More Summer Memories - Backpacking in Yosemite

After the wedding we had a few busy weeks to prepare for my husband's retirement ceremony, find a house, and prep to move. We also had more than one last hoorah moment to mark the end of our time in Coronado. First, I snuck in a last backpacking trip in Yosemite with three friends, which was a much needed respite from all the weight of decision making.  I'm glad we made the commitment early enough in the year to have the time set aside, or it would have been pushed aside by other plans.  We didn't make a decision about where we were going until we walked out the door - leaving a note for the husbands about where to look for us if we didn't return in three days - although it was tempting to stay longer, just keep on hiking.  This indecision was all on me as the organizer. I was tempted to try a new trail, but we were all novice to intermediate backpackers, middle aged women in decent shape, but short on time. I wanted to go someplace that would be beautiful and moderately challenging but not too crowded and not too challenging and not too far away and not too boring. This hike to Young Lakes and Glen Aulin High Sierra camp was just right, even though I had been to Tuolumne Meadows a couple times. Sometimes going wiht a known thing is the perfect choice when with companions. 

We got a bit of a late start, leaving on a Friday midmorning and arriving around 3:30 to the National Park. I had scored a reservation just in case, and after checking in with the rangers, getting our leave no trace and avoid the bears talk, resetting our gear, and finding the trailhead, it was 5 pm before we started - leaving us just under 3 hours to hike 6 miles to the camp. Good thing it was around the summer solstice, so the sun set late. Two miles an hour is fairly easy on flat terrain without a 35 pound pack on your back, but I was worried about making it to the camp. The first mile was pretty steep before we hit a more gradual and scenic trail. Every turn in the trail revealed a different spectacle - light through the redwoods, a babbling creek through a wildflower streaked meadow, a vista of a granite peak. My one friend told me she didn't think she was going to make it, until about 3 miles in, when she found her stride and the views erased thoughts of discomfort. I was prepared to stop at the four mile point where the trail to the camp split off, even though it wasn't a designated area because I didn't want to be a drill sargeant. Happily, we reached that fork in the trail in good time, and although the sun was setting as we arrived at the campground, exhausted but exhilarated, we had just enough time to pop our tents up before dark. A ranger was out and about to check our permit and to point us in the right way. I suspect he had been radioed by the rangers at the check in gate, who probably alerted him to our late start. Seeing as we hadn't seen anyone else on the trail all evening, he must have been waiting for us. We had him take our photo before he mountain goated over boulders back to his secret camping spot.  We ate by solar lantern, nearly frozen, and lay down early to sleep - 2 to a tent. (Two of us carried bear boxes full of food, and two of us lugged the tents - a nice way to distribute the load.)

In the morning we woke to a glorious sunrise over a glacial lake. After a quick oatmeal breakfast - love Jetboils - we hiked up to the highest of the three lakes in this string of mountain lakes. The third was surrounded by a beautiful meadow reminiscent of where Julie Andrews first serenades the Alps in The Sound of Music. It would have been a great place to camp were it not for the hordes of mosquitoes.  We saw about 3 groups of other hikers all morning, and so had this mountain beauty practically to ourselves. 

After this trek, we returned to the main trail that connects to the Pacific Crest trail and headed northwest to the Glen Aulin Camp.  This trail was more heavily trafficed, but not as crowded as it would have been in pre-pandemic times. I know the permitting rule in the National Parks was a pain this summer, but it did provide for a more enjoyable experience without the crowds. This hike was longer - closer to eight miles, but we had all day and a nice long break for lunch. Glen Aulin is an established campground for PCT through-hikers, of which we talked to a few. One middle-aged couple just decided to sell all their stuff and hike for six months. They said they'll figure out what to do next at the end of the trail. I have been thinking about them...  Anyway, Glen Aulin has designated spots, unlike at Young Lake, where you can camp anywhere 100 yrds from the lakes, and it had a pit toilet, with toilet paper and a line.  The Tuolumne River cascaded over rocks into a good sized swimming hole here, perhaps deeper in non-drought times, but although some hikers had braved the freezing water, we were too chilled to do more than wade up to our knees.  My own knee was taped up because of patellar tendonitis I had been fighting for weeks, but it didn't flare up during the hike, thanks to the PT prior, the tape, and the hiking poles for support. 

I may have been a bit of a drill sargeant on this evening when I pushed our little group up to a higher camp off by itself, but it was worth the effort because it was right on the edge of a cliff that provided a natural amphitheater for watching the moon rise - the perfect spot for eating our dehydrated soups. A lesson : we packed way too much food, overestimating our hunger, which was stifled by the effort and the altitude.  But the hot tea at the end of the evening was an especial pleasure. 

The third day was the hike back to civilization - it was begun in high spirits and ended with slowing steps. None of us was ready to end our time on the trail. Although we covered over 20 miles, it seemed too short.  We resolved to try to do this again, maybe yearly, maybe just once more, but it was so, so restful, despite the physical labor. Part of the fun was having the right companions - we all were about the same pace and no one was too set on a certain plan.  And the weather was glorious, as was the setting, and the season. Looking over these photos is almost painful as I miss the friends and the places that we left behind.

A trip to the desert

We made a quick getaway to the desert to hike a couple weeks ago.  The trail was nearly deserted - appropriately.  I saw 3 people on a five mile hike.  It was hot - temps near 100 - but the warm sun felt glorious after the tepid temps near the ocean. The coast is in the season of "May gray, June gloom" when morning fog lingers till noon. The best season for beach trips to our area is really February, I think, or late fall. Although the beaches are open again, the air is cool and damp and not really pleasant for sunbathing - even if the lifeguards weren't driving trucks up and down with their megaphones blaring "Keep moving. Beaches are for walking, jogging, and exercising. Please keep moving."

The area we visited is near Palm Springs, which we have never visited.  In my past life, the desert was not a place I had any interest in visiting. My visions of it were formed by Coyote and Road Runner cartoons, and it crossed my mind on this trip that those Warner Brothers executives probably spent some time  in the area where we were hiking.  People go to Palm Springs from the coast to soak up sunshine and sit by pools with cocktails. Mid-Century modern style is synonymous with the vacation homes of Bob Hope, the Presleys, the Gabor sisters, and the Reagans, among other celebrities from LA who spent weekends entertaining out here. I have never really been into celebrity homes - writers' homes, saints' homes, yes - nor am I usually a sit by the pool and drink cocktails in a glamorous bathing suit sort of person (coffee in workout clothes, yes), but I do share the desire to be warm and to enjoy the open spaces and the surprisingly brilliant blooms of the desert landscape.

 The change of scenery and the escape to the "country" was a welcome break, even if brief. It felt like we were a million miles away from the Covid world, although the other hikers did have bandannas and made the quick effort to cover mouths or step aside on the trail.  I like the bandanna option for masking while exercising because it is lightweight and breathable, but seems to cover the face better than the neck gaiters, which I wore and which are thin and roll up. I actually have 2 of the Buff running headband/neck gaiters - I always used them as headbands that double as ear warmers in cool weather rather than a scarf, but I'm sure if we lived in cold weather areas, I would have loved them as a scarf. I have vivid memories of ice forming on my scarves as my breath froze while running when we lived north of Chicago.  We lived near a forest preserve where I would run frequently, and I've always had a prejudice for forests over deserts, but I can see how the wide blue skies, the warmth, the privacy from people, but the company of the resilient plants and animals that persistently bloom and reproduce in seemingly hostile conditions attract the people who live in the desert (Aside from the pink and pastel homes of the celebrity retreat culture of Palm Springs, the desert has a separate subculture of people who dwell in RVs and on remote ranches off the grid and free from the judgement of popular culture).  As we walked, I felt a fondness for this place growing as I snapped photos of the vistas and the rainbow hued blooms. Although I still don't see myself sitting poolside at a Palm Springs resort, I think I could spend a few days exploring the trails and basking in the sun and enjoying the blooms of late spring.

We imitated the lizards - soaking up the sun on rocks.

Best outhouse view ever.

Nicest outhouse ever.

Prickly Pear in yellow

One hour later. By evening its life was over.

Prickly pear in pink

Barrel cactus in yellow.

View of the golf course in the distance. A lot of water must be needed to keep it green.

The bees loved this blooming tree

Palo verde

We saw and heard an abundance of birds. Finally saw the California quail in a tree.

Brittlebush

The cholla cactus. I didn't get a photo of the ocotillo blooming, but the theme of the day was Cactus ID. I knew the names of about five times; we saw several others. 

More Mountains

John Muir is trending right now - and has been for a few years. You can get t-shirts, mugs, stickers, hats, etc., that say "John Muir is my homeboy" or various iterations of quotes from his writings such as "The mountains are calling and I must go" or "Into the forest I go to lose my mind and find my soul" or "Of all the paths you take, make sure some of them are dirt."  As the secular patron saint of the Sierras and of outdoors people everywhere, he is invoked frequently in discussions about national parks and conservation, and his name appears on trails, mountain passes, and entire chunks of wilderness. The increase in the number of people spending time outdoors hiking, camping, and instagramming means more people are learning about John Muir and joining his fan club.

I hate to be a trend follower, but I have to admit I am one of them. Although I had a vague familiarity with John Muir and imagined him as a sort of western Thoreau when I was younger, it has only been recently that I have actually read more of his work.  His writing can be really flowery and effusive, so I haven't actually finished an entire book of his, but I have set about reading more essays and excerpts and biographical information, especially for my class.

This weekend I went to pick up my brother and two nieces when they finished hiking the John Muir Trail, which runs 200+ miles through the Sierras from Yosemite to Mt. Whitney.  Seeing Muir's name everywhere made me reflect on the power of writing to effect political change.  Muir didn't have the wealth or connections that most lobbyists and special interest groups today have behind their campaigns. He just had his paper, pen and his passion for trees and mountains, and some incredible stories. And his timing was good: a naturalist happened to be president at a key moment. Muir's understanding of the need for federal protection of wild spaces providentially coincided with Teddy Roosevelt's presidency.  Perhaps land conservation was the zeitgeist of the moment then, and lots of people were talking about it, but it was Muir's words and actions that captured people's imagination and resulted in wilderness memorials in his name.

At any rate, much gratitude is owed to these far-sited individuals for preserving these lands and making them accessible to the people, although accessible is a relative word here. Much of the JMT is not accessible to your average person. You have to get one of the limited permits for the few months that the trail is not completely covered in snow, and have the will and the fitness and the leisure time to access the trail, which my brother and his girls had. I happily agreed to be his shuttle at the beginning and the end in exchange for the excuse to spend some time in the mountains myself.

As with all best-laid plans, the original plan shifted a bit. I had wanted to meet my brother a few days from the end and finish the hike with him and the girls, but the closest access to the trail's end is Kearsarge Pass, which is still almost 50 miles from the end and has almost 12000 ft of elevation gain. In other words, it is still a 3-4 day journey, and I didn't have that much time. So my second oldest and I settled on a 2 day hike up to the pass and over and around some lakes (about 20 miles), followed by a short hike up Mt Whitney on Monday morning to meet my brother and the girls at the end of their three week trek, like I did when I picked my son and his friends when they finished the JMT two years ago. I texted this to my brother, even though I wasn't sure he would have any spots of service, packed up quickly (had to borrow a bear canister, extra hiking poles, and water purifying tabs from my friend), and set off. I had a permit for one night of wilderness camping from the online reservation system and planned to get a second night from the walk-up counter at the ranger station, which didn't happen. Technically, we were included on my brother's permit to be on the JMT because he applied for a permit for 5, since I hiked a bit at the beginning and because we had talked about meeting up with him.

I was a little worried about not having the second night's permit, but as it turned out it didn't matter. When we were about 2/3rds of the way to the top of the pass, here came my brother and his two girls! Surprise! They had realized they weren't going to be able to make it down Mt. Whitney by Monday because they were running out of food, time, and toilet paper. Rain had slowed them down, and they had to make the decision to exit the trail at Kearsarge, resupply and try to get in touch with me.  Surprisingly, my brother had checked his phone service access at the pass's apex, as others had said sometimes people get service on the passes.  So he saw my message and knew we would be there, providentially.

After the joy of the serendipitous meeting, we came up with a new plan. They wanted to continue into town and sleep in a hotel and resupply, but my younger niece still wanted to try to climb Mt Whitney, at 14, 500 ft the highest mountain in the continental US, and a big draw for JMT hikers.  It's a bucket list mountain for many people. I still wanted to camp and hike. So I passed on the keys to the car, and my son and I continued up to a glacial lake, where we spent the night peacefully under the stars, lulled to sleep by a waterfall, exhausted by the morning's long drive and the afternoon's hike - which wasn't long, only 4 miles, but was all up.  We stopped often to take photos of the views and of the profuse wildflowers.  In the morning, I finished the hike to the pass (5 miles up to 11700ft), where I had a beautiful view of the meadow and lakes below, although the hike itself was more arduous than I anticipated because of the elevation gain and altitude.  Now I need to plan the return trip to actually descend and hike around them.  I ate a snack while admiring the view, chatted a moment with another hiker (camaraderie on the trail another feature drawing people out), and then turned around to careen down the mountain in time to meet the rest of the family group at the trailhead at the appointed time.

From there we drove to the Mt Whitney trailhead to hike the 11 miles up and 11 miles down over a day and a half - as it was almost noon when we started.  We were a little apprehensive about our permit because it was a JMT permit which allows hikers to ascend from the west side and exit on the east, whereas we were going to start and finish on the east side.  The first 2 miles of trail are open to anyone without a permit, and when we reached Lone Pine Lake at this two miles spot without meeting any rangers, we thought we were good to continue.

And continue we did. The Whitney trail is a long climb up. The difficulty of the trail is relieved by mountain vistas, groves of sequoias, waterfall crossings and hundreds of wildflowers and birds. We saw a grouse family and a couple deer, lots of chipmunks and squirrels. At mile four, we stopped at the Outpost campground for a rest and snack by a lake. Then we planned to continue up to mile six to the Trail camp to spend the night before arising before dawn to ascend the last five miles to the peak for sunrise, followed by 11 miles downhill back to the car. We figured it would take 12-15 hours to do this, so we were going to start at 4. By this time, my son was lagging, having done nothing to prepare for this hike. I, too, was feeling exhausted, having already hiked 7 miles to the pass and down that morning, and not having done a lot of hiking with a pack beforehand either.  My brother and the girls started off, while I waited for my son. Once he was ready to go again, we agreed to hike at our own pace and meet at the camp.

Those last two miles were hard. I am a pretty fit person, but I was huffing and puffing. The air was thinner, as we were at about 11000+ feet. My thighs were crying. The light was shifting as the sun started going down.  The trail got smaller and changed from sandy gravel to granite. A couple of times I was unsure where to go as the trail crossed over boulders. Then when I thought I was within half a mile or so from the camp, I ran into a couple who told me it was still 1 mile or 2 away. I wanted to cry.  I doubted my ability to do another one, let alone FIVE, miles up the next morning.  Here I realized how much of mountain hiking is mental. On the trail you see all types of people, old and young. I wonder about the older folks, but as I dragged myself along those last few yards, I realized mountain climbers need more stamina and determination than fitness.

Finally, I could see the lake nestled among mountain ridges where the trail camp was located. With relief, I begin to hike to the crest of the final ridge, but over the top came my brother and the two girls. When they reached the camp, two rangers had met them and turned them back because their permit was to exit this trail. They told the rangers the story about running out of time and food on the JMT, but the rangers were unsympathetic.  My younger niece burst into tears at this news. My brother said he wanted to punch the guy.  He asked if he came in from the other side if he could stay, since it was the exit side, but the rangers weren't budging, except to say that we could camp at the outpost camp if we felt unsafe finishing the hike down in the dark. Once we turned around our permit was legal, so we did decide to stay at the outpost camp, since it would have been 9 or 10 pm before we reached the trailhead, and then we would have a five hour drive back to San Diego.

In my heart, I was a little relieved, although to have come so far and get turned back was hugely disappointing. The reality of a 15-16 mile hike the next day was not appealing, really, although I know if we had done it, the result would be exhilarating. And I'm pretty sure we could have done it, even if we had to stop and rest a lot, even though I was anxious about the snow and effort. As we hiked down the next morning, I wondered if I really want to come back to ascend the mountain someday.  At one switchback, I would think, next year I'm putting in for a permit. At another switchback, I would think, "Why, why, why endure the pain?" I would definitely return to Kearsarge pass and do that trip again, if I can find the time.  And reviewing these photos brings back the scent of pine and sage, the expansive views that expand your heart, the wonder of all the wildflowers, and not the memories of pain - a little like labor and birth. The memories are of the joy.  Hiking is addictive, and as my running days are limited, I can see doing more camping and backpacking, even with our youngest who loves camping at this point in her life.

The devotion to John Muir's words about being drawn to the forests and mountains may be cliche, but it's completely understandable because the setting arouses the same feelings in most people, I imagine. The mountains are calling.  The forests do heal the soul.

Waterfall at Onion Valley, the trailhead for Kearsarge pass

Looking toward Lone Pine

Trees growing on and over granite.

I wish I could photograph wildflowers, such as this Indian paintbrush, better. 

Thanks, John Muir

Tiny trout lilies

Mountain columbine

Near the top of the falls.

Um, I love this place.

Matlock lake

Bradley or Matlock lake

Camping near flower lake

Mountain heather? 

Not sure of this pretty pink flower

Another glacial lake near the pass

Heart Lake

More mariposa lilies

Entering on the Mt Whitney trail

Snow on the trail, about 5 miles up

Near the Outpost camp

In other news we dog sat. A portrait of the dog lying down and a song to sing

Visiting the Nat History to see a copy of Audubon's Birds of America

And bad news: we have to get a new car. Our son was rear-ended and the car is totaled. He was fine, thankfully

The other guy