Crescent
Meadow Loop, Sequoia National Park; From Crescent Meadow Over Black
Rock Pass
(or
just barely)
I left
Walnut Creek about six, quietly slipping out the deck door, me and my
“stuff.” I felt lucky that my sister, Anne, had come the night
before so that I would not have to wait for my brother, Philip, on
Saturday to look after our mother. I stopped for a bite and gas on
my way to Auburn to pick up my nephew, Alex, my hiking partner. It
was an easy, almost pleasant ride, early on a Saturday morning, and
the sunrise was dazzling.
Alex was
ready, and so after transferring the “stuff” that I would
otherwise leave in my car at the trailhead – including my computer
(a no-no) Alex and I were on our way. Alex drove until we stopped
for lunch, a real treat, after he mastered the Honda Fit manual. I
talked a lot, probably because Alex is such a good listener, partly
because I was not driving, but mostly because I was somewhat
apprehensive about such a strenuous hike for me, and because I had
been altitude sick (for the first time in my life – I think) a few
weeks before. Both of us like the fries at In-And-Out, and so we
stopped there. There are a lot of that restaurant on 99.
I drove
from that point to Fresno and up into the mountains to the park and
the campground where we would spend the night. Except for the orange
groves, it is not particularly picturesque ride, and the fact that it
was hot and humid, gave the ride a rather miserable quality. The
campground was typical of a car-camping place: smokey, noisy, dusty
(but with beautiful trees). We made the best of it.
We first
visited the Visitor Center at Grant Grove where I bought an excellent
map. We went out to dinner – which was pleasant, and then we
waited for night to come. I slept in my car to escape some of the
smoke and the noisy, oblivious people, but it felt like a long, long
night. The morning was better, and I walked around searching for a
view of the valley; it was very hazy.
When
Alex was ready, we got out of there and went to Lodgepole to pick up
our permit and have some breakfast – escaping from the smoke; what
a relief! I was hungry and scarfed that breakfast, wondering if I
had packed enough food for our six day hike. (My appetite is quite
variable and unpredictable.)
At last
we found the trailhead and commenced to ready our packs. I
transferred my eight pounds of food and my stove to Alex so that my
pack would weigh 30 pounds instead of 40. (This was an arrangement
we made in advance, which Alex was happy to do as a courtesy and for
a stipend. He was confident, having just finished hiking the JMT.)
I can forget about a 30 pound pack, but a 40-45 pack is tough for me.
We hiked
the 11.5 miles to Bearpaw on the famous High Sierra Trail. It was
extremely humid and quite hot. It sprinkled. The walk was
unbelievably beautiful after four miles of typical upper foothill
pines, oaks, and brush, canyon vegetation that I enjoy so much when I
am walking in the Yuba Canyon. The views after about four miles and
for most of the way after that, were breathtaking: the great central
valley, the canyon faces of the Kaweah River, including glacial
sculpting to rival Yosemite Valley, and then, wow! The Great Western
Divide: the peaks, the passes, the spires. There were a lot of folks
on the trail, and I kept saying, “Can you believe this?” It is
an amazing 11.5 miles, mellow since it follows a ridge, crossing few
contour lines, until the last two miles which is an abrupt, panting
“up.”
Bearpaw
was not what I expected, and so I will not tell you what I expected;
what I found was disappointing: a dusty, dim space, carved out of a
steep hill with big trees (their greenery high and out of view), a
water spigot and an outhouse. To add insult, across a little glen is
the High Sierra Camp – with a spectacular view. This camp is a
tent camp with a quaint building with kitchen, diningroom, little
store, decks and seating, etc. Whereas the backpacker's camp has no
view, is rather subduing, the High Sierra Camp, 50 yards away, is a
place to stay indefinitely if one is willing to spend about $170. a
night, reserve way in advance, and walk 11.5 miles. It is a joyful
place. However, Alex and I made the best of the campground, talking
to other backpackers, using the water to wash up, cooking a good
dinner, going to sleep early.
I began
hiking to Hamilton Lake by seven, anticipating the six mile hike I
had scoped on my topo. It was as beautiful as I had anticipated,
except for the last two miles – which I found to be a grueling
climb, very hot and humid, with “false summits” which were
discouraging. Running out of drinkable water did not help, either.
I met a friendly “old guy” dripping with sweat and paraphernalia
and panting like a dog, who told me what I was “in for” on Black
Rock Pass, and Alex passed me on the “up.” “Get a good
campsite,” I gasped, “I hear that Hamilton Lake is very popular.
What did you think of that gorge we crossed? And the bridge? What
an amazing walk with the views of The Great Western Divide!”
Alex got
a good campsite along with more than eight other groups right on
Hamilton Lake, a beautiful place that felt good. It was a classic
glacial tarn with the beginning of the pass in view (called Kaweah
Gap) and trees on western side with talus slopes, otherwise.
The
first thing I did was purify water and drink . . . and drink. I ate
my cheese, jerky, and dehydrated pineapple, and then went in the
water. It was not too cold, and felt good after the initial shock.
It threatened rain, and so we weatherized and took shelter on a
boulder, under a big pine. We ended up talking for a long time to
three middleaged backpackers, sharing various mountain adventures.
One of the backpackers from Washington, DC, a mechanical engineer who
worked for the Bush administration (but supports this administration)
told us the story of how he had severed his femoral artery climbing
Eagle Scout Peak. He emphasized the heroics of his friend (who was
there and helped tell the story) and the park rangers. I kept
thinking that if it were me, I would have been terrified; he seemed
copacetic. The afternoon melted away and the evening was beautiful.
There were some bright stars.
Next
morning at first light, I made coffee, enjoyed it thoroughly in that
beautiful place, packed up, and began the climb to Kaweah Gap. I did
well, pacing myself, enjoying the views as I climbed higher and
higher. It was not too hard, just strenuous, very doable. One of
the backpackers passed me on the way up. He sort-of hung around, and
I realized, yet again, how much I like hiking alone. First, I
zig-zagged though the brush on a easy up and then over the rock. The
prize for the last mile (10,000 feet elevation) was a view of
Precipice Lake, a famous place photographed by Ansel Adams. (I
always wondered where that place was!) I managed the actual pass,
after four miles, after a mellow climb through little meadows and up
over rocky berms. Alex passed me after the lake, and I met him on
the pass (along with several people who were traveling
cross-country). Everyone was talkative, but I just wanted to “melt”
into the views of the Kaweah range, the lakes basin below us, and the
realization that due east of us, over the Kaweah peaks and passes was
the Kern, the John Muir Trail, Crabtree, and Mount Whitney (not
visible from there, but visible from Black Rock Pass). “I am
crossing The Great Western Divide!” I kept thinking; I felt that
special happiness I feel when I am part of the wild.
I
escaped the talkative “throng,” and began the hike down into the
plateau below the lakes basin. What a memorable hike! Gentle
descent. Vast. Open. A meditative walk. A walk in the Sacred Way.
Browned sedge and rush grasses, krumholtz pines, along the creeks
flowers: purple, lavender, yellow, red; joyful birds, sweet quiet.
The air was warm and somewhat humid with drops of rain that felt like
kisses in that beautiful place.
At a
place called Big Arroyo, I left the High Sierra Trail and began an
ascent on the Black Rock Trail. There was an historic cabin there,
and at that place, both Alex and a park ranger passed me. A black
cloud front was moving toward us from the southwest; it meant
business, and so I weatherized, forded a formidable creek on logs
and rocks, and began a punishing climb (not an engineered trail) up
and out of the arroyo. It was about 1.5 miles of straight up. The
rest of the climb to Little Five Lakes was not too steep, but very
wet. It rained! Thundered and lightninged! Scary at times, but the
trail was not exposed. I kept expecting that I would meet Alex,
huddled under a tree; instead, I met an older guy that I had greeted
on the bridge before the climb to Hamilton Lake. He looked
comfortable – under his tree with his poncho draped over him like a
tent. I said, “Where are your buddies?” “Not my buddies,”
says he. “I was just walking with them; they are continuing on the
High Sierra Trail. You alone, too, or are you with that young man
who passed me like I was standing still – as a matter-of-fact, I
was standing still.” “Same guy. My nephew.” He said, “It
seems a shame to stop; the lakes must be just over that hill.” I
thought, about two miles – long enough to get really wet – which
I did. I seemed ironic that I was also thirsty, but when I stopped
to dip water and purify it, I got cold. “Got to move.”
We
finally reached a campsite at Little Five Lakes and set up camp in
the rain. When the weather improved, briefly, the ranger (a
beautiful young woman) came by and checked our permit, saying that
the weather had been atypical for a week: warm and humid and rainy.
During the short reprieve from the rain, we quickly cooked, and then
bivouacked. The sound of the rain on my tent fly was peaceful, and I
was ready to be tired, but I regretted missing the beautiful mountain
lakes.
In the
night, it cleared, and it was cold. I missed the stars, but I slept
soundly, aware of the demands for the next day; Black Rock Pass at
11,600. It was not the climb that was making me apprehensive, it was
the long descent; a seven mile descent to about 7,000 feet, a 4,600
elevation loss.
The next
day dawned bright and clear and had the crisp feeling of high
altitude. I packed up and hiked like the young woman I once was. I
walked slowly at first just to enjoy the high mountain scenery, and
then to catch my breath as I ascended. I love the high lakes and
green meadows, the krumholtz trees and the flowers, the little
streams and the glaciated mountainsides, the crumbling peaks that
prevailed 10,000 years ago in spite of the glaciers.
Alex and
I took a long break on Black Rock Pass; there we were, perched on The
Great Western Divide, there, under our own power, part of the
mountains, part of the eons, part of fire and ice, uplift and
crumbling. Alex took pictures, and I made pictures in my mind of
glacially-sculpted mountainsides with the Great Central Valley, the
long river canyons in view, as well as Mount Whitney. What an
awesome pass!
The
first part of the “down” was really ok. The trail, though very
steep, was relatively rock free. There were flowers, including
showy Gentian, and the spectacular view. The middle part of the
“down” was a “dog.” It was either rocky with “step-downs”
or slippery talus. I had to keep my eyes on the trail; it was
hazardous to look up. The last part of the “down” was hot and
dry and strewn with slippery cobbles, like a dry riverbed. My knee
began to bother me; that was scary. About halfway down, the trail
crossed a wet meadow with tall grass and sedges where one of my shoes
filled with water; I was feeling pretty miserable by then, and I was
only halfway down!
Finally,
after walking through a verdant woods of fern and tall grass, and the
endless talk of an accomplished woman hiker, we finally arrived at
the Timber Gap trail junction where we knew there would be campsites.
I think that Alex enjoyed the woman hiker, but I was ready for
quiet, rest, and aloneness. We camped on Timber Gap Creek, at the
junction, a beautiful cobbled mountain creek with a sweet sound. I
went in the cold water and was revived. My meditation that night was
one of my best; I think that it was the sound of the creek and the
the simple fact that I was in a state of profound relief.
The
following day, I walked 11.5 miles, in the loop, back to Bearpaw.
Except for the last two dusty miles, and the voracious mosquitos in a
place called Redwood Meadow, I thoroughly enjoyed the hike. It took
me on a gentle “down,” with views of the forested canyons, to
Redwood Meadow with the Giant Sequoias, four foot high cone flowers,
a flat with a rustic buildings and a corral – and the voracious
mosquitos. It took me across two beautiful creeks and the Hamilton
River with perpetual views of forested slopes and canyons – finally
climbing the ridge where the High Sierra Camp is located. I loved
the wild waters and even took a dip. They are classic white granite
boulders and beautiful cobbles like most of the watershed of the
western Sierra. These waterways were pristine – and wild. There
was a fragrance that took me a long time to identify: it was heady,
herbal like sage and sweet like orange blossoms. (After many tries,
I finally identified the fragrance as emanating from the blossoms of
the Elder – not all the blossoms, mind you, but the blossoms that
were at a brief and exact stage of their blooming. What a trip!)
I also
enjoyed the good trail up to Bearpaw, well engineered for a
backpacker, shady the entire way – many Gold Cup Oaks as well as
the pine-cedar mix, and views! When I got to our less-than-favorite
campground, I ate and read, and glanced up from time to time to try
to get a glimpse of the tremendous view that I knew was there, but
hidden by the trees. Alex saw a bear, and then we both saw a big
cinnamon bear scratching his back on a tree. That same bear came
back to visit us at 4:30 in the morning – my alarm clock. Alex
loaned me the Jack Kerouac book that he had been given on the JMT by
a young Norwegian hiker. I went to sleep early, anticipating an
early start.
The
early start was 7:00, with my exit after the 11.5 miles at 3:00.
About thirty minutes per mile, including stops and pauses. Not bad.
It was a reverse of the first day, and for nine of the eleven miles,
I enjoyed the walk, and looked forward to the stunning views. Alex
was waiting at the car, and he wanted pizza, and so that was what we
did; pizza and salad bar; both very good. We talked about our trip
on the four hour drive; it felt right. We talked about meditation; I
maintain that it is a natural state that can be identified and
sustained.
I had
offered my prayers in the temple of The Great Western Divide, and I
was proud.