Weekly Tramp

Going Live

 
Hello, and welcome.  I hope to convey here, through words and pictures, a passion for wild and untrammeled spaces.  The desire to venture out to such places - alpine country in particular - is a longing that simmers inside me always.  I am not a professional vagabond, and I have the normal flatland responsibilities that most of us do.  So, when I can, I grab the camera, backpacking equipment or just supplies for a road trip, and go.

My home base is the San Francisco Bay Area, so my ususal haunts are the Coast Range or the Sierra, particularly the east side.  I have backpacked for 50 years, twice down the John Muir Trail.  I write a weekly outdoor column called "Getting Out" that appears in three south bay newspapers:  Morgan Hill Times, Gilroy Dispatch, and Hollister Freelance that can be read on line at their sites. 

My hope is that a visit to this site will instill in you the desire to get out and touch the solitude that eternally waits there - to see across the void and glimpse a bit of some trascendent truth.  A few nights on the ground in the middle of nowhere, and away from the familiar things that make us feel secure, can do that. 

Just You

A manic rush of hail drummed the ground sheet we pulled over our heads as temporary shelter against the sudden cloudburst.  My son and I scooted under the cover of a whitebark pine, but the tree’s struggle against timberline conditions left only a few sparse branches and little protection.  

It was day 12 of our trip down the John Muir Trail, and we had not experienced a single day without rain or hail.  

Confronted with this predicament at home, we would simply step inside, take off our wet clothes, and turn up the thermostat.  Problem solved.  But in the midst of this hail storm, our shelter was rolled up in our packs.  We had wet and windy work to do before we would enjoy warmth and comfort.      

I truly believe that moments like this in the wilderness - truly alone, where one's hold on basic comforts is so tenuous - change a person in a profound way.  In our day-to-day lives, we face few situations that are elemental – where our resourcefulness and ingenuity can mean the difference between life and death. 

We venture into nature to see the world just made.  Out there is deafening silence, staggering beauty, and restorative peace – maybe even a glimpse across the transcendent void.  But we also get a chance to test ourselves against the challenges that a powerful and indifferent force can summon.  Get through a fearful crisis in the middle of nowhere, and watch yourself grow.  

A Privy with a View

Gotta go? Well, here's a privy that strikes out on convenience, but has a fine view.

Part of Pinnacles National Monument, Chalone Peak is not visibile from the park's day use area, but it is an imposing site when viewed from the Salinas Valley near Soledad and King City. Look for it's bulky pyramid and secondary peak east of Highway 101 when you travel through. That's a fire lookout on top.

It's a nine-mile round trip and a 2,000-foot climb from Bear Gulch to Chalone Peak, but the gentle gradient and the cool weather of winter take most of the bite out of those numbers. And the view from the top is breathtaking. All the world seems to be beneath your feet.

Air quality was poor on this visit, but another time when things were clear, Monterey Bay, even the Moss Landing stacks, were crisp on the horizon.

Go before it gets hot. And visit what must be a contender for world's best view from a privy.

 

Path of the Padres

When I first heard about the Path of the Padres trips, I was skeptical.  They are given by California State Parks people at a site near Los Banos.  I've been to Los Banos.  How great can the trip be?

Fabulous, it turns out.  Tucked away in the Coast Range is an unusual and spectacular valley you'd never imagine was there.  

The trip traces a portion of the route taken by Native Americans and early missionaries from San Juan Bautista to the Central Valley.  We began by boarding a pontoon boat on Los Banos Creek Reservoir in the hills south of San Luis Reservoir that putts up to the inlet where we continued on foot.  After a couple mile walk up lovely Los Banos Creek, we stopped for lunch before turning back.  Our guide made us welcome to climb the hill above the creek for a view farther up the valley.  He failed to mention the majesty of what we would see.

The Diablo Range is rough corrugated country, rarely giving way to wide open spaces. But after a short steep climb up the hill, we were treated to a spectacular view of Menjoulet Canyon, an immense open breach in the hills.  Perhaps a mile wide and reaching several miles up the creek, this amazing canyon cradled a 576-acre Sycamore forest that Department of Fish and Game biologists call “the largest and most intact natural community of its kind left in California.”

Whatever its bonafides, it was staggering.

In 2012, trips will run every Saturday and Sunday from March 3 to April 29.  They will begin taking reservations on February 1 (Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, 9:00-3:00), and I understand they go fast.  Information and reservations may be made at (209) 826-1197.  I couldn't find information on the web, so if you have questions, you have to call.  Try after 1:00 pm.  Even then, it may take a call or two to get an answer. Keep trying.  It's worth it. 

Finding the Extraordinary in the Ordinary

I have written before of my special admiration of the photographs of Freeman Patterson.  Most of us believe we must travel to exotic places to make extraordinary photographs - Yosemite, Zion, and the like.  But Patterson demonstrates time and again that great photographs await us in our backyard, or for Patterson, even in his kitchen while baking cookies.

I have never been very good at it, but it is a noble goal.  Certainly it would teach us to see and appreciate the "common" sights we take for granted - to see with beginner's eyes as the Buddhists would encourage us to do. 

Motivated by Patterson's books, I walked out my back door looking to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary.  I was fairly satisfied with this shot of a poison oak bush behind my house.

I still prefer the exotic places, but this practice is like going to the gym for photographers.  It makes you stronger.

Big

I guess one of the things that keeps bringing me back to the east side of the Sierra time and again is the dizzying volume.  It's big.  In the middle of the Owens Valley, one loses all sense of distance.  Looking north and south, the landscape disappears when the curvature of the earth hides what is beyond the horizon.  East and west, peaks rise over 14,000 feet. In between, the sheer volume of open sky leaves one feeling small and insignificant, yet delighted.  

Here are a couple shots - one of Mt. Whitney and Lone Pine Peak, one of Bridgeport Valley - from my last visit.  They feebly hint at what can only be truly felt by standing there.

 

What Nature is Doing

A couple weeks ago, Dave Sellers and I set out for the eastern Sierra seeking gaudy displays of fall color.  Based on past experience, our timing should have been perfect, but nature doesn't always keep a crisp schedule.  The early storm, the changing weather - we couldn't figure it, but up high or down low, it just wasn't happening.

DeWitt Jones once told me, "If nature isn't doing what you're looking for, look for what nature is doing."  So, I started to look down rather than up, and I found this little bit of color gathered sweetly just for me.

Worries and Hopes

When my son Drew and I hiked the John Muir Trail in 2003, I worried about the worst and hoped for the best.  I got both, but from directions I didn't expect. 

Drew came reluctantly, and I worried that he would have a miserable time and lobby hard to bail out early.  He was eighteen years old and faced "issues" far beyond the normal teenage difficulties.  How would he handle twenty-one days in the wilderness with, of all people, Dad?

My hopes - I should say my expectations - were for the usual summer Sierra weather and all that comes with it: sunny days, perhaps an occasional afternoon thundershower, and sleeping under the stars. 

Drew was a fabulous companion.  We were perfectly aligned in our simple daily activities, not at odds like at home where parents enforce boundaries and children test them.  We both wanted food, comfort, and to get further down the trail.  All our efforts were toward those common ends.  We were a team.  My worry was groundless.

But where was the great Sierra summer weather?  It was lousy!!  It rained or hailed on all but six of our twenty-one days on the trail.  We waited out torrential hail and rain that was not just passing through.  We rarely spent a night under the stars.  Every night, we squeezed into a snug two-person tent, read to each other, and listened to the tapping.

The foul weather put me in a sour mood, and it was Drew who was there with a hopeful word.  That's supposed to be my job, but he proved to have the only sensible attitude about something over which we had no control.  I pouted, he comforted.  I was impressed.

So, bad weather gave me some great gifts.  Behind all of Drew's crazy behavior at home, I saw that there was a rock solid person.  And once or twice, the drenching clouds would slide apart, let some light in and dazzle.

We completed the trail fit, thinner, and still friends - maybe better friends.  My journal of the entire trip is at www.RonErskine.com.  There is a link to it on this blog.

Mountain Vista

I knew it was up there; I just hadn't taken the time to go. And I knew that sunrise would be the best time to record it, but that meant spending the night. Today I would set aside all the reasons I hadn't gone to photograph Mt. Lyell and Mt. Maclure from the Kuna Crest and go.

Above Tuolumne Meadows, on the way to Tioga Pass, is the Mono Pass trailhead. From here one can take day hikes to a variety of sights along the Sierra crest: miner's cabins, alpine lakes, Sierra bighorn sheep habitat. It's only a few miles to historic Mono Pass which drops down Bloody Canyon to the Mono Basin.

As you walk that gentle trail toward Mono Pass, the Kuna Crest is the high wall on your right. The Lyell fork of the Tuolumne River and the John Muir Trail are on the other side. At he end of the Lyell fork, Mt. Lyell and Mt. Maclure reach to over 13,000 feet. I was chasing the view of those peaks from the Kuna Crest.

I walked the Mono Pass trail for only a mile or so until Mammoth Peak (not Mammoth Mountain) was on my right. There, I turned right, left the trail, and made my way up. The sights along the way were classic alpine Sierra settings: just-born creeks twisting through high alpine meadows brightened by gardens of heather. All this sat softly beneath a steep slope of granite scree. The juxtaposition of delicate beauty and the cold indifferent rock above was striking.

I scrambled up rock, then across a snowfield to the ridgeline. Then, a short ramble to the crest.

Amid the jungle of boulders that comprised the summit, there were several flat sandy spots that would easily accomodate my sleeping bag. I rolled out, sat, and just looked. On my left, Lyell and Maclure with their bright glacier looked back at me. Straight ahead was Tuloumne Meadows and all the familiar peaks of the Cathedral Range. On my right, Tioga Pass and the Sierra crest. I sat and watched until the sun set.

The next morning, I rose in time to get my shot. I was back at the car by lunch time. The picture is a favorite, but it was one of those outings where everything was perfect, especially the sitting and looking.

Bridgeport

I love the little town of Bridgeport.  It sits in an unlikely valley, huge and perfectly flat, at the foot of the eastern escarpment of the Sierra north of Lee Vining on Highway 395.  At first glance, there’s not much there but a short 25 MPH stretch of the highway.  But the setting and the little I know about it’s history give it a special something.

This town of 575 people became the county seat of Mono County by default.  In 1861, the California legislature designated Aurora the county seat until two years later when it was determined that Aurora was in Nevada.  The Bridgeport County Courthouse, built in 1881, is a stately Victorian building that still does county business.  Look for it behind John Wayne in the original True Grit.  The 1947 film noir classic, Out of the Past, starring Robert Mitchum, Jane Greer, and Kirk Douglas, was also partially filmed in Bridgeport.  I saw it on TCM the other night.  What a kick.

Bridgeport is also known for cold winters and often makes the national news with the country's low temperature.  The average low temperature in January is 8 degress with a record low of -31.  Most folks don't spend the winter in Bridgeport.

But the main attraction is the beautiful setting.  In early summer the valley floor is carpeted with irises.  With Sawtooth Ridge, one of the most beautiful portions of the Sierra crest as a backdrop, it's stunning.  Bridgeport is also a gateway to other Sierra gems.  My favorite is Buckeye Creek in the fall.  Bright yellow aspens glow in a wide valley beneath rugged peaks.  Look for carvings in the aspen trunks left by shepherds nearly 100 years ago.

 

Kibbie Lake

When I heard a Yosemite ranger tout Kibbie Lake as the finest overnight backpack site in the park, I sprang into action.  I avoid backpacking in the Yosemite because of the crowds and generally head to the east side, but it's a long haul.  If Kibbie Lake has the spectator value, reasonable solitude, and is two hours closer to home, I'm in.

A little snooping around the web was encouraging, so Dave Sellers and I synchronized our calendars and set out.  

Kibbie Lake sits just inside the northwestern boundary of Yosemite.  In fact, the trailhead is also an entry point into the southern reaches of Emigrant Wilderness which borders the park there.  Since the trailhead straddles two juridictions (Yosemite NP and Stanilaus NF), a permit can be obtained from either source.  But Yosemite is beyond the driving route to the trailhead.  Since you will pass by the Stanislaus NF office in Groveland, it's more convenient to get your permit there.

Past Buck Meadows on Highway 120, turn left onto the road to Cherry Lake.  A twisty-turny 30 miles later, over the Cherry Lake Dam to the end of the road, you will finally reach the end of the road.

 
From the get-go, I was skeptical, but Kibbie Lake scored high.  The hike was moderate (4 miles, 500 feet elevation gain), the setting had all the Sierra bells and whistles (granite walls, lovely streams and gardens), and while there were other campers nearby, we were always alone.

Highlights:  Approaching the lake, we met and followed Kibbie Creek.  Wild azaleas exploded along the creekside over the last 1/2 mile or so - fabulous.  Once at the lake, a short walk to the left, I found a rowdy, tumbling creek.  It's a great place to sit in the sun and watch the resident water ouzel dip and dive through the splashing water.

Two thumbs up for Kibbie Lake.