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December 2003 |
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Sojourn in the Sierra Here we are, as always, dreading the swift arrival of the winter months. It’ll be another long struggle, as it has been since time immemorial, to stay sane throughout the cold breath of winter. That is of course unless you live where my close friend Andrew Arch and I visited this past August. After much planning and deliberation over the exact locale, we chose sunny California as our end of summer hiking destination. It was the logical choice; virtually assured great weather, a number of national parks to choose from, a number of major cities to fly in to, and the highest mountains in the contiguous forty-eight. It had everything we wanted. After settling on the park and length of hike, Sequoia National Park and five days respectively, we were set to go. On August 25th after a short four hour drive from L.A. we had arrived at the park. After much anticipation and vigorous preparation it was finally time to hike. The following are excerpts from the journal I kept during our sojourn, hence their fragmented and perhaps confusing or unentertaining nature. Use your imagination, the pictures should help. Day 1:
But it’s a little foreboding with the high winds. Clouds darken and the wind picks up quickly, blowing down from the top of the canyon. All signs point to a nasty storm in a hurry. There’s hardly time to set up the tent and hide the bear cans. No dinner. We’re in the tent and ready to sleep by around 8:30pm. Strong, howling wind gusts continue and it rains intermittently throughout the night. Day 2:
Make beef enchiladas for dinner, then spend the rest of the twilight soaking our feet in the ice cold waters of Rattlesnake and relaxing with cups of Captain Morgan’s on a rock next to the babbling brook. Day 3:
The dogs are barking. It’s been a long day, the longest on our trip at 9.2 miles. The good news is we now have two and a half days to cover the remaining eleven miles of our forty mile loop. We can take our time and soak in the yawning views as we hike back to the west, across the Great Western Divide. We enjoy our dinner, chicken teriyaki, on a sprawling boulder above camp. This was also the only night we could build a fire due to park regulations, but the wood burns fairly well and it is a welcome treat. By this point foot-soaking in the various waters has become a daily post-hike ritual. Day 4:
It’s a high mountain lake, around 10,500 feet. We find a nook to make camp, shielded from the winds, and decide to treat ourselves to a hot lunch and later a hot dinner. We’ve got the food, time, and fuel, so why not? Tomorrow will be our last full day and final night, so we’re taking in all we can. After this, the penultimate night, it’s over Sawtooth Pass and back to Mineral King, with L.A. and home on the not-too-distant horizon. The isolation is at once wonderful and an excellent reminder of the things we cherish. Also, saw the heavens for the first time last night. It wasn’t crystal clear as we were camped in the forest below the tree line, but it obviously outdid Chicago. If we’re lucky they’ll be out full bore tonight. At 10,500 feet, it could be quite a show. A stiff wind blows atop the rock outcrop where I sit as I write this, looking down at Columbine Lake. High Cirrus clouds drift in the atmosphere above me, an ever-present sun-bow the beautiful result. Day 5:
Last night was cold, but could have been worse.
Fortunately the wind died down. As we’d hoped the skies remained
clear last night, and the stars were out in force. It rivaled the darkest,
most transparent sky I’ve ever seen. The murky river of muted
light that is the Milky Way, our home galaxy, shone fairly clearly.
It’s splendor outdone only by the myriad shooting stars we were
privileged to see. Mars, at it’s closest for thousands of years,
practically ruined our dark-adapted eyes with it’s sharp brilliance.
So today we’ll hike over the rugged and unmaintained Sawtooth
Pass at around 11,300 feet. From there we’ll hike down to our
campsite near Mineral King, a mere three miles from the car. The last
stretch of wilderness before we drag ourselves back into reality. It’s
been nice being so detached from all the world’s, and my own,
problems. By now the main piece of warm clothing I’ve been wearing,
the only warm piece I brought, is a collage of camp smells. It’s
been worn for at least a little while everyday, used as a pillow, of
course sweated in, slept in, and spent a night next to a smoky campfire.
It’s a pungent gumbo of odor. Not exactly pleasant, but part of
the fun and the inescapable reality of spending five days in the backcountry.
Finally we reached the summit around 11:45am. Long unobstructed views to the north and south through the park were the just rewards. Valleys and peaks all around, as far as we could see, vibrant and clear. A horizontal line that’s presumably a layer of the atmosphere below us, encircles the horizon. We take it in, take a few pictures, and get ready to head down. The trail down is steep gravely switchbacks, so steep and loose we could have boot-skied down. But for fear of death we take it at a more reasonable pace. It’s a long way down to a small, un-named deep blue lake.
We have lunch and guzzle down water there, joined by a mother deer and her fawn. We also soak our heads in the lake in an attempt to cool down. The mother deer lets me get within fifteen feet of her while she grazes, her fawn hidden safely away among the brush. Picas approach our packs smelling the food, and marmots are visible scampering all around as they’ve been all week in the high country. We depart leaving the lake to the wildlife, along the flat yet rocky ridge trail. Alas, it was not to be. At the trail junction we’d planned to camp near, there was no flat ground to be found. No real camp or even anywhere to spend the night, it was the side of a mountain. The only option that left was to keep hiking, out. No more park, hike over. Not that big a deal, but one more night would’ve been nice. We tried to get a regular campsite, as opposed to a backcountry one, but those were all full up with weekenders. The whole park, all the campsites, booked. So we hiked out the last three miles to the car in the Mineral King parking lot. Three miles, and downhill, not much right? Easy, have it done in no time. It was the longest three miles of my life. Throughout the trip I found downhill hiking to be much more strenuous and tiring, and this last three miles was over a very rocky talus-like trail. Murder on the ankles and calves, which were by this point in the trip already shot. That morning we’d woken at 10,500 feet and washed and drank at a mountain lake only to come all the way down to the ranger station at 7,580 feet. Our hands feel fat, and they are, it’s difficult and uncomfortable to make a fist due to the pressure change. It was a long, long day. My feet were two swollen stubs having also become bloated due to the quick elevation drop, the boots were glued on. Afterwards I could hardly stand or even drive. So that was it, we’d completed our loop and so we drove out. Drove down the long and humorously meandering Mineral King Highway. Twenty four miles of non-stop winding going down, through, and around the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Barely enough room for two cars to pass by each other, it was extremely dangerous and nerve wracking. We’d used half our full tank on the way in going up the same highway, we used zero gas on the way down. But we probably completely wore out the brake pads. Four hours and some DelTaco later and we were back in L.A.. Mercedes’, cell phones, money and sunshine. All that American society has to offer. It’s tough enough to go hiking in remote mountains and come back to any civilization, let alone Los Angeles.
If you want to see more pictures please remember to check out the slide show! Now I see the secret of the making
of the best persons, - Walt Whitman,
from Song of the Open Road in Leaves of Grass |
