As a child, two of my favorite things were looking at cars and hiking in the mountains (Alps and Rockies). The common element in both was the visual stimulation, the seemingly endless variations of shapes, textures, colors, massing and proportions. I’ve spent a lot of my adult years pursuing both — especially cars in the past 20 years — writing about them at this website, including a lot of deep dives in automotive history. I’ve mostly retired from that now and increasingly felt an urge to take some deep dives back into the mountains, especially the high Sierras.
The only way to really do that is backpacking, something I had not done since 1972, and then only in a very limited way. I dithered about it for decades. Then one day earlier this summer I asked myself: what am I waiting for? I’m 72. It’s now or likely never.
And yes, I did find and shoot some trailside classics, just not ones with wheels.
The specific impetus was to retrace at least some of my steps I took on a 16 mile day hike while staying at the Thacher School’s Golden Trout Wilderness Camp in 2002. A family friend (an alumnus of Thacher) had invited my son Will and me to spend five days there, high in the southern Sierra. We didn’t have to backpack, as the camp has a little herd of donkeys that met us at the Cottonwood Lakes parking lot and carried our baggage some five miles or so to the camp.
There were group activities most days, but one day was a free day. My friend took Will on an outing, so after breakfast I packed a sandwich and a water bottle and took a little map of the general area and headed out to explore. We were not supposed to go past the Cottonwood Lakes basin, but I was on fire, and quickly found myself scooting over old Army pass, drawn magnetically to 14,026′ tall Mt. Langley (upper right). It was a perfectly calm sunny day, and I summitted by lunchtime, taking in the incredible views at the edge of the peak, looking down some 10,000 feet to the Owens Valley and over to nearby Mt. Whitney, the tallest peak in the lower 48 states. I was the only person on the mountain that day. I returned before supper time and got a few sideways glances for breaking the rules, but some rules are worth breaking.
I’ve been wanting to get back there ever since.
Perhaps the biggest single impetus to actually make this happen was this book that Stephanie gave me this summer, “The High Sierra, A Love Story”, by Kim Stanley Robinson. The author, a science fiction writer, has been trekking extensively in the Sierra since the early 1970s, and that has informed his life in significant ways. He made several mentions of the Miter Basin, and when I saw that it was accessible from the Cottonwood Lakes trailhead, it became a key destination for this trip.
Stephanie and I have been hiking and mountaineering avidly together for 48 years now, but due to spinal fusion surgery to correct scoliosis when she was a teenager, she’s never been able to carry a backpack. So it’s strictly been day hikes, and an untold number of fabulous ones over the decades. But there are places that are just not accessible without backpacking, and this area of the Sierras was one of them.
So in late July I decided to go for it. I went in the basement and dug out the backpack and down sleeping bag I had bought some 10-12 years earlier and never used. Yes, I can be a procrastinator.
I needed to get in shape hauling a 30-some pound backpack, so I put in some weights wrapped in old towels and on July 27, headed for our local hiking haunt, Mt. Pisgha. This was my first time carrying that much weight since 1972, and I felt very earthbound. This is going to be a bit of a challenge.
I started getting up every morning at six and walked to the nearby hills for a 3.7 mile loop with the pack before breakfast, and then often a second hike later in the day. It got better, although I will never be a fan of carrying a heavy pack. It’s a means to an end. And I do not intend to become a through-hiker, racking up long miles day after day.
Speaking of, yes, my pack and sleeping bag were far from the current state of the art in ultra-light backpacking. If you want to know how to get one’s base pack weight (no food) down to a mere 7.5lbs, here’s a good video that shows how it’s done. It’s too late for this year, but I will likely make some upgrades this winter. Or not, as I’m not planning on long treks. And I’m not about to give up my Nemo folding camp chair, which does only weigh 1.1lbs.
On August 5 I was ready for my trial run, a one night trip to the nearby Old Cascades. I decided to climb The Twins in the late afternoon, and set up my tent on one of its two summits. I ate my first freeze-dried dinner, which was better than expected.
Being on a mountaintop at sunset was a new treat. That’s Waldo Lake down there; to the west was a bank of clouds moving in from the ocean that would impact me that night.
I was stoked and scooted over to the other peak, which is a bit higher, for the view to the northeast of the Three Sisters and Mt. Jefferson in the distance. I felt a bit giddy, like a kid sent off on his first solo overnight on an Outwards Bound program or such.
That marine layer moving in from the west hit right at about bed time, resulting in constant winds and a flapping tent on the mountain top. I didn’t get much sleep, but who cares? Morning arrived and I looked forward to a couple of cups of hot tea to get me going.
No such luck; the brand new Bic lighter, which had already been recalcitrant in the evening, now refused to light. And I had forgotten emergency matches. Well, this is what shakedown trips are for. So I sucked it up and had cold water to wash down my muesli with freeze-dried fruit and powdered milk.
I hiked down the back side of the mountain, which I had never done before, and made about an 11 mile loop through the woods and by a couple of lakes. Yes, I felt the lack of my usual caffeine boost and my shoulders got tired of my burden, but a couple of rest stops perked me up.
I had planned to go to the Sierras on August 16, but the weather there was very unsettled with predicted thunderstorms and rain due to an unusually late monsoon in the Southwest, which was pushing up moisture all over the West Coast. It’s been an odd summer that way. So I decided to head to the Eagle Cap Wilderness in the Wallowa Mountains in the northeast corner of Oregon. I’ve been meaning to go there ever since moving to Oregon but it too requires backpacking for anything more than a superficial hike.
I arrived in the evening at the Two pan trailhead on Lostine River, spent the night in my van and headed up the valley in the morning. I felt good and made better time than expected, reaching Mirror Lake by lunchtime.
After a restoring lunch and rest, I headed up Glacier Pass to Glacier Lake, at the foot of Eagle Cap (right) and Glacier Peak (left). I pitched my tent near the lake, took a quick dip and washed my sweaty tee shirt and underpants, had supper and settled down in my camp chair for the evening show. And it did not disappoint.
Turning a bit to the left (east), the sunset was reflected in the clouds. And in the lake. This is the payoff for hauling a heavy pack for some 12 miles into the mountains.
By around 8:30 it was getting dark, but I was still glued to my comfy little camp chair. Then suddenly I spotted a bright point of light on the steep talus slope half way down in the saddle between the two peaks. It moved very slowly, sometimes backtracking and moving up or down before making any progress towards a low ridge on the right. I followed it, mesmerized to see where it would end up.
Eventually it reappeared, sometimes as two lights, on the low ridge right behind the me and the lake. It was 10 PM when the lights arrived at camp, belonging to two very young guys. I approached them and told them I had been watching them and was a bit concerned. They were too, as they had gotten off track from what was supposed to be a faint use trail (not official or maintained) down from Eagle Cap via the glacier basin.
After spending the second day making a long loop down the Glacier valley and then back up into the Lakes Basin and an overnight there, I headed up to the Eagle Cap summit (elevation 9,577′). I ditched my pack at Upper Lake, and reveled in the lightness; I practically floated up the summit trail. The views were superb, giving a 360 degree view of this fairly compact mountain range that has been dubbed “The Alps of Oregon”, as they are not volcanic in origin and have a lot of granite, among other rocks. The white peak in the middle is the Matterhorn (how many are there in the world?), and I look forward to climbing it the next time there.
And this is the view down to Glacier Lake, where I had enjoyed that light show two days earlier.
On the summit I happened to notice something out of the corner of my eye under a rock. It was a very vintage steel KOOL cigarette box. Hmm.
I picked it up and opened it, to find some pictures of a dog and a lovely written homage by its owner, as her dog had died not long after summiting Eagle Cap two years earlier.
Having lost our dear old Little Man some months earlier, this brought a bit of moisture to my eyes.
I spent the night down on Upper Lake, and then hiked over a pass and down the East Lostine River Valley to my van. It had been a stellar first trip; everything worked well, most of all my body. I arrived home that evening with a huge smile. But as much as I loved the Wallowas, I was still aching for the (much higher) Sierras.
Two weeks later, the weather was looking a bit better in the Sierra, although still with a chance of showers and thunderstorms. It’s now or never…so I snagged a five day wilderness permit from 9/1 through 9/5, and headed south. As I drove down 395 I looked up at Mt. Langley and there were definitely clouds hanging over it and the other peaks up there.
For those of you not familiar with the eastern escarpment of the Sierras, it is truly one of the wonders of the world. The peaks here (Mt. Whitney in center, Mt. Langley left center)) rise directly 10,000 feet over the Owens Valley floor, something that is mostly unprecedented anywhere in the world. Even in the Himalayas it’s hard to find such a huge disparity between valleys and peaks without significant foothills and lower ranges in between. This left an indelible impression when I first saw it in 1976, and it’s been a powerful magnet ever since.
I took this same road out of Lone Pine towards Mt. Whitney Portal and then turned left on the amazing Horseshoe Meadows Road that hugs the only spot of the mountain wall where a road could be built all the way up into a high basin. It ends at Cottonwood Lakes and Cottonwood Pass campgrounds and trailheads, and is over 10,200′ high. It’s a good place to spend a day or so acclimating to the high altitude.
I spent the night in my van, and yes, it is harder to sleep deeply at high altitudes. The next morning I heaved the pack on my shoulders and set out for the Cottonwood Lakes, passing by Golden Trout Camp. Sadly, there were no donkeys to carry my baggage this time.
The trail led through a mixture of meadows and trees. And Mt. Langley made its first appearance, on the right.
As the trail gently worked its way higher, the lodgepole pines gave way to the highly sculptural white bark pines and the often-ancient foxtail pines, which grow mostly just here in the high Sierra, between 10,000 and 11,500 feet. The foxtail pines can live to be 3000 years old, and are related to the Bristlecone pine, which are the oldest living things on earth and are found one mountain range over, in the White Mountains. They often have a spiral twist to their grain, a reaction to the strong winds that blow here.
Many of them are now skeletons, who knows how many centuries old, but some still have a small section of live cambium and bark swirling around the trunk to a live branch or two.
I formed a deep attachment to these ancient giants when I was here in 2002. and they drew me back as much as the mountains themselves. So you’re going to see a few of them here, the trailside classics of the high Sierra.
I took a bit of a detour to Muir Lake, named after the great John Muir, often called the father of America’s national parks due to his tireless writing and activism on behalf of them, most of all the Yosemite and the Sierras. It’s easy to think that these places were always pristine wilderness, but that’s hardly the case, as there were hundreds of thousands of sheep and other livestock brought up for grazing in these delicate high meadows, which damaged and altered many of them. And there were loggers and miners and hunters and such, all of them very reluctant to give up the free resources they had moved into.
It took a huge political battle by Muir and the Sierra Club to have these early national parks be created and then it took the Army to slowly reclaim them and protect them, as there was no other federal bureaucracy back then to take on that task.
I couldn’t resist shooting so many of them; the very dry air up here keeps these skeletons from rotting for who knows how long, although eventually a strong storm will topple this one too.
By four or so I arrived at Cottonwood Lake #5, set up camp and then took a dip in the frigid water and washed out my underpants and tee shirt. It had been unexpectedly sunny all day, so the I basked in sun’s afternoon rays after my dip at the edge of the lake.
There were two guys also camped nearby, and one called out to me. We chatted, and it turned out that Dave (left) and Dana (right) had a similar itinerary in mind, although they were planning to climb Mt. Langley the next morning as they already had an extra day already to acclimate. They invited me to join them and it turned out to be a fortuitous thing.
They have both been backpacking since they were young and have been going on joint trips for some years now, so I learned a few tricks from them. Experience counts.
After having dinner together, I wandered around watching the evening unfold, as is my custom. At least there were a couple of little clouds to add a bit of color before it turned dark and I turned in, although the moon was so bright in the thin air it never really got fully dark.
The next morning we headed past Cottonwood Lake #6 towards Old Army Pass, which is right up there next to that snowfield. Yes, it’s a bit rough and steep, and there was a reason why New Army Pass was built, even if it took some dynamite and requires going up to at a higher elevation. North-facing old Army pass has snow every year until the mid-late summer and there are washed out sections, but it’s quite doable late in the season and for those not squeamish about exposure.
The trail, not visible here, works its way up through these boulders via several serpentines.
Here’s the view looking back down. We had been camped at the far end of the far lake.
By 8:30 we reached the saddle at the base of Mt. Langley, ditched our heavy packs and started up. There’s no trail per se, but there are a few cairns to guide the general direction, although it really just involves going up…and…up. As is my pattern, I got a strong second wind on the summit push and left my fellow travelers well behind. There is one section that requires Class 2 scrambling. This is the last section approaching the summit, just a big hill with lots of boulders.
Very much unlike its rounded western hump that we had ascended, Mt. Langley’s eastern face is essentially a perfectly vertical drop thousands of feet down to the Owens Valley. It’s just a matter of how close you’re willing to stand on the edge, or get down on your stomach, crawl forward and hang your head over the edge.
That’s the Alabama Hills and the town of Lone Pine, in the green patch at the top center of the photo. This shot reminds me of the story of a light plane that went down in one of the high basins here back in 1955. A couple and a friend were flying to Reno for lunch, and only the woman survived the crash. She was only wearing high heels and a dress. She spent 30 hours on a descent down one of these canyons in her bleeding bare feet and finally knocked on the door of the first cabin she came to.
That’s as close as I was willing to stand. Fortunately it was not windy, yet.
That’s Mt. Whitney in the center back; with an elevation of 14,505′, it’s the tallest mountain in the contiguous 48 states. I’m already pondering a trip next summer on the John Miur Trail, which ends on Whitney, coming up from the back side. The trail from the front is 20 some miles round trip with over 6,000′ elevation gain. It’s extremely popular, so permits are hard to get. That’s a seriously challenging day hike, and quite a few that start don’t summit.
And here’s the view into the Miter basin, the goal for the following day. That’s Blue Sky Lake down there in the middle, our next day’s destination and where we will set up camp and use as the base of our exploration of the upper reaches of the basin.
I arrived on the summit of Langley at 10:25 AM, considered quite safe as if there are going to be thunderstorms, they almost invariably form after noon. I got cell coverage and talked to Stephanie and had some lunch and enjoyed the view, but when I turned to the southwest, I did notice a dark cloud that had formed rather quickly and seemed to be drifting my way. I couldn’t see how thick it was and it didn’t look very ominous, but nevertheless, I started to pack up and head down. My companions had not yet arrived.
Actually, I never saw them arrive, as we must have taken a slightly different route. Within a couple of minutes of heading down, I saw a lightning bolt hit the high point of the saddle below, followed almost instantly by a ferocious cannon shot of thunder. And then the frozen rain started. Yikes…
A little ways down I ran into three young women with their dog whom I had met and talked to earlier. It was their first high mountain ascent, and now they were utterly terrified. They were hearing and feeling a distinct buzzing in their aluminum trekking poles (I had left mine down below). That’s not good! They didn’t know if they should seek shelter or head down, or? Admittedly I was not up on the current recommendations for what to do if caught on an exposed mountain in a lightening storm, but I did seem to remember that crawling under a rock ledge is actually not safe. And I was already on an adrenaline-fueled surge to get down, so that’s what we all did. Between getting down lower and the storm starting to move off, conditions improved fairly quickly.
We could all smile about it as we got back to the sunny saddle and watched the storm move towards Mt. Whitney, but I did feel bad for them for having just missed the summit. I made a point to look up the current recommendations, and I found an excellent guide here. Going down was a reasonable choice, but a better one would have been to ditch the poles (very dangerous when buzzing), spread out and sit on our haunches with both feet touching each other (to disallow a difference in potential between them that would then make a pathway for the current through the body) and covering the ears and closing the eyes. Climbing into caves or under rocks is not a good choice as lightning will often travel right over the opening and impact what’s inside or under it.
As to my two companions, they reached the summit just as the storm hit and they did climb under a large rock. They experienced severe buzzing in their poles and in or on their heads. But fortunately there was no more lightning and the storm moved on, so they were ok if a bit shaken. They did get to enjoy the stellar views from the summit afterwards though.
It all reminded my of our years climbing in the Rockies, when dodging the almost inevitable afternoon thunderstorm was a common occurrence, which is probably why I didn’t get too freaked out. The odds are in your favor, but one doesn’t really like to make that kind of gamble.
I waited for my companions to return to the saddle, and after a bit of nutrition and sharing the exciting moments of the storm, we picked up our packs and headed down a steepish use trail to Upper and Lower Soldier Lakes.
We camped by the lower lake and found this upturned tree’s roots to make a handy kitchen. Those round canisters are required in the California Sierras to prevent bears from accessing any food.
The next morning we headed up into the Miter basin. Those minarets were a preview of things to come. That’s Langley on the right.
I was in Sierra heaven, even with a heavy pack on.
We left the trees behind as the terrain became increasingly rocky.
We arrived at Blue Sky Lake, which wasn’t so blue because of the clouds. But it was splendid. We set up camp, and yes, I did a (brief) full body immersion, despite the quite cool air, the clouds and a breeze. Bracing!
After having some lunch, we dropped our packs, or lightened them, and headed up into the higher levels of the basin. This is where trail-finding became significantly more challenging, and it was serendipitous that I connected with Dave and Dana as my version of the downloaded maps I had on my Gaia mapping/GPS app did not show the more obscure trails and tracks. So Dave led the way.
Each level higher up had new lakes or ponds. This one was practically an infinity pond. That’s Blue Sky Lake below, and Mt. Langley to the upper left. It had a cloud attached to its eastern face all day, so it was a good thing we climbed it the day before, thunderstorm and all.
And there were more tarns yet.
The view looking back.
The last level we climbed up to. Turns out that if we had planned this trip differently, there’s a pass up there to the left behind the ridge (Crabtree Pass) that we could have used to get into the next basin. But we had already set up camp way down there and it was a bit late in the day, so maybe next time…
So down we came…
Although it may look barren up there, there was life everywhere, hugging the granite rocks for protection.
Picking our way through the debris left by the glacier.
Our “kitchen” was set up against a rock wall to provide maximum protection for our little cook stoves. I couldn’t get enough of the scenery we were in the middle of.
That was dominated by The Miter, in the middle. A miter cut is of course one with two 45 degree angles, and this comes very close to that.
One last look up at Langley, which still had that cloud attached to its east face. Odd.
I couldn’t stop wandering around until it got really dark.
In the morning light and stillness, Blue Sky Lake now lived up to its name. I could have spent a couple of days up here, but all things must end.
We hiked back down to lower country, through some large meadows and marshes.
Dave and Dana were heading further into the interior, on a rather long trek to Big Whitney Meadow and more. They had one more day on their permit than I did as well as more food, so we split up here where our trail intersected with the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail), which I now took headed back to Cottonwood Meadows. Dave and Dana have already planned a ten day trip next year crossing Glacier National park into Waterton National Park in Canada, and are planning a ten day trip on the John Muir Trail here in the Southern Sierra for 2027. Hopefully our trails will intersect again someday.
I was feeling the intensity of the previous three days and was glad to know that Chicken Spring Lake was only some four miles away from our parting. As I saw it from above, I also saw another dark cloud come rolling in, so I scrambled down the slope instead of taking the trail past the lake and then the trail into the lake.
Good call, as a lightning bolt lit up the sky and an instantaneous canon shot of thunder echoed between the cliffs. I quickly set up my tent, and literally as my last peg went in, it started to rain. I stretched out on my air mattress and eventually drifted off to a refreshing nap.
Feeling energetic again, I then prowled around the lake and indulged in more shots of these amazing trees, my trailside classics.
This one had its core rot out and then its outer layers folded over and back to the ground.
These two also lost their cores. Since they live so remarkably long, the fresh new wood just kept on growing around the ancient core, which did eventually rot away. Also, some were likely struck by lightning at some point.
Inevitably they do fall over after standing proudly for who know how long, exposing their sculptural insides.
I walked around to the far end of the lake, and chatted with a few other campers on the way. They tend to be very friendly. Something about sharing the solitude and scenery.
The prevailing westerly wind has washed up all the driftwood on the far beach.
The daily evening light show did not fail to impress. I’ve always had a thing about sunsets, and I’m outside as often as possible when they happen, regardless of being in town our out in nature. Beats doom scrolling.
I woke up at about 4:30 or so, and could not get back to sleep. Why fight it? I decided to pack up and start hiking in the dark. The stars were blazing in the clear thin and dry air. I put on my headlamp and headed towards Cottonwood Pass, where I could see the first light of dawn.
As I made my way down towards Cottonwood Meadows, I could just make out a swirling thin white fog layer sitting over the meadows down there. At first it looked like snow.
When I got there, the fog had receded, leaving the dried vegetation white with millions of tiny water droplets. Or had they actually frozen due to the cooling effect of evaporation? By the way, night time temperatures on this trip were in the 39-40 degree range, but it felt warmer due to the dryness of the air and the lack of wind at night and in the morning.
At eight I arrived at the parking lot, and yes, I was ready for breakfast. Thanks to the solar panel on my van, the fridge had fresh fruit and milk and such awaiting me. It tasted extra good, especially the berries.
By nine I was ready to roll, as I had some 710 miles ahead of me. I took a few shots from the van as I headed down over a vertical mile down to the valley floor on that amazing road.
Looking to the northeast, that’s the Alabama Hills down there with the town of Lone Pine in that green patch of trees. And across the valley are the White Mountains, including 14,252′ tall White Mountain and home of the ancient bristlecone pines. Beyond that range lies Death Valley.
A final parting shot of Mt. Langley as I rolled across the Owens Valley. I’m already thinking about a return next year, including climbing Mt. Whitney. I’m hooked.
I arrived at home at 9 PM after the very pleasant and scenic drive, almost all on two lane highways and roads through several national forests and generally remote country except for Reno, the only urban area along the way.
I hope I haven’t bored any of you with way too many pictures and no cars at all, but this is my current passion, and I’m trying to live into it right now while I still can.
What a trip! The Wallowas are amazing. Closest thing to the ranges in Colorado that Oregon has. Glad you’re still out there, Paul!
Though I’m your age, Paul, and more active than in pre-retirement than formerly,I won’t be duplicating your travels on my next trip West. Thanks a bunch for taking us along—lovely photos and a terrific writeup!
Michigan has some great views, but we don’t have any mountains like this. Amazing.
This is about as far from Indiana as you can get, in every way! Although I don’t share your enthusiasm for hiking, I certainly enjoy the views that you have shared with us. And I can’t decide which I like looking at more – sunsets or sunrises.
Thanks for sharing your current passion and some truly amazing photos. Wow.
The seemingly endless variations of shapes, textures, colors, massing and proportions.
Sounds like you should be a B&W photographer from the likes of Ansel Adams onward.
I was thinking the same thing about Ansel Adams. Particularly the closeups of the trees. The texture and structure of the old weathered wood. I think Paul should get Photoshop and work with it now that he working into retirement. I have it. It’t only about $22.00 a month and comes with Lightroom. Both are excellent. Go for it Paul. Great shoots. You have a good eye.
Dear Paul, Thank you for a wonderful tour. May you and your wife have many more hears of good health to do this. As a young man, I hiked. My body no longer accepts such activity. So, through you, I can see wonders that I can never visit. Perhaps other members of CC share my feelings – and aches and pains!
What beautiful scenery. I liked going to Adirondack High Peaks area cause here in Qc there aren’t many high mountains and Parc de la Gaspésie is far away. “In the mountains, you are sometimes invited, sometimes tolerated, and sometimes told to go home.” …This also applies to the USA these days. Risking having to mess around at customs kills the motivation. ll go and re-watch Jean-Marc Vallée’s film ‘Wild’ again. This makes the Sierra Nevada more “accessible” . https://peakvisor.com/adm/la-haute-gaspesie.html https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSz2CMDv1B8
That picture would be spectacular in B&W. The tonal range from white, to grays, to black would do Ansel proud.
Would love to do this type of hiking but now can hardly walk normal. PLantar fasciitis is a real PIA and doesn’t go away quickly.
NICE! I am also a backpacker. Our scenery is very different from yours though. I loved your explanation of how the trees continue growing after the inside rots away.
During one of my hikes, I met a dendrochronologist (Yeah – I had to look it up) who was studying some bristlecones. He told me that some of the small ones that grow out of the side of cliffs can be amazingly old – far older that you’d expect for their small size.
Lack of good soil and much water means they grow very slowly. Their stunted shape combined with a growing location that is very difficult to access means people largely leave them alone. Where terrain allows trees to grow larger, those larger trees are often frequently brought down sooner by severe weather and their very size. Larger trees also have commercial value in areas where they can be harvested.
According to the dendrochronologist, that makes some of these grarly bristlecones some of the oldest trees in existence. Who’d have thunk it?
Sadly, in the part of California with the oldest living bristlecones, almost 5000 years old, some trails have been rerouted to avoid the oldest trees as people do carve in their trunks or take pieces of the living trees.
I attended uni in Colorado and was an avid backpacker – year round. (In winter, we snow-caved.) Anyway, I never lost my wanderlust over the years. I am a hiker. I retired recently and was ready to hit the trails this year. I’ve been using a hammock and a tented tarp, travelling like a ghost, disturbing as little as possible. I’ve spent entire weekends in silence, just absorbing everything and letting my curiosity lead me through the St. Francis Mts in SE MO.
So, this posting is catnip for me. One of the things you had taken CC to, was Steen’s Mt. In Southern Oregon. Since then, it has been on my short list to explore. The idea of a mountain so remote, it lack conifers just blows my mind. I just have to experience that.
Thank you for taking us along!
Good for you.
Steens Mountain does have some conifers, especially junipers, on the north-facing (cool and wetter) sides. It’s the dryness of the climate that limits what trees can grow there.
Wonderful pictures Paul ;
And no, not too many .
In the 1960’s I hiked all over the East Coast, fond memories,I hope you share more like this for us who cannot go in person .
-Nate
“Beats doom scrolling.”
Noooooo shit. Lovely Saturday surprise, thanks.
Paul – Thanks for taking us along on your trips and documenting them so well. Your wanderlust, articulate descriptions, fantastic photography and open heart for your experiences are a rare and special combination.
You are five years older than me and make me feel like a couch-bound slob in comparison. After being a chubby kid in boy scouts in Ohio, I did some climbing and camping in the Talkeetna and Chugach mountains in Alaska in my 20’s. Since then, not so much. I live near Portland now, and maybe now that I’m retired I will try to find some experienced companions and visit some of your local stomping grounds.
Keep hiking and writing, we really enjoy it.
Let me know if you’re ever interested in a hike somewhere between Eugene and Portland.
email: curbsideclassic@gmail.com
Fantastic beauty captured with your amazing pictures. I’m also 72, at a point in life where decisions have to be made. How am I going to spend what time remains for me? My years of being self-employed are something I am now managing into a downward slope – hanging on to certain areas, letting go of others. Thank you for sharing your own experience going beyond the everyday routine into a world of wonder.
I started reading this one on my phone, then had to fire up a desktop so I could see those fantastic photos on a big screen. Wonderful trips Paul, I hope you continue to post them to CC so we can see. I’ve never experienced buzzing trekking poles but will know what to do if it ever happens!
I’m in with Stephanie on the multi day hikes, degenerative disc has limited me to day trips too. Last week we were in Killarney Provincial Park, saw the northern lights on Sunday night and did a day hike to “The Crack” on Monday. That was about my limit, I needed help getting my socks on in the morning for a few days after that.
https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/ontario/the-crack-trail
Sorry to hear about the back issues. But day hikes are good! Keep moving…
What’s this world coming to, yesterday the best writeup I’ve ever seen on search engines, and today an absolute dynamite story about hiking. I’ve only shared the following with a couple of people and it’s way out of line for a car forum, but seems to fit today. My story of when I hiked the Grand Canyon, down and up in one day.
Apologies in advance if it’s out of line, and those who run this place feel free to delete it if they feel it’s the right thing to do.
So, without further ado, here’s my hiking story, and yes, it’s a bit long, as was the hike.
The Grand Canyon hike, rim to river and back in a day.
I’d gotten a bug to hike the canyon, rim to river and back, in one day, when I’d been there a couple of years before. I wasn’t out to prove anything to anyone, I just decided I wanted to do it. All the signs saying not to do the very thing I was going to do didn’t deter me a bit, they were for mere mortals, or at least the unprepared. And I knew I was much smarter than that… I hoped. I mean I’m 60, I’ve been behind a desk at work for the past 10 years, I don’t work out, what could go wrong? Actually I am a little smarter than that, I’m fairly fit, I handle heat very well, it’s cold I struggle with, I don’t even notice altitude until I get up around 8K feet, I have always had good stamina and routinely pass everyone on desert or mountain trails, so I’m not totally delusional. I’d done about 17 miles in one day the year before at Yellowstone at even higher altitude, in stride, so miles at altitude wasn’t going to be a problem.
It was on my 2012 trip there I had decided to hike it so I had plenty of time to prepare for it for my next visit in 2014. I did my research, don’t go in the summer so I did the hike on June 30th. Looking at historical data it appears it was the hottest day that year. Get in shape, yep, I did some walking around the neighborhood the couple of weeks before we left for vacation that year, at my usual brisk pace and some days I must have done 4 or 5 miles. Near sea level, relatively flat. I was planning on more, time just got away from me. Drink lots of fluids, check, while I’m sure it’s killed a few, it seems like a no brainer. Eat. What? Eat? Yeah, the Parks Service makes a big deal about it. So I got about a dozen energy bars and some string cheese. I’d read you could get a sack lunch at Phantom Ranch so I planned on doing that. New pair of hiking boots that seemed at the time to fit my, hard to fit, narrow feet well enough. Hiking socks, the ones that supposedly wick moisture out so your feet stay dry. Yeah, sure. In the desert in the summer with boots on? I’ll believe it when I see it. I like to travel light but I did pack a few more things, iodine tablets to disinfect water if needed, two cameras along with spare batteries. A foldable poncho in case it rained, extra socks, the aforementioned food, 3 bottles of water and a gatoraide. I think that’s all, it was a light pack which is what I wanted. Oh, a couple of small flashlights too, I thought I’d be back long before dark, but just in case. Still, a very light pack.
We had 5 days in a cabin at Bright Angel on the South Rim and I wasn’t sure which day I was going to hike it, but after we got there I decided on June 30th, the middle day of our stay. As seems to be standard, I was going to hike down the South Kaibab trail and up Bright Angel since South Kaibab was shorter but obviously steeper and Bright Angel reportedly had some shade and was an easier uphill hike. You can’t drive to the South Kaibab trailhead but there is a hikers shuttle, one that leaves at 4AM and one at 5AM, I was very confident and don’t like getting up extra extra early so I took the 5AM shuttle. Except at 4:40 I didn’t know where to catch it? Fortunately the Bright Angel hotel desk was open at that hour and they told me, pretty much right out front. So I made a couple of trips back and forth from our cabin to the lodge etc, just to get a mile or two in for practice. At least that’s what it seemed like. Anyway, the shuttle rolled up right on time and I climbed aboard. I was expecting a straight shot out to the trailhead. Silly me, it seemed to take forever, a stop here and there and at the Market and finally at 5:30 we got to Yaki Point. Half an hour might not sound like much, but when you’re going to do about 20 miles for the day and it’s supposed to be 110F that day at Phantom Ranch, it’s a lot.
So there I am at Yaki Point, the South Kaibab trailhead at 5:30 with a bunch of people from the bus scattering and I had to ask myself are you really going to do this? A little bit of a gulp, I put my head down and started hiking. My foolish estimation had me starting at 5AM sharp, forgetting there was what turned out to be a somewhat circuitous bus ride and thinking downhill was like a car, I’d get there faster. I was going to be at Phantom Ranch, 7.1 miles down the trail at 7:45. 2 and three quarter hours, 3MPH walking, easy peasy. I’m a fast walker, it’s downhill, how hard can it be? Well, a lot harder than I expected. Several things, hiking downhill is actually much harder than level ground, it’s hard on your knees, there’s an impact that there isn’t on level ground. And while I don’t have bad knees, I was 60 and one of them started hurting on the way down. That didn’t make me happy knowing I was just getting started. And much of the South Kaibab trail is steps cut into the rock or made with rock at the edge as a retaining wall. Good for all weather and mules, but largish vertical steps and the spacing between steps was just wrong for my stubby legs, too long for one comfortable step but too short for 2 steps, so I was constantly stutter stepping, plus often there was erosion (again, think mules) just before the step so you had to step up several inches before stepping down a foot. Not the end of the world, but part of the reason I got to Phantom Ranch at 10:45, three hours after my expected ETA. Much as I hate to admit it, the hiking sticks/poles that are recommended might be of good use there. I was also doing what they tell you to, even on the way down, taking lots of breaks, every half hour or so and drinking fluids. But there was some excitement as I made my way down, first seeing the river, then it gets closer and closer until finally the tunnel and there’s the Black Bridge! Hallelujah, I made it to the bottom. Yeah, big deal, the easy part, which was harder than I thought, was done.
Phantom Ranch was technically a detour, about a mile in on the east side, but I wasn’t about to hike the canyon and not see it. Plus their website said I could get a sack lunch there which I was planning on. Wrong. No sack lunch, a bagel with a cream cheese packet and an apple was as close as I could come to a sack lunch, not quite the hearty sandwich I was expecting. The chalkboard down there was predicting 111, a degree warmer than I’d previously seen and since it was already over 90, and I’d been on the trail over 4 hours with nearly 10 miles under my belt, I treated myself to a beer. A common thought it seemed by the number of people who were already doing the same thing. It did feel like 2 in the afternoon, on a warm day. I bought the obligatory hat and T shirt that are only available down there at Phantom Ranch, only to find out later the T shirt was too small. Great packaging, they have them folded and compressed into a little tiny brick, maybe 3 by 5 by an inch thick, it fits into the pack great, but you don’t get a good sense of the size, which runs small, very small. I still wear it, I mean I can’t not wear it considering where and how I got it, but I’m constantly pulling it down to my waist. I chatted with some people there, one guy whom I had hop scotched with on the way down and he couldn’t believe it when I said, ok, time to head back up. He and his friends were staying the night at the dorm and going to return the following day, when I said I was going back up he called one of his friends and said, hey Bill, this guys heading back up now! Neither one could believe it. But it was now 11:15 and I had a long hike ahead of me, so off I went.
Back to the river I went, turning right to go to the Silver Bridge for the Bright Angel trail. And it was getting warmer, 95F when I left Phantom Ranch. 11:38 I took a brief water stop and it was now 102F. I guess their predictions were about right. OK, now it was officially hot. I stopped in some shade and chatted for a while with a couple making their way down, he was a mere 72 years of age but he wasn’t doing a rim to river and back that day although he said he had in the past. They told of a guy who died on the trail that day, they’d passed him while he was covered with a sheet before the helicopter took the body away. And that was on a mule trip. Reportedly two days before a man had died of a heart attack trying to hike up from the river after a boat ride there. I guess it can be dangerous.
On I go, not really gaining much altitude yet, but it’s bloody hot. Took a break, took my boots off to soak my feet in the creek water and much to my surprise my socks were dry, just like the claims. I was shocked, but it was a good thing to be sure. Had another energy bar. Wow, what a misnomer. Those things did not hit the spot for me, felt like a rock or two in my stomach. The string cheese went down well and was tasty, but those energy bars weren’t sitting happy. Nausea is one common side effect of hiking in the heat and while my tummy wasn’t 100% happy, it wasn’t too bad. I’m fully convinced it was just those energy bars, they didn’t go down happy and they just sat there. On I go, now it’s 2PM, I’m about 13 miles in and it’s 104F. I’m not real sure of the accuracy of my watch thermometer, but it’s all I’ve got and it made sense considering the predictions.
3PM, I’m at Indian Garden, an oasis on the hike. I sat there for half an hour or so, just relaxing. A ranger came by asking if I was OK, and I said sure, I’m fine, but while she seemed unconvinced and pressed me a little bit she finally left me alone, looking like she didn’t really believe me, to deal with people who really were sick. 30 feet away a couple of guys half my age were puking so even at less than 100%, compared to them I was fine. I should have taken a little siesta there, it would have made a difference later I think. Instead I chatted with an Englishman who lived in South Carolina. His training was a little better than mine, he said he did 2 hours a day on a treadmill for the past 6 months. He acted like it was just a walk to the corner market, said his best time was 7 hours. Round trip. Although he was doing it in what is probably an easier manner, he was staying at the river so he had the hard part first. Not an option for most of us but it is probably an easier way to do it.
Indian Gardens was a delightful break, relatively cool even, but onto the trail again and it got hot again. Only into the mid 90s now, I’m slowly gaining elevation and over the 4,000 foot mark now. But I’m wearing out, this is getting tough now. Not the heat, the peak was past, but the stamina I’m so proud of is fading. The heat has broken now, it’s only 85 so I cut back on the fluids some. Damn this is getting real tough now. 3 mile resthouse, that’s all the further I am? Jeez, it’s 5PM now I thought I’d be back to the cabin. I was going to go in to the resthouse and sit on the bench in the shade but there’s a million of those little squirrels around, tame as can be, but aggressive in their begging, I know they’ll be into my pack if I set it down in there. I keep plugging on, breaks are becoming more frequent now, one foot in front of the other, just keep going. Finally there’s the 1.5 mile resthouse up ahead. And wow, a bighorned sheep there having dinner munching on the plants. Great, that’s not something you see everyday, a real treat and out comes the camera. I took a bunch. And waited. Took some more pictures. And waited. Now it’s a big deal, you’re not supposed to disturb the animals there in the park, so I waited. Now I’m to the point where I want to throw rocks at him, I’m tired and want to get going, but didn’t. Finally a couple of people went past, so a little later I did too. I never saw him leave, but he was gone by then. But I was a half an hour later and I knew my wife was worrying, even if she was smart enough not to take this little hike. I’m down to one 500ML bottle of water, by design. The backpack probably weighs all of 7 pounds or so, but by now it feels like I’ve got the 300 pound biker I work with on my back. I hit the second tunnel, it’s getting very steep now. It’s so steep I lost sight of the rim, oh, there it is again. Every switchback now I’m taking a break. And taking off the pack, even just standing there with it on doesn’t feel like a break. I’m starting to look around for a place to stash the pack for the night even though you’re not supposed to, the animals will be into it and make a mess and I never would. But I’m thinking about it. The temperature is dropping, down to 76F. I’m still sweating enough my skin is getting cold, even though I’m ok. The first tunnel, I’m almost there, finally! Now there’s more people out on the trail, street shoes, sandals and flashlights. There it is, there it is, finally I made it to the top! Another quarter mile or so, but level and I’m in the cabin at 8:30. Fifteen hours after I started on the South Kaibab trail. I’m a mess, my wife looks at me and laughs in a mixture of amusement and horror. First things first, a beer. Ahhh, boy does that taste good. Then onto the shower hoping the salt and dust from the trail doesn’t plug up the shower drain. Next I want dinner! Good thing the Bright Angel Lodge serves until 10PM. A steak dinner, a glass of wine and I’m a happy camper.
The aftermath. My clothes were a mess. OK, fine, they’re supposed to be. But I’ve never had a white salt line on every piece I was wearing. My cargo pants had a white line an inch down. My t shirt, neck, bottom and sleeves. It was comical. The next day was even better, I made my way out of bed, hobbled on over to the chair and got on the laptop for a while. Tried to get up and I could barely move I was so stiff and sore. My wife was laughing, I was laughing, it was hilarious, I could barely move. Started walking over to the lodge for lunch limping my way along. Still sore, but actually as I moved some I did get better. More like an old man instead of a frail old man. Didn’t do much that day though. The next day I was still sore, but much better. Got moving and was almost like normal as long as I stayed moving. On the other hand, no blisters and no sunburn, so I did a few things right.
What would I have done differently? Different food mostly. Those energy bars didn’t do me any good at all. Salty crackers like Wheat Thins, Triscuts are what the parks gives people in trouble on the trail and seems like a good idea. Potato chips might be good too, nice and salty. And boy did I sweat out some salt, and went thru about 2 gallons of fluids on the hike, and I’m not a big sweater at all so I could see someone who is going thru 4 gallons, easy. Probably more. I would have packed a sandwich or something, even if I froze it to keep it from spoiling on the trip down. No tuna fish, maybe ham and cheese, a cured meat. And maybe some beef sticks, you know those things they have at the counter at convenience stores by the register. I know, they’re full of preservatives and who knows what else, but I think they would be a good snack. I did drink enough, just enough, I probably should have drank more, but it was enough for a squirt at the bottom and one at the top, so I wasn’t dehydrated. Be in better shape? Well, duh. But I think that goes for most people, with the exception of the guy who did 2 hours a day for 6 months on a treadmill. And while it would have made the uphill climb easier, I don’t think it would have made the unexpectedly stressful downhill hike any easier.
Reflections. It was a great hike I very much enjoyed, although it was a grind by the end. Scenery on the way down the South Kaibab trail was gorgeous, especially at sunrise. The big canyon which midday can look so brown was a spectacular orange. Phantom Ranch is aptly named and a neat place. While I said I doubted I’d do it again, I might, but probably only if I spent the night there. Indian Gardens was interesting. I had no idea what an oasis it was. A micro community of sorts, the water pumping station, a ranger station and another building or two. Lots of camping around there. At the bottom, the river was also an oasis of sorts, at least the Bright Angel Campground there in the willows with people spending a lazy day in and out of the water. The amount of infrastructure they have down there is impressive, all for us crazies who want to hike down there or the adrenalin junkies on the river rafts. The return trip up Bright Angel trail really wasn’t as nice as I expected. Maybe I was just tiring by then, and I was grateful for the shade which was plentiful, but the spectacular scenery just wasn’t there. Of course it was dark by the time I got to the top. Now I’m not saying it was ugly, just not that impressive. South Kaibab on the other hand, wow, lots of scenery but I don’t think there wasn’t a lick of shade. That would be a killer to hike up in the heat of the day, perhaps literally. Be prepared if you even think about it, lots of water and travel light and don’t even think about trying to hike up South Kaibab in the summer. And you have to hike out after you do the easy part, the downhill, or if you really get in trouble they can airlift you out in a helicopter but I bet that is a pretty penny if they charge you for it because you got in over your head in spite of the warnings. I don’t know if they do charge, but even if they don’t it’s got to be a huge expense that could be better spent elsewhere and not wasted. I wished I’d taken more pictures, I mean that’s what I do! But I guess I was concentrating on the hike and not the scenery as much as I would have liked to, and like I said, the Bright Angel really isn’t that photogenic. I did take right around 100 pictures and 30 video snippets encompassing about 20 minutes, but I should have done double that. Especially on the pictures.
Thanks for that; I enjoyed reading it. Well written, and informative, as I have been intrigued by that hike over the decades.
I find that in hotter weather, eating rich foods like energy bars and such while on a rigorous hike, especially uphill, does not work for me. For that matter, I never eat on the way up, until I get to the top. My body’s energy feels totally directed to the work at hand and not digestion. And yes, I’ve discovered the joys of potato chips. Crumbling them to reduce package size is fine too.
You did pretty much everything right, and that explains the success of your hike even in that heat. Yes, even some dehydration really tends to compound the pain in the following day. Ask me how I know (I climber Mt. Gorgonio in So. Cal. in the summer when I was quite young without bringing any water. I was a wreck the next day(.
Bored? Not a chance. I hiked as a kid and into my early twenties, but knees and other bones slowly returning to their source as primal dust means I won’t be doing so again. I’m thrilled to ride along, though.
Those trees are mesmerizing. They are like huge characters standing, listening in the landscape. I fancy that I would have felt the urge to greet them.
Thanks for the post.
I did greet them, and touched them. The texture and feel of their weathered bones is remarkable.
What an adventure – congratulations! I consider myself relatively fit at 76, but disc issues mean that carrying a pack of any significant weight is out – hence bicycles. I’m envious.
Don’t know if you know ‘Foresty Forest’, a YouTube creator for the past 6 years, living in a van and doing increasingly adventurous mountain summits (with a Jack Russel terrier), mostly in the BC interior. His video skills and general presentation are impressive and addictive.
Good for you taking up backpacking when others are retiring from it. We’ve day hiked in the Wallowas and the Eagle Cap wilderness. Hiking more of Hurricane Creek is on the short list as well as mountain biking Salt Creek Summit, How long does it take you to get to Enterprise? From Bend it’s a 6 hour drive via 395 from Dayville to Ukiah then East to La Grande.
Those bristle cone pines remind me of some of the very old junipers in the Oregon Badlands that have similar twisted wood and make great monochrome images.