With as much traveling as we do, I think we still take for granted what a remarkable place we live. With the Pacific Coast in our front yard and the great Sierra Nevada out back, our local choices are almost embarrassing in their breadth and beauty. But like everyone else, the demands of work and life relegate most of our travels to weekend warrior status. We’ve developed keen systems for packing our gear, schlepping it to the car, and escaping from the city without hitting traffic. Not to brag, but we can pull together a Yosemite camping trip in under an hour. Our highly tuned sense of “Let’s get the fuck outta here” has led us down some interesting roads and trails.

In 2007, we planned four weekend trips to Yosemite, each one focused around a different day hike. In the end, two trips got cancelled due to life, but the others satisfied our craving for big granite and blue skies.

Four Mile Trail, Panorama Trail, John Muir Trail

The Four Mile Trail is a Yosemite Valley classic. From the valley floor, it climbs 3,000 vertical feet in just over four miles to Glacier Point, the classic overlook along the south rim of the valley. With a free shuttle and large visitor center at Glacier Point, the Four Mile Trail sees a fair amount of traffic. Most people opt to hike down the trail which is easier on the lungs, but far worse on the knees in my opinion.

We used the Four Mile Trail as a starting point for a half-loop of the valley. After the long, slow grind up to Glacier Point, we took the requisite ice cream break at the visitor center and continued along the Panorama Trail, skirting along the south rim of the Yosemite Valley. Views of Half Dome filled the skyline, and a few well-placed stream crossings afforded us the chance to dunk our hats and fill our water bottles. The trail eventually descended to Vernal Falls, where we met up with the JMT and the haggard hoards descending the last few miles from Half Dome. Weighing in at 13 miles with plenty of climbing, our little hike wasn’t easy, but it’s nothing compared to the slogfest that is a Half Dome day hike. Unlike those poor folks, we were fortunate enough to feel the rejuvenating powers of a mid-hike Hagen Dazs break. Every hike should taste so sweet.

Our highly tuned sense of ‘Let’s get the fuck outta here’ has led us down some interesting roads and trails.

Mono Pass & Parker Pass

Time and again, the high country of Yosemite is our venue of choice for quick weekend getaways. It’s not a short drive (about 10 hours round trip), but we can always find a campsite, and hiking choices abound. Last year, we were cheated out of our plans to hike to Mono Pass and Parker Pass. The reason why escapes me now, but it was near the top of our list in 2007.

After employing our patented alpine start, we reached Tuolumne Meadows in the early morning and grabbed a nice campsite. Saturday was spent resting at our site and touring a few of our favorite spots near Mono Lake. We grabbed dinner at the Whoa Nelli Deli and went to bed on the early side.

We got an early start on Sunday to avoid any late afternoon thunderstorms. From the Mono Pass trailhead, the trail passes through Dana Meadows before starting a slow climb through a wide valley. Flanked on either side by Mount Gibbs and the mountains of the Kuna Crest, the hike wasn’t short on views. We had lunch at Mono Pass and contemplated the trips we could launch from this spot on the edge of Yosemite National Park and the Ansel Adams Wilderness.

A few clouds were starting to appear, and we decided it was time to move onto our next objective: Parker Pass. Sitting less than two miles to the south, Parker Pass looks very different from Mono. The high windswept valley leading to the pass is rimmed on one side by the steep faces of Kuna and Koip Peaks. This was the first time I had seen the mountains of the Kuna Crest up close, and I was blown away. It’s always a treat to find something new in a place that is so familiar.

By the time we reached Parker Pass, the clouds were starting to look pretty serious. As soon as we arrived, we were headed back down the trail. The hike out was fast and deliberate, with thunder crashes behind us and a cooler full of beer ahead of us. Much of the trip home was spent planning imaginary trips in this “new” area. We’ll see what 2008 brings*.

*Spoiler Alert: Jody was pregnant a few months later and Autumn was born in September, 2008. This would be our final SierraSoul post. Our last big travel adventure was a three week trip to New Zealand in Nov/Dec 2007. We never quite finished that post for publication as our attention was elsewhere 😉

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. These trips took place in summer and fall of 2007 (or thereabouts).

From almost any run at Kirkwood, the mountains of Carson Pass spill out in layers of dark volcanic rock and white snow. For us, this little alpine dreamscape holds memories from so many trips past: snow camping in January, spring skiing in March, backpacking in August, photographing the fall color in October. No matter the season, we find ourselves returning to this slice of the Sierra over and over again.

Unfortunately, the record setting snow pack of years past was a no-show in 2007. After two consecutive years of 800+ inches, we came up with less than 400 in 2007. Some diehard in Michigan probably thinks us a bunch of pansies for complaining about 376 inches of snow, but surely we can’t be expected to ski hardpack…we have standards. Far too often this year, we found ourselves surveying the dirt patches to avoid on our next run rather than soaking up our favorite views from Chair 4. But all’s well that ends well. We made up for it a few months later when we spent a weekend tagging the summits of the area’s most interesting mountains.

Earlier in the summer, we had an aggressive plan to hike the PCT from Carson Pass (Hwy 88) to Ebbet’s Pass (Hwy 4) in one weekend—a little backcountry tour of Alpine County. When those plans fell apart, we started looking for another chance to spend some time the area. With a planned Mt. Whitney hike just a few weeks away, we decided to squeeze in some last minute training and tag a few summits over the weekend.

We left the Carson Pass trailhead early on a Saturday, after grabbing one of the last campsite permits for the area. The hike to Winnemucca Lake offered great views of Elephant’s Back, Round Top, and The Sisters—our objectives for the weekend.

Round Top is the most prominent peak in the Carson Pass area, with a craggy ridgeline that spills down from twin summits. From our campsite at Winnemucca Lake, the approach leads to Round Top Lake before heading up—aiming for the saddle between Round Top and The Sisters. Like so many Sierra peaks, the hike is a slog, but the views more than make up for the effort. From the saddle, we had clear views of five more lakes, including Lake Tahoe to the north.

Some diehard in Michigan probably thinks us a bunch of pansies for complaining about 376 inches of snow, but…we have standards.

The last bit of climbing to the summit of Round Top involves some class 2 scrambling. Jody muscled through, and we reached the west summit in the early afternoon. Not quite satisfied, I took a twenty minute detour to tag the eastern summit as well. Looking back at Kirkwood, I felt a little pang of satisfaction. I’ve been staring at this mountain for so long; it was nice to finally check it off the list.

On our way back to the saddle, we decided the short detour to East Sister was worth the effort…better bragging rights from the chairlifts this winter. A short scramble up was followed by a slow hike back to camp. The sky that night was clear, and the moon was dim. Stars put on a great show, and the Milky Way swept a giant arc across the dark sky.

Sunday morning greeted us with sore muscles and a bit of sunburn from the day before. The hike back to the trailhead is only two miles, but we had one more piece of business to handle before we could call it a weekend. After breaking camp, we walked up the gentle slopes of Elephant’s Back and tagged our third summit for the weekend—a personal best for us.

It’s November now (as I write this), and the seasons have changed. There isn’t much snow on the ground yet, but we’re optimistic. We need redemption for the dry winter of 2007. We need snowfall measured in feet, not inches. We need bottomless powder and endless blue skies. We need long rides up Chair 4—time enough to look at the big mountains of Carson Pass and casually mention that we’ve seen the view from top of each one.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in October, 2007 (or thereabouts).

Wheeler Peak was kicking my ass. It wasn’t even a good fight. I was on the ropes taking body blows, with three rounds left in the match. I had to stop every few minutes to suck wind and keep my heart from exploding. At least I knew what I was up against. The trail leading to the summit was clear; a long jagged scar climbing up the shoulder of this giant. I was learning in no uncertain terms that the last place you want to fight a chest cold is in the same ring with a 13,000 foot mountain.

Like most of our long weekend trips, this one started with a plan to find the biggest sky with the fewest people. We started eyeing a map a few weeks out and focused in on the usual suspects: North Coast, Eastern Sierra, and Death Valley. The idea of climbing something held appeal, and I remembered reading about Wheeler Peak, way out in the Great Basin. We checked it out on the map and knew we had found the right venue for a four-day trip.

Loneliest Road in America

We left San Francisco around 10 p.m. and pointed the Subaru east. We had eleven hours of driving ahead of us and a cooler full of Red Bull and snacks. Five hours later and just east of Reno, we passed through Fallon, Nevada and kissed civilization goodbye. U.S. 50 through Nevada is known as the “Loneliest Road in America”, and that title is no joke. For the next four hours, all we saw was jet black sky, blurred pavement, and a cadre of mutant jack rabbits darting across the road when we least suspected it. Somewhere east of nowhere, Jody took the helm, and I crashed. I woke a few hours later when we rolled into Ely. After the girl at McDonalds cleared up the correct pronunciation for us (it’s e-lee), we powered through the last hour of driving.

For the next four hours, all we saw was jet black sky, blurred pavement, and a cadre of mutant jack rabbits darting across the road…

Wheeler Peak and the surrounding Snake Range rise from the Basin floor like an island in the sky. Craggy peaks and densely forested slopes belie the flat, arid expanses of the Great Basin; so named because rain that falls here never finds its way to the oceans. It’s the hydrological equivalent of purgatory; an endless cycle of rain storms and evaporation. The Great Basin is littered with these micro-ranges of mountain terrain. One after another, from the Sierra to the Wasatch, they stretch across the Basin in defiance of their surroundings.

We pulled through the gates of Great Basin National Park in the late morning, and made our way to the end of the road: the Wheeler Peak Campground. There were more people than we expected, and we were lucky to grab the last campsite in the place. We set up camp and laid low for the rest of the day. I felt a chest cold coming on, but I thought the dry desert air would do me some good.

Bristlecone Pines and Lehman Caves

It wasn’t until we settled down with the park pamphlet that we realized there were some bona fide attractions in this modest outpost. In the shadow of Wheeler Peak stands a grove of Bristlecone Pines. Found only in the American West, these hardy trees can live for over 5,000 years. A couple of well know groves exist California’s White Mountain range, but we’ve never found the time to visit. Sunday morning we took a short loop hike out to the grove and spent some time photographing their gnarled masses. A small rainstorm persuaded us to return to camp, where we planned a visit to the park’s most celebrated attraction.

Lehman Caves is probably the main reason why Great National Park exists in the first place. Discovered in 1885, and exploited for decades afterward, the caves provided the park service with a known point of interest and developed Visitor’s Center. Nearby Wheeler Peak (the second tallest mountain in Nevada) and the Bristlecone Pines groves created a convergence of natural history worthy of protection. Although the park only sees 80,000 visitors each year, Lehman Caves seem to be the big draw.

With cameras in hand, we arrived in the evening for a “Photographer’s Tour” of the caves. A few weeks prior, cameras had been banned from the tours because, in general, a shmuck with a camera in a sensitive environment is a bad idea. The ranger who led our tour was noticeably impressed with the behavior of our group. Until this point, she had equated the term “photographer” with the point-and-shoot masses who wouldn’t think twice about using a stalagmite as a tripod. The fact that we weren’t thrashing our way through the cavern somehow impressed her.

It was dark when we exited the cave. As we drove back to camp, the hulking profile of Wheeler Peak encouraged us to call it an early night. My cold seemed to be clearing up, but we wanted to get a good night’s sleep before we started a big hike.

Wheeler Peak

Step, step, breeeeathe. Step, step, breeeeathe. People were passing us every time we stopped. I threw on a friendly smile and offered encouraging words, thinking of a way to call it quits and still maintain my dignity. Wheeler certainly isn’t a casual hike, but in the family of mountains we’d summitted recently, it falls somewhere in the middle in terms of intensity. My lungs had declared a full-scale mutiny, and my legs weren’t far behind.

My lungs had declared a full-scale mutiny, and my legs weren’t far behind.

Jody’s patience never waned. Her smile encouraged me along, and step by step we muscled our way to the top. The view stretched out in every direction—undulating ranges spread evenly across the vast basin. We spent some time topside, signing the summit register and talking to one of the hikers who passed us along the way. He turned out to be the Head Ranger at GBNP and was hiking Wheeler Peak on his day off. If this was my office, I probably wouldn’t be in a hurry to get away either.

Clouds were starting to build up around us, and we made our way downhill as fast as our weary legs would take us. We feasted at dinner that night, bemoaning the fact that we were headed home the next day. Our little island in the sky had been a great escape for the long weekend, and we weren’t looking forward to another eleven hour drive the next day.

Centroid

On the way home, we had daylight to appreciate the beauty and genuine weirdness of central Nevada. Random signs announcing the location of nothing in particular dotted the roadside. We crossed the old Pony Express trail at one point and, as we neared the Naval installation at Fallon, we passed a sign that pointed to the Naval Centroid Facility. The what? We scanned the horizon and saw nothing but sagebrush and a few nondescript buildings in the distance. Somebody thought it was important to point this out; something in the middle of nothing. A little bit like Wheeler Peak and Great Basin National Park.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in September, 2007 (or thereabouts).

Standing sentinel over the Tioga Pass area, Mount Dana casts an impressive profile for all who pass through the eastern reaches of Yosemite National Park. The route to her lofty summit is a no-bullshit affair; the trail climbs well over three-thousand vertical feet in just four miles. It is a must-do for any Yosemite regular, offering unrivaled views and a good physical challenge.

We had this hike on our list for a number of years before it reached the top of the batting order in August of 2006. An early morning start from San Francisco found us blazing through the Yosemite high country in the wee hours of the morning. Apparently, we were blazing a bit too fast, as I got pulled over for going 10 MPH over the limit around Tuolumne Meadows. I’m convinced the Yosemite Bear Project sticker on our back window saved my butt, and the ranger let me go with a stern warning. We grabbed a campsite in Lee Vining Canyon and spent Saturday doing a couple of warm-up hikes. A hike to the top of Lembert Dome offered unspoiled views of Tuolumne Meadows and our goal for the following day, Mount Dana. On our way back to camp we solicited a bit of route-finding advice from a seasoned ranger at the Tioga Pass station. He pointed out a few landmarks on the upper reaches of the peak and wished us well.

We woke early on Sunday and broke camp while it was dark. The air was still bitter cold when we hit the trail. We made our way through Dana Meadow and began the long, slow climb up countless switchbacks. The hike reminded me of the slog up the lower reaches of Mount Shasta: one rocky switchback after another, terribly slow progress, and a goal that seemed no closer with every step. We took ample breaks and were amazed by at least two specimens who jogged past us en route to the summit. The last portion of the hike is a Class 2 scramble with an indiscriminate number of routes up the rocky slope. We got a bit off course and found some exciting views along the exposed northwest ridge of the mountain. We got ourselves back on course and reached the summit by mid-morning. At 13,057 feet, Mount Dana is the second tallest mountain in Yosemite National Park, but views from the summit were second to none. The entirety of the Mono Basin lay at our feet and the spiny backbone of the Yosemite High Country drifted south toward the giants of the High Sierra.

We took our time up top, signing the summit log, eating snacks and taking photos. We weren’t looking forward to the hike down, but before long we started the reverse slog back to the car. As we approached Dana Meadow, we passed a number of groups who looked ill-prepared for such a hike. One woman exclaimed, “Well, it must stop going up at some point. I really wish they put in more switchbacks.” No problem, Honey, it levels off just ahead, right around 13,000 feet. We got back to the car and knew there was only one way to finish the day. Ice cream sandwiches from the Tuolumne store brought smiles to our faces and closure to another beautiful Yosemite weekend.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in October, 2006 (or thereabouts).

Eric is a reluctant mountaineer.

His childhood in Oregon’s Willamette Valley offered ample opportunity for time outside: picking blackberries, fishing for trout, chucking dirt clods and the like. His family took regular trips to Tokatee Lake, and Cousin Jeff was a willing partner for adventures of every kind. The latter days of his adolescence found him applying his natural gifts as an athlete—blazing nine-patterns down the gridiron and tossing up three-pointers for the South Albany Rebels. Although new priorities emerged during college (namely girls, beer and football), it was his migration south, to the paved-over landscape of San Francisco, that completed his degeneration into a bona fide city dweller. Corporate job. Convenient bus routes. Twenty-three restaurants in a two-block radius. The transformation suits him fine. His wife is very understanding. A Northwest native herself, Jen spends her Saturdays bouncing from yoga class to surf break, casually asserting herself over her urban trappings. Eric, meanwhile, is content (nay, positively delighted) to spend his day on the couch, tracking twelve different college football games on three screens.

This is why I found it so surprising that he was one of the first to sign on as I organized a group climb in the High Sierra. It helped that OSU had a bye that weekend, and I’m sure Jen offered more than a little encouragement. Mount Langley is not the most majestic summit in the Sierra. Nor is it a technically challenging climb. Sitting just four miles south of Mt. Whitney, it is usually overlooked by the casual explorer. The twenty-two mile round-trip hike to the summit requires a bit of commitment or a friend like me who is willing to gloss over the details.

Jody and I were repeat visitors to Langley, the memory of our 2004 escapade still fresh in our minds. Neither Jen nor Eric had spent any time in the High Sierra. Climbing a fourteener is certainly one way to get your feet wet. We made a three-day weekend of it. An all-night drive on Friday was quickly followed by a six-mile hike into the Cottonwood Lakes Basin. After setting up camp, most of Saturday was spent napping, eating and checking out the line over Old Army Pass. The Cottonwood Lakes Basin is a stunning slice of the Sierra Nevada. I harbored a wish that spending the weekend in such a great locale would get Eric & Jen stoked for future trips. Were it not for the slag heap that is Mount Langley, I’d have more confidence in this outcome.

We woke early on Sunday and cooked a hot breakfast before leaving camp. The most challenging part of the climb came early as we made our way up and over Old Army Pass. Once we reached the pass, our goal was more visible. We took it slow, stopping every few minutes to catch our breath and “consider the view.” Despite tired legs and heavy breathing, we kept moving, one foot in front of the other. Eric looked haggard like the rest of us, but never once complained. Steady progress made up for a bit of misdirection that found us scrambling through some Class 2 sections of rock. Past the worst of it, Eric took more interest in the route-finding and studied the map every time we stopped. Our wobbly legs pushed us to the top around noon, and we enjoyed the views from the 14,026 foot summit. I pointed out the craggy summit of Mount Whitney, just four miles to the north, hoping Eric & Jen would show some interest in another trip next year. Of course, aligning the Mount Whitney lottery system with the OSU football schedule is easier said than done.

The hike down was uneventful until Eric twisted his knee with just a half mile to go. He took a pair of trekking poles and walked gingerly back to camp. That night we celebrated our success with freeze-dried lasagna, box wine, and dark chocolate. As the sunlight faded from the summit of Mount Langley, so did the burning in our lungs and the soreness of our legs. My friend Eric was in good spirits as we toasted our success. I’m proud of him, and I hope our trip offered a taste of his past, a bit of adventure for the skinny kid from Albany.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in October, 2006 (or thereabouts).

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: Jody is a damn good sport. How many wives would wake up at 5:30 AM to pose for photographs in the early-morning cold, wearing next to nothing, all while being eaten alive by a thousand hungry mosquitoes? I offer, very few. Great artists make sacrifices for their work. Lesser artists marry great models who are willing to make those sacrifices on their behalf.

Labor Day weekend of 2006 found us in familiar terrain. The long weekend almost guarantees a trip over to the Mono Basin or Yosemite High Country, and this year we were looking forward to a couple of new day hikes and ample time behind the lens. We employed our patented alpine start from San Francisco and soon found ourselves sailing down Lee Vining Canyon as the sun broke over the Great Basin. It can be hard to snag a campsite in Yosemite during a holiday weekend, but Lee Vining Canyon offers several Forest Service campsites that are filled on a first-come, first-served basis. It’s a great place to stay, with easy access to the spoils of the Mono Basin, Tioga Pass and Tuolumne Meadows. We found a good campsite and eased our way into a solid three-hour nap.

Well rested, we decided to go hunting for a ditcha very special ditch, in fact. The Clover Ditch is a long-forgotten piece of Mono Basin history, but one that has special ties to Jody’s family. The relation itself has more twists and turns that Highway 120, but J.B. Clover was family, no doubt about it. And being the visionary that he was, Mr. Clover saw a great opportunity in the Mono Basin around the turn of the century. Looking to populate the area, the federal government was parceling the land around Mono Lake for homesteaders. Unfortunately, the earth around Mono Lake is about as arable as a sandbox, better suited for sage brush than any crop.

J.B. Clover noted this problem and envisioned a great irrigation ditch that would channel the clear, fresh water of the Sierra down to the Basin and around Mono Lake. He developed a plan, solicited investors and hired a crew to begin excavation for his great ditch. The steam shovel used to dig the ditch can still be found at the Schoolhouse Museum in Lee Vining. Unfortunately, Mr. Clover had the mind of a visionary, not an engineer. His plans called for a twenty-four mile ditch. They only dug twelve, and the water only made it to mile seven.

Looking at the rocky, sandy soil around Mono Lake it’s hard to believe that someone could think it would hold water. But there is no stopping the mind of a dreamer, and Mr. Clover was clearly that. Taking direction from the docent at the Schoolhouse Museum and anecdotes from Jody’s grandfather, we are pretty confident we found portions of the Clover ditch near the Mono Craters area off Highway 120 East, just south of Mono Lake. We look forward to many more trips to this area to piece together this odd and interested bit of family and California history.

Returning to camp in the early evening, we grilled up some righteous cheeseburgers and got to bed at a reasonable hour, knowing that we had an early wake-up call for our photo shoot at the Panum Crater. The shoot itself was part of an assignment for my Photo Lighting class. The assignment was titled “Amazing Light” and Mama Nature sure did deliver that morning. We took another rest day and spent the late afternoon exploring and photographing the incredible sand tufa around the Navy Beach area of Mono Lake. The sand tufa are more striking, if more subtle, than the traditional tufa around the lake, and this is the first time we had seen them. Jody was in her element, racing around the area with camera and tripod, taking photos in the warm evening light. The Whoa Nelli Deli came through with another delicious meal, and we settled down for the night.

After two days of loafing, we decided to pony up for a hike on Monday. We had planned two hikes for the weekend: one to Parker Pass and another to the Twenty Lakes Basin. We opted for the latter and were treated to a beautiful day in the Sierra. The hike to Twenty Lakes Basin starts at Saddlebag Lake, just outside the eastern boundary of Yosemite National Park. The area is very popular with fisherman. Many hikers opt for a ferry ride across Saddlebag Lake to cut three or four miles off the round-trip mileage. We took the long route and hiked around the rocky shore of the lake. A bit of climbing puts you over Lundy Pass and into the Twenty Lakes Basin proper. The area is stunning, dotted with a number small lakes (twenty, perhaps?) and fenced-in by massive peaks. A short loop through the area offers countless views and at least one tricky snow-field crossing. We took lunch along the shore of Steelhead Lake and admired the massive profile of North Peak. The hike back was slow, but we were treated to a front-row view of Mount Dana, our conquest from the weekend before.

The familiar drive home lulled us into a sense of relaxation. From one home, we return to the other.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in September, 2006 (or thereabouts).

A cold wind passes through us as the volcanic gravel underfoot crunches with every step. We are the only people for miles. Standing at the edge of an ancient crater on a moonless night, we can feel the void below us. Beneath a blanket of stars, we pour the champagne and wish the world and each other a Happy New Year.

Our holiday road trip was a last-minute idea. Jody’s office was closed for the holidays and my six-month hiatus from the working world didn’t end until January 3. We had no solid plans for New Years and we were anxious to spend some time outside.

Despite our hopes for a powder-laden romp through the mountains, a nasty, wet storm chased us up and over the Sierra. From Kirkwood to Mono Lake to Mammoth and Bishop; wherever we traveled the rain seemed to follow. Typically, we love winter storms – the bigger the better. Big, funky maelstroms that blow in from the Pacific and pound the Sierra with loads of snow; the stuff epic powder days are made of. Unfortunately, the snow level was hovering around 8,000 feet. When the snow looks like Slurpee and the Gore-Tex is begging for mercy, even the faithful begin looking for alternatives. This is how we found ourselves bouncing down 45 miles of washboard dirt road with a car full of ski equipment, bound for the northern reaches of Death Valley National Park.

We fell in love with Death Valley just six months earlier, on our first trip to the park. On that trip we focused our limited time around the most popular spots in the Furnace Creek area – Badwater, Zabriskie Point, etc. As we traveled along the road from Big Pine, we decided this trip would focus on the northern part of the park. We grabbed a campsite at Mesquite Flat and spend the next three days exploring in earnest.

The highlight of the trip was probably our excursion to Racetrack Playa, a geological oddity buried deep within the park’s interior. The 35-mile dirt road to The Racetrack is littered with hazards: deep ruts, big rocks, and ample washboard. The recommended mode of transport is high-clearance, short-wheelbase, 4-wheel-drive. But once again Jody expertly navigated through the junk, and the Subaru delivered us safely.

Racetrack Playa is a dry lake bed, about two miles long by one mile wide. The perfectly flat surface of the playa is broken up near the northern end by a stretch of craggy rocks, known as The Grandstand. The main attraction, however, lies at the other end of the lake bed, where thousands of rocks have tumbled down the cliffs that rim the edge of the playa. After large storms, the playa can flood, creating a very soft mud. If wind conditions are just right, the rocks will sail along the playa floor, leaving deeply-grooved tracks in their wake. Since nobody has actually observed the phenomenon, theories abound.

Our time at the Racetrack was short but exciting. We spent about an hour walking around and photographing the surreal landscape. Just as we were packing up our cameras, a storm swept through the canyon, delivering wind and hail – reminding us that we could run, but we could not hide. The storm broke up as we drove back to camp and the filtered light made the stands of Joshua Trees and flowering cacti a sight to behold.

The rest of our time in the park was low-key. We toured Scotty’s Castle at night and rang in the New Year on the edge of the Ubehebe Crater. It isn’t often that you find a way to celebrate a spoiled ski trip, but our unplanned trip to Death Valley was a real treat – a special way to spend a short winter break.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in December, 2005 (or thereabouts).

Immediately following my resignation from IRI, most of my thoughts were consumed with some nerve-wracking questions: How am I going to find a new job? What do I want to do with my life? How will I get health insurance? In general, there was a lot of gut checking, self worth questioning, and general worrying about what was around the bend. I left IRI without another job lined up – acknowledging that some decompression time was in order and a clear head would be necessary to think about my career direction.

I’m actually surprised that it took me as long as it did to realize that I was going to have quite a bit of free time on my hands. It wasn’t long before I decided to spend a few days by myself outside. When I first started backpacking in college, I didn’t know anyone else that was interested – so all my trips were solo affairs. I now refer to these as the pre-Benson years. It had been probably eight years and 20+ trips since I hit the trail by myself. And while I knew I would miss Jody (the greatest wife, trail partner, and bed warmer on God’s green earth), I was actually looking forward to going it alone this time.

Driving through King’s Canyon NP on my way to the Road’s End trailhead, I started to get concerned about the amount of smoke in the air. It hung heavy over the canyon, choking out the views and filtering the morning light into an eerie orange glow. When I arrived at the trailhead, I was relieved to find out that, despite the copious smoke, the fires were rather small and nowhere near my planned route. I grabbed my permit, dialed in my pack and hit the trail as soon as possible; not quite sure how my neglected body was going to respond to a long day on the trail.

Hiking In – Paradise Valley

Starting at 5,000′ amidst the sequoias, the hike up to Paradise Valley was beautiful. With my back to the towering presence of the Sphinx, I slowly climbed along the Kings River, passing Mist Falls en route. Once I reached Lower Paradise Valley, the trail leveled off, but the final three miles to Upper Paradise sure did seem to drag. Once there, I found a nice campsite and promptly met an intrepid soul named Camilla – a teacher from Washington D.C. who used to work at Kings Canyon NP. She too was hiking alone, but her itinerary put mine to shame. While I was taking five or six days to complete the loop, she would do it in four with a large cross-country “short cut” through the interior. That evening I also met Chuck and Paul, a father and son pair from Lake County whom I would hang out with most nights for the rest of the trip.

I was up and on the trail early Wednesday morning. I had been toying with the idea of trying to knock out the hike in four days and this was the best day to swallow a double dose of trail miles. After six or seven miles of hiking, I arrived at Woods Creek Crossing and laid to rest my plans for a four day trip. I just didn’t have it in me to pull off a long day. And why the hell was I in such a hurry? The weight of my pack had been a major frustration from day one. I was accustomed to splitting some of the camp gear with Jody and my efforts to leave some weight at home didn’t seem to have a major effect.

I spent my afternoon soaking in the cool water of Woods Creek and taking naps in my tent. I photographed every detail of the suspension trail bridge for my bridge-engineer father-in-law. I was now camped along the Pacific Crest Trail and John Muir Trail, so hiker traffic was a little higher. I met a collection of salty old hikers that put my knowledge of the Sierra to shame. It seemed they could name every pass, lake, mountain, and trailhead in the High Sierra. It gave me a glimpse of what I would probably be like in another twenty-five years.

On to The Rae Lakes

Thursday morning came early and I was on the trail by 7AM. Despite the short distance, the seven mile hike to Rae Lakes wore me down, much like the day before. I took plenty of breaks along the trail and enjoyed the view as Fin Dome and Painted Lady grew larger in front of me. Crossing the 10,000 foot mark felt good as well, knowing that Friday would be my last day with any climbing. Every morning my pack felt a bit lighter, and I looked forward to a cool soak after each day of hiking. I found a nice campsite along the trail near the Rae Lakes and spent my long afternoon taking photos and trying to guess the route up and over Glen Pass.

The Rae Lakes region is pretty deep – at least a two day hike for an average hiker. I definitely got the sense that I wasn’t close to anywhere, but the regular foot traffic reminded me that I was also in one of the most popular sections of the High Sierra. It’s heartening to see so many like-minded people enjoying the mountains, investing the time and effort to see this area. The Rae Lakes, while crowded, offer a beautiful setting to chill out and soak up the high mountain vibe.

Up and Over Glen Pass

I broke camp early on Friday morning, hoping to get up and over Glen Pass (11,978′) before the sun climbed too high. I paced myself on the hike over the pass, knowing that I should take some time to enjoy the view. The switchbacks up the craggy pass proved challenging, but I topped out before long and spent some time up top soaking it all up – the granite, the glaciers, the lakes – damn the Sierra is beautiful.

I made good time coming down the backside of Glen Pass. I felt strong, and by the time I got to Vidette Meadow I started having more thoughts about finishing up in four days, which would have required a twenty mile day with fifteen hundred feet of climbing and seven thousand feet of descending. The next three miles cured me of that idea as I dropped another fifteen hundred feet over three miles in the blazing sun. By the time I dropped my pack at Junction Meadow, I was quite certain that five days was a much more reasonable goal. I was busted down, broken, and thoroughly dehydrated. I matched my personal best from day 1 of the hike and drank eight liters of water over the course of the day.

One Last Night on the Trail

Before long I was joined in camp by Chuck and Paul, who proved again to be good company. Shortly after setting up camp, we met guy who had just hiked up from Roads End. He worked for Sequoia as a bear technician and was heading to Center Basin to investigate some aggressive bears that had been charging hikers. I was totally interested by this guy’s job, and he explained that most of his time was spent in the front country dealing with bears that pester people around the big campgrounds and picnic areas. In those situations he has a partner and a rifle with rubber bullets. In the backcountry all he has is a can of pepper spray and a slingshot. His plan was to track this bear down and basically haze it until it’s scared of him. I’ve gotta give the guy credit – he’s got balls. He was also testing some prototype bear canisters for Ursack. Over the course of the summer he had already tallied 150+ bear sightings. I, on the other hand, hadn’t seen a bear yet on this hike, which is pretty rare in this part of the Sierra.

Breaking down camp for the last time on Saturday morning, I was eager to complete the hike, but sad that it was all coming to an end. I had really enjoyed myself, but I missed my girl and was anxious to re-acquaint myself with a fresh pair of boxers. Speaking of dirty, I passed my fair share of Fresno locals on the way down that could stand to meet the business end of a bar of soap – “Pool or pond. Pond would be good for you.” (Whoa – cheap shot!) Despite the steep descent, the miles clicked by pretty fast and I was back at my car by noon. I said goodbye to Chuck and Paul and settled in for the long drive back to San Francisco.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in September, 2005 (or thereabouts).