, and also give the upper body a nice workout along with the legs. There are lighter poles, but these worked just fine for me. When I hefted Betty’s lighter poles, I was at first jealous, but then figured that my poles gave me a slight work-out advantage, just by having to move that much more weight with the arms. Everything is a trade-off in some way or another. In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that one time, when a pole got stuck in the rocks, it caused me to lose my balance and fall on a very pointed rock. I had a really handsome purple bruise on one of my glutei to show for that.

3 pair of socks. I liked the Wright Socks quite a bit, but they had a hole in them by the end of the trip. The heavier SmartWool socks were very comfortable, and wore like iron, but didn’t dry quickly enough. The REI wool blend socks were OK, but didn’t seem to fit as well as either of the other brands.

1 cotton sun hat, 1 wool cap with earflaps.

1 titanium spork, 1 titanium mug, both Snow Peak brand.

1 little Buck knife with a snap-in plastic scabbard, very sharp and useful for opening packages and spreading almond butter on crackers.

DW Moment Tarptent, Black Diamond trekking poles.

1 DW Moment Tarptent. This is a great one-person tent, designed and made in Nevada City, CA. It sets up in a flash, with one tent pole and two stakes. Doesn’t need a ground cloth, apparently. I bought mine directly from Henry Shires, the designer, when I was in Nevada City for the Fathers’ Day Bluegrass Festival this last June. It had a tiny, repaired defect, so I got a little discount and of course saved on shipping.

1 pair Dirty Girl gaiters. They were very handy for helping to keep little rocks and dirt out of my shoes. Both Betty and I had Velcro-sticking trouble with them at various times, but that wasn’t insurmountable.

1 pair of lightweight wool leggings, 1 mid-weight wool pullover (both SmartWool, and very comfortable)

1 set of light silk long underwear for sleeping. Very comfy.

1 Patagonia puffy parka

1 lightweight windbreaker

1 titanium Deuce of Spades trowel

1 Nikon Coolpix waterproof camera

a compass, a journal, 2 pens, 1 pencil, maps, 2 sets of undergarments, personal hygiene items (toothbrush, baking soda for toothpaste–I figured that it would be lighter to carry and have less impact on the environment–floss, cleansing towelettes, toilet paper, sunscreen, Dr Bronner’s soap, extra zip-lock bags, lip balm, small lightweight backpacking towel, etc)

Rain jacket and rain pants (never used throughout the trip, except as spare clothing while other items were being laundered)

1 Marmot women’s Helium sleeping bag

1 Thermarest Z-Lite waffle pad, 1 Thermarest small ProLite self-inflating pad. It didn’t really self-inflate at those altitudes, but it didn’t take much to blow it up, either. The combination was very, very comfortable (ProLite on top of the Z-Lite) and kept me well-insulated from the cold ground. I could sleep on a granite slab in complete comfort with this combo.

1 Snow Peak Hybrid Summit Cookset (pot, silicone lid, silicone cup-used as a water scoop)

1 Snow Peak LiteMax Titanium Stove

1 (sometimes 2) fuel canisters for the stove.

2 Reflectix cozys (homemade by Betty), for freezer-bag cooking.

2 Orikaso folding plates/bowls.

1 small paperback copy of John Muir’s “The Mountains of California.” It felt very strange to tear out pages when I was done reading them, and burning them. I have never burned a book before, but weight is weight.

1 Sawyer Mini-Squeeze water filter, and 2 1-liter-size plastic water bottles (one for clean water and the other for “dirty,” aka unfiltered, water).

For most of the trip, I carried a small pair of binoculars on my belt. They were nice to have on occasion, but when we got to Rae Lakes, I sent them off-trail with Betty, deeming them an unessential extra weight. I didn’t miss them for the rest of the trip.

Usually, I carried a set of Tom Harrison JMT maps and a copy of “John Muir Trail: The Essential Guide” (Elizabeth Wenk, 5th ed).

Every item was used repeatedly and was more-or-less essential to our comfort and well-being on the trail, except for the compass (which I never used) and the rain gear (it never rained). I really didn’t find myself missing anything that I didn’t have with me, except for a guitar or a fiddle occasionally.

Betty Wheeler posted a very detailed list of her equipment, with individual weights in grams for everything. You can check it out here: http://2014jmt.wordpress.com/gear/

We enter a particularly arid landscape. Photo: BW

Snug in my tent, at the first tarn above Guitar Lake.

I had a rough day, with back pain in the old same place from the big car accident 20 years ago–middle left side, upper right side. I couldn’t get comfortable with my pack, which, though I KNOW must be lighter, felt heavier. My back burned with pain all day long. I was constantly fiddling with the straps, lengthening them, shortening them, trying to find some way to relieve the burn. I am so relieved to be at camp.

The trail led across an old rock slide area. Photo: BW

I couldn’t help myself. I had to hug this tree. It still had one small strip of bark on the far side that kept it alive. The bare wood was so smooth. Photo: BW

The earth in the Kern River drainage is very dry. I don’t know how these big trees survive. It must be the snow that keeps them going. The ground is sandy and with very little of anything that could be called “topsoil” anywhere. The trees, wind-blasted foxtail and lodgepole pines mostly, are breathtakingly beautiful. We walked through a large area of dead trees, dead so many years ago that it was difficult to understand what might have killed them. Probably fire, but the soot had long since been washed away by rain and snow and bleached out by the sun.

Dry, dry land, and yet there is a lake! Photo: BW

We hiked through long sections of near-desert landscape. Tough bunch grasses and sturdy clumps of low-growing wildflowers, but not much else. Photo: BW

Our first good view of Mt Whitney, still many miles away. Photo: BW

We met up with Kenny again today. She spent the night on top of Forester Pass, just laid down at the side of the trail. It’s steep up there! Good thing she’s not a sleepwalker. She’ll summit Whitney tomorrow, same as us. She hadn’t seen her hiking partner since Dollar Lake. Said she’d take the bus down to Lone Pine, and then find a bus to Las Vegas to catch a flight home. Very self-sufficient, that one.

The meadow near where we rested and visited with Kenny. Photo: BW

I am so looking forward to seeing Tom. Betty did a great job of organizing the food and schedule, given my time constraints. I would much rather have gone more slowly, but oh, well. Next backpacking trip will be a wander with no goals. I hate to leave the high country, but now that the end of the trip is near, I am smelling the barn. I just want to NOT set up/tear down/pack/unpack for awhile. And I want to shower. Soon and often. And do laundry. And play music!

Treeline Lake called me to swim. I was the only one in the water. That’s Mt Whitney cut off in the background. Photo: BW

Got to Treeline Lake and took a short swim in the cold water. It felt excellent! Betty waded in to her knees almost…

The view from our campsite, looking at Guitar Lake. Photo: BW

Lovely gilding sunset over Guitar Lake– which doesn’t really resemble a guitar except that it has a narrowish neck extending off of it with a bulbous, misshapen headstock. It ain’t a Martin, that’s for sure!

Sunset on Guitar Lake was spectacular. We had to keep taking photos. Photo: BW

A few minutes later… Photo: BW

We watched the sun receding from the heights above our campsite. Photo: BW

From here on out, we have to poop in a bag and carry our waste out with us.

My tent site above Guitar Lake Photo: BW

My tent is perched on a teeny rock ledge with a rock parapet that someone built. Windy, but cozy inside. I don’t know what time it is (my phone battery died, and we didn’t have enough solar power to charge it). The wind has died and all is quiet. A perfect half-moon is shining through my open tent flap. My sleeping pad is so comfortable, even lying on solid granite. I’m thinking of the incredible bounty of currants along the trail. Betty and I feasted regularly on the wild sweetness of them. Sometimes they aren’t so good, and other times perfect deep red round pearls of nectar in a sere landscape. Must try to sleep. Whitney in the morning.

A bounty of currants. We never saw anyone else eating them… I felt like I was robbing the bears of their just desserts by eating so many.

Hiking up from Vidette Meadows, we entered thick woodlands along Bubbs Creek.

Writing from Tyndall Creek.

We had a great hike over Forester Pass, elevation 13,200’. I felt really good, no lightheadedness or anything. Lots of pikas today, and great scenery changes, from the dense woods to talus slopes with nary a tree in sight. Except for the extraordinary scenery, an uneventful day of walking.

Climbing toward Forester Pass.

well, it didn’t come out in the photo, but this knob had a very distinct smiley face on it. Two eyes, a nose, and a big wide mouth. It grinned at us for miles.

Betty can be seen filtering water at our lunch stop. We did this a lot.

Mules and horses make it possible for many people to experience the high country in relative comfort, if they have the money. Is this a good thing? The jury is still out. Photo: BW

We saw a cowboy with a pack train of 7 mules. He really looked the part, with a chin beard that a billy goat would be proud of, leather chaps, a wide- and flat-brimmed Spanish-style hat, riding a sure-footed little palomino mare. The last mule in the line was a lovely-looking jenny, who placed her feet so daintily and never let the lead rope go taut. Because of that scene, I guess, I started singing cowboy songs to myself. It seems I know snippets of many, but maybe only the all the lyrics to “I Ride and Old Paint.”

I asked Betty to take a picture of me with these gorgeous lodgepoles. They make anyone look good! Photo: BW

We ate lunch at this lovely little lake, and observed the frogs for awhile. Photo: BW

A yellow-legged mountain frog posed for its portrait in our lunch-spot lake. Photo: BW

Resting on the way to the top. Photo: BW

The road goes on forever.

Finally! The highest elevation I’ve experienced yet. Photo: BW

My last photo of the trip: Betty and I stand at the top of Forester Pass

The south side of Forester Pass is extremely steep. The trail is an engineering and brute-strength marvel. Betty and I agreed that to hike it from the south would be a soul-crushing experience. So glad we’re headed the other direction! A couple of miles down, to the right, it looks like the Scottish Highlands while to the left it looks like the Asian Steppes.

Look carefully at the teeny-tiny tents on the lower left of this photo. It’s a long way down! Photo: BW

When we got to the bottom of the steep part of the pass, there were a bunch of guys pitching their tents among the rocks. It was still very early afternoon, but they insisted that if we went to Tyndall Creek, the place would be overrun with mules and horseback-riding dudes, and lots of hikers. A man informed us, in a very authoritative manner, that there just weren’t many camp sites down there, and it was better to avoid the crowd and camp where they were (which looked like it was getting pretty crowded). As it turned out, we never saw the mules or the horse people or the hordes of hikers. Just two small groups of 4 and 3 people, and many beautiful campsites among the trees to choose from. We were glad that we didn’t obey the voice of authority.

Coyotes were singing across the valley, somewhere on the far side of this lake. Photo: BW

We heard coyotes in the late afternoon, singing far away across the valley. I imagined how different I would feel about that song if I knew they were wolves instead. Scenes from Russian novels filled my head.

I ran out of memory on my camera card today. My fault. I sent the other card down the trail to Independence with Betty by mistake. So after the photo of Betty and me at the top of Forester Pass, all the photos from here to the end of the trip are Betty’s. I’m glad to have them. Thanks, Betty!

Getting close to the end of the trail. We kept scanning the horizon for Mt Whitney, but it was hidden most of the time, and the rest of the time we didn’t know what we were looking at. Photo: BW

While hiking toward Forester Pass, we saw a pack of cigarettes and a lighter sitting like a still-life along the trail on a rock. I couldn’t imagine anyone trying to smoke at that altitude, much less while hiking, and also couldn’t imagine just leaving that trash by the side of the trail. So I picked them up to either reunite them with their owner or dispose of them properly when we hit “civilization” again. I asked people we met if they were missing their cigarettes, and nobody claimed them. Then, when we were in our campsite, almost all bedded down, I thought to ask our nearest neighbors. Sure enough! They were reunited with their owner, who was very glad to have them back. One less thing to carry for me.

I am thankful to be camping near Tyndall Creek, which enabled me to wash out my clothes and rinse off the accumulated dust and salt of the day. Clothes are hanging all over a nice little tree next to my sleeping bag. No pitching the tent tonight.

Let it burn. This sign is the only sign of this fire we saw. Photo: BW

Morning sun on Rae Lakes, headed for Glen Pass.

A beautiful day for a walk. That’s the Painted Lady, peeking up from behind the ridge.

On Bubbs Creek, .3 mi. from the trail junction of the JMT and Cedar Valley. Betty misread it as “Bubba” Creek, so that’s what it is from now on.

Farewell to Rae Lakes.

Golden grasses caught my eye on the climb to Glen Pass.

The view back down to Rae Lakes, from somewhere on the climb to the pass. I can see my campsite!

This is a lovely wooded area with small meadows. Vidette Meadow by name. Glen Pass was like most of the passes: kick-butt, but doable at a slow and steady pace. I kept looking for mountain sheep, but they eluded my eyes. I did see a number of pikas, which cheers me.

Above the tree line in pika country.

Selfie at the top of Glen Pass. Good to be headed down again.

It’s nice to walk alone, and then really a treat to hear someone call my name. It was the “Boys from Indiana,” who I hadn’t seen since Muir Trail Ranch. Yellie was with them (of course they know each other, in the way that everyone knows everyone out here). They were sitting in the shade a little ways up from the Charlotte Lakes trail junction, and it was good to visit a bit with Steve (who helped me silence my water bottle squeak), Mick, and the others. Then it was a long slog downhill to here. Only 7.5 miles or so today. Tomorrow is Forester Pass, the biggest and baddest of them all! Then in two days, Whitney, and the end of the trail.

These are some rocky, barren heights up here, but the most likely place to see mountain sheep, I’ve read. What do they eat?

A view down a side canyon. Makes me want to see what’s there. More beauty, I suppose…

Here by the stream in Vidette Meadows, there are lots of woodpeckers. The earth looks drier than farther north. Betty and I were supposed to meet at a specific campsite today, when she returned from Independence with the resupply today. She figured that she would arrive at 5:00 PM. I made camp, set up her tent, washed out my clothes and washed off the dust and sweat of the day, and walked back down the trail to meet her at the Cedar Valley trail junction. At about 5:10, she came down the trail. Pretty good guesstimate.

Twins begged to have their picture taken, while waiting for Betty at the trail junction.

Flowers floated among the grasses.

We’re camped near three guys who were wearing earbuds on the trail, so I asked what they were listening to. Christian rock, Avett Brothers, some solo piano music, and some other people I didn’t know and whose names I can’t remember.

I love the junipers!

I love walking up and down through the various biomes, in and out of the chinquapin and manzanita and juniper, down to big lodgepole pine and fir forests, up to matted snow-smashed willow stands (squats?), to the stunted and twisted lodge poles, past the trees and into the area of frosted buckwheat and little flowers I don’t have names for, and then back down through it all again.

7:30 and I’m in bed. Might sleep soon. Betty brought me an new pair of reading glasses!!! What does John Muir have to say this evening?

Vidette Peak, as viewed from our campsite. A vedette is a term for a sentry

A chilly morning at Rae Lakes.

Finally pulled myself from the sleeping bag at about 6:45. Betty was long gone, I assume, to hike the 12 miles over Glen Pass and Kearsarge Pass to resupply. I have her tent, sleeping bag, and many days’-worth of food to carry to Vidette Meadows, where we will meet up (according to the plan, anyway) tomorrow.

A natural formation? I think not…

This morning, I feel great gratitude for my jacket and hat.

Kept hoping for blue sky like yesterday, but it’s a high overcast with a little wind. Not the best day for doing laundry. After breakfast, I went back to bed for a couple of hours. Ah, the luxury of a layover day! Was waiting for the sun, but it didn’t happen so I finally got up and did the laundry anyway. My white shirt took some real old-timey scrubbing, and it is still less than clean. Now the laundry is spread all over a boulder in the weak sun, so it’s easy to see where my camp is. Everything is weighted down with stones, because the wind seems to be picking up.

The view from my lunch spot.

At lunchtime, I took my meal of reconstituted refried beans and crackers up along the trail and found a beautiful place overlooking the lake to sit and munch. Saw Yellie, who we haven’t seen since Purple Lake. It’s funny: before I recognized her, I knew her by the tapping of her trekking poles. Everyone has their own distinct cadence. Saw the mother -daughter duo of Trish and Dawn who we met at Muir Trail Ranch. We saw them last when they were camped above upper Palisades Lake, before Mather Pass. They were debating whether to camp at Rae Lakes or continue over Glen Pass. So they took out their sleeping bags and took a nap. Later, they left to climb the pass today.