PRITCHARD LIFE

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).

Point Reyes is one of our favorite places to escape our work schedules and enjoy some time together. The days leading into this weekend away were especially hectic for both of us, and we took advantage of the time to relax and check out from our wired worlds.

We started our trip at the Point Reyes Youth Hostel and hiked along the Laguna Trail to the shores of the Pacific Ocean. Coast Camp, the home of our very first night in the backcountry together in 2001, was bustling with young families and giggling toddlers playing hide and seek. This camp seems ideal for introducing kids to backpacking since it’s a short walk with no elevation gain and right on the beach – perfect for sand castles and treasure hunts. We continued on the Coast Trail all the way to Arch Rock and then down the Bear Valley Trail. We were trying to maximize the length our hike to prepare for some upcoming trips.

Since we know Point Reyes well, we also wanted to explore some new trails. We tried Baldy trail for the first (and likely last) time as a route up to camp. It was completely overgrown with weeds, but we managed to whack our way through on up the side of Mt. Wittenberg to Sky Camp. Then we crashed. Matt and I hardly uttered ten words that afternoon between our nap schedules. We woke up for dinner just in time to enjoy a beautiful sunset and watch the fog slowly climb uphill.

The fog stayed overnight and provided a cool and quiet companion for our walk home Sunday morning. Along the way we stumbled on a grove of trees loaded with snoozing caterpillars in their cocoons. A closer look revealed thousands and thousands of these cocoons lined up in rows on the tree branches. Apparently we weren’t the only ones looking to Point Reyes for some down time and a little beauty rest.

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