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Back from the Sierra Nevada
Aug. 16th, 2004 05:50 pmActually we've been back since Friday, but these things take time.
It was a nice trip. Not great, but nice. We went into the Emigrant Wilderness at Gianelli Cabin, which is so close to Pinecrest we were able to stop there for ice cream and a swim when we came out.
We didn't put on a lot of miles, which I more or less planned on. My previous pattern with backpacking trips, before I got married (i.e., twenty-something years ago) was to plan multi-day multi-mile trips--nothing really macho, no more than 10 miles or 1000 feet of elevation change per day, but in my turtlish way I'd cover 50, maybe 100 miles, depending on how long I was out. The king of them all was Mt. Whitney from the west side, going in at Lodgepole and exiting at Whitney Portal--it was about 10 days, I think, and included a side trip to Kern Hot Spring. For the last couple of decades, with kids and a hiking-impaired partner, the pattern has been more like plan for no more than 5 miles or 250 feet of elevation change per day, and do lots of imperfectly-suppressed whinging along the lines of "Is this all we can do?"
This time, I just didn't plan for anything but to walk to Chewing Gum Lake, about 3 miles and maybe 750 feet of climbing and descending from the trailhead, and do day trips from there, and that worked out okay. My son, at 15, is no longer a slowpoke; he was usually at least a quarter-mile ahead. My wife, unfortunately, tops out at about 1 mile per hour, which is a little strange because in the water she can kick my butt. I'm somewhere in the middle; I might be able to keep up with my son, but I haven't found a reason to try yet.
Chewing Gum Lake is a little irregularly-shaped lakelet at about 8800 feet. It's small and shallow enough to be good for swimming in, big enough that you can drink from it (filtering, of course). It sits above Lake Valley, which is carpeted with beautiful meadowlands; last week, the Yellow Flowers We Can't Identify dominated, with lupines running a close second; when we went out to photograph them, we found Mariposa lilies and belladonna (we think) as well, plus yellow violets and daisies.
We did one day trip that was especially good: we cross-countried through the south end of Lake Valley and traversed the ridge over to Y Meadow Lake. It was a lot shorter but a lot more strenuous than the trail, which was how we came back to camp. It was on that short hike that I really got to see what a good pathfinder my son has become: he lacks experience, so he didn't know what a "duck" was and often didn't know which way was north, but if you pointed him in the general direction of a trail, he'd find it. More than once I'd take off in a different direction, thinking the path he'd picked was just a dead-end spur, and wind up backtracking to where he was. Considering I've hiked at least a hundred miles to every one he has, it's quite a talent.
We took more than 250 pictures, which I've been going through; I'll post a few of the good ones.
It was just long enough (late Monday through early Friday). It takes a couple of days for the roar and buzz of the city to get out of my ears so I can hear the silence up there. Toward the end of the day Wednesday, I seemed to finally get there--I was leaning back on a rock, and it didn't seem hard or static; it was like leaning back on someone's chest--not pillowy, but not hard either, and moving, breathing like a living thing.
It was a nice trip. Not great, but nice. We went into the Emigrant Wilderness at Gianelli Cabin, which is so close to Pinecrest we were able to stop there for ice cream and a swim when we came out.
We didn't put on a lot of miles, which I more or less planned on. My previous pattern with backpacking trips, before I got married (i.e., twenty-something years ago) was to plan multi-day multi-mile trips--nothing really macho, no more than 10 miles or 1000 feet of elevation change per day, but in my turtlish way I'd cover 50, maybe 100 miles, depending on how long I was out. The king of them all was Mt. Whitney from the west side, going in at Lodgepole and exiting at Whitney Portal--it was about 10 days, I think, and included a side trip to Kern Hot Spring. For the last couple of decades, with kids and a hiking-impaired partner, the pattern has been more like plan for no more than 5 miles or 250 feet of elevation change per day, and do lots of imperfectly-suppressed whinging along the lines of "Is this all we can do?"
This time, I just didn't plan for anything but to walk to Chewing Gum Lake, about 3 miles and maybe 750 feet of climbing and descending from the trailhead, and do day trips from there, and that worked out okay. My son, at 15, is no longer a slowpoke; he was usually at least a quarter-mile ahead. My wife, unfortunately, tops out at about 1 mile per hour, which is a little strange because in the water she can kick my butt. I'm somewhere in the middle; I might be able to keep up with my son, but I haven't found a reason to try yet.
Chewing Gum Lake is a little irregularly-shaped lakelet at about 8800 feet. It's small and shallow enough to be good for swimming in, big enough that you can drink from it (filtering, of course). It sits above Lake Valley, which is carpeted with beautiful meadowlands; last week, the Yellow Flowers We Can't Identify dominated, with lupines running a close second; when we went out to photograph them, we found Mariposa lilies and belladonna (we think) as well, plus yellow violets and daisies.
We did one day trip that was especially good: we cross-countried through the south end of Lake Valley and traversed the ridge over to Y Meadow Lake. It was a lot shorter but a lot more strenuous than the trail, which was how we came back to camp. It was on that short hike that I really got to see what a good pathfinder my son has become: he lacks experience, so he didn't know what a "duck" was and often didn't know which way was north, but if you pointed him in the general direction of a trail, he'd find it. More than once I'd take off in a different direction, thinking the path he'd picked was just a dead-end spur, and wind up backtracking to where he was. Considering I've hiked at least a hundred miles to every one he has, it's quite a talent.
We took more than 250 pictures, which I've been going through; I'll post a few of the good ones.
It was just long enough (late Monday through early Friday). It takes a couple of days for the roar and buzz of the city to get out of my ears so I can hear the silence up there. Toward the end of the day Wednesday, I seemed to finally get there--I was leaning back on a rock, and it didn't seem hard or static; it was like leaning back on someone's chest--not pillowy, but not hard either, and moving, breathing like a living thing.
