Kings Canyon/Sequoia: November 2020

We needed a camping trip – – but a combination of smoky skies and the pandemic had kept us locked up at home.  As soon as the smoke abated, we decided to take a short risk-averse trip to a "comfort food" location, both familiar and close to home:  the Sequoias.

Nov. 16:  The drive to Azalea Campground took us about 6 1/2 hours, and we were able to snag a nice unreserved campsite that was somewhat isolated from the rest of the campground.  (All of the usual Western Sierra boondocking areas in the national forest were behind gates that had been locked for the winter, so we had to stay in a campground.)  It had snowed a little bit a few days before we arrived:

After getting the campsite set up, we took a pleasant walk around Grant Grove in the late afternoon.  Check out the unusual shadowing on the trunk of the General Grant tree -- the light of the setting sun was virtually horizontal:

(By the way, Felice took that picture with her iPhone!)

The very last rays of the sun caught the top of this giant – – the distinctive "broccoli" structure of the crown is clearly visible:

Nov. 17:  Since it was a cold, cloudy day (excellent hiking weather), we took a "forest" hike to Muir Grove, rather than a "view" hike.  We saw one other person on the trail that day, and we had the entire grove to ourselves for more than two hours.  Felice greeted the Sentinel Tree at the entrance to the grove.  (It doesn't actually have a name, but it should.)

There is no way to capture the entire Circle of Giants, but this shot comes close.  (And no, that is not an official name, either.)

Felice noticed that this "goose pen" (an open area at the base of the tree) looked like a heart:

(And those were called "goose pens" because the early settlers supposedly kept geese in there.)

We then trekked off-trail to visit the Husband & Wife Trees (no, not an official name), as we almost always do.  (Felice named those trees because they share a foundation but stand on their own as individuals.)

This is as close to climbing as I get -- which is not very close:

Nov. 18:  Rain!  Not much, but still very welcome.  As is often the case, a cold dark rainy night meant that we slept very late -- till 8 am!  (Full disclosure -- we slept later than we usually do all week.  The temperature inside the trailer at night was in the low 40s:  perfect!  Better yet, the outside temp never fell below freezing, so we didn't have to worry about the water lines.)

After our usual leisurely breakfast, we were off to Redwood Canyon, with our ponchos draped over our backpacks:

The needles of the Sequoia seedlings were tipped with raindrops -- Felice took this with her iPhone:

Although we've been to this canyon many times, we had never before heard the tremendous crash of huge limbs falling from hundreds of feet in the air.  This time, during a few hours in the canyon, we heard four separate limb-drops, not too far away from us.  

It sounded something like thunder:  a sudden sharp crack, followed by a series of rolling impacts as the thick falling branches slammed down and down through the forest canopy, breaking off the branches below, culminating with an earthshaking thud and a final sprinkle of leaves and bark.  Each event lasted several seconds.  Terrifying, but really cool.

It could be that the sound carried so well on this wet day because there was no breeze at all.  Also, there was no air traffic, due to Covid.  The silence was very deep, except for the light rain and the four booming "widowmakers." 

As usual, we were The Only Car in the Parking Lot, which could be a good title for a book about remote day hikes:

Before heading back to the trailer, we decided to explore the road that runs down the mountain from Redwood Canyon to Eshom Campground, something we have long intended to do.  After a couple of miles, here's the bottom line:  too rough and rutted, with very deep potholes and big rocks.

Our high-clearance Tacoma 4X4 could handle the obstacles easily, despite the thick mud.  But it was punishing to be thrown from side to side of the passenger compartment, even at five miles an hour.  That itch has been scratched -- that road is a no-go for us.

On the way back to the campground, we stopped at an overlook.  The rainstorm was clearing, and the rounded crowns of the Sequoias on Sugar Bowl Mountain were poking up through the fog into the late afternoon sunlight:

Nov. 19:  A crisp, clear day:  Little Baldy, of course!  The trail was icy, but our microspikes did the trick.  Note the heavy black canvas snow gaiters -- they kept the snow out of our boots, and they were stout enough to ward off the thorn bushes:

We passed through the "nursery," in which hundreds of seedlings are racing toward the sunlight.  Every year, this patch of little trees gets noticeably taller -- not too long ago, they were knee-high:

   

As we approached the summit, Felice noticed that someone had propped up a heart-shaped rock:

The dome was much quieter than it usually is -- no wind, no air traffic, no one else for miles around us.  The clouds were well below the summit, leaving the Great Western Divide sharp and clear:

On our way back to the trailer late that afternoon, we came upon a very small bear cub, maybe six months old, sitting in the middle of the road near Wilsonia.  He scampered off before we could take a photo.  But he looked exactly like a high-quality Teddy Bear, plump and fluffy.

Nov. 20:  Another cloudy day, perfect for Giant Forest.  We parked north of the Sherman Tree and then wandered off-trail along the headwaters of Sherman Creek, toward the Wolverton area.  Although the trees were not ancient (maybe "only" 500 years old?), the groves appeared to be very dense and healthy.

This is one of those "Where's Waldo?" shots.  Hint -- I'm in the bottom center of the picture:

Felice's red jacket makes it much easier to spot her:

This was taken with our radio camera trigger -- we wanted to test its range:

 Nov. 21:  The drive home was uneventful.  The trip was a success:  not an epic adventure, but a fun (and safe) escape from the strictures of the Covid era.  It was liberating to come back to an area we had visited so many times before:  we were not under any self-imposed pressure to see all of the sights, racing against time.  We just took our time and relaxed.