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.
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!
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.
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.
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…
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.
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.