Boondocking Near Sequoia National Park: November 2016

(Remember that you can click on the photos to see a slideshow, and then hit "escape" to get back to the text. Also, a note on the photo credits: as always, both Felice and I took these shots, and many of my shots resulted from her suggestions.  I do the photo editing using Lightroom; my goal is to reproduce just what we saw, as faithfully as possible.)

Usually, the forest roads between Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park are closed by snow in early November, but not this year.  (This is a rather thin silver lining to the drought.)  So we took advantage of this opportunity and found a really well-located boondocking site, north of Stony Creek and south of Grant Grove.

Friday, November 11:  We took the Panther Gap/Mehrten Meadow hike out of Wolverton (8.4 miles, 1800 feet).  Frankly, although the hike itself was not difficult, the air quality was a disappointment.  The forest service was conducting prescribed burns in the Mineral King area, and the smoke was drifting over to the north and east, obscuring the views.  On our way back, Felice scrambled up onto a boulder at Panther Gap:

Late that afternoon, just before sundown, we stopped off at Lost Grove to pay our respects:

Saturday, November 12:  It was another hazy day, so there was no sense in taking a "view hike.”  Instead, we opted for Muir Grove (7 miles, 1200 feet).  Since the road to the trailhead was closed, we started the hike where Cabin Creek crosses the Generals' Highway and then hiked down through a very recent prescribed burn (with a few still- smoldering logs!) to cross Dorst Creek.  Usually, that stream crossing is difficult or impossible; but thanks to the drought, we had no trouble.  The trail from Cabin Creek then intersected the main trail west of Dorst Campground.

Not surprisingly (given the difficult access), we were the only ones in the grove.  We first visited the massive tree that Felice calls the "Sentinel," which guards the entrance to the grove.  Using our outstretched arms, we measured the circumference to be in excess of 80 feet:

A hundred yards south of the Sentinel, there is a seldom-visited circle of very tall (over 200 feet) Sequoias, tightly bunched together:

We then headed off cross-country, about a half-mile to the northwest, to see Felice’s favorite trees, the "Husband and Wife" pair.  (Why isn't it ever "Wife and Husband?")  Along the way, we came across this burnt out shell of a Sequoia, which is somehow still living -- this shot was taken from inside the tree, looking straight up:

This is a wide shot of the "Husband and Wife" trees, showing their full height:

And this is a closer view:

That night, the moon was almost full:

Sunday, November 13:  It was a crisp, cool, clear day, so we decided to tackle Mitchell Peak (7 miles, 1800 feet).  It took us almost an hour to drive to the trailhead through the Big Meadows area.  The dirt access road was undergoing repair, and it was very slow going.  But there was no one else at the trailhead, and we didn't see anyone else the entire day!

We were pleasantly surprised at our ability to handle this difficult trail – evidently, we were still benefiting from our conditioning after hiking almost every day during our September trip.  Beyond the sheer elevation gain and the altitude, there were a few icy patches, and then we had to scramble (slowly and carefully) over a boulder field as we approached the summit.  Incredibly, it was warm, sunny, and calm at 10,000 feet in mid-November; the other times that we have taken this hike (during the summer!), the summit has been very windy and cold.

This is a view east from the peak toward the Great Western Divide; during late September, on our hike to Kearsarge Pass, we were looking at that range from the other side:

And this is toward the Kaweah Peaks area, southeast of Mitchell Peak:

Far to the north, beyond the Kaiser Wilderness, we could see some very high snowy peaks -- we took a bearing (330 degrees), and I am pretty sure this was the high country of central Yosemite, almost 100 miles away.  This is a short video showing the whole panorama from the summit:

While we were relaxing in the sun and eating lunch, an eagle was performing lazy spirals high above us -- because of the altitude, the sky overhead was a very dark blue, almost indigo:

That evening, we drove out onto a granite slab in the Big Meadows Area to await the rising of the "super-moon:"

Monday, November 14:  We decided to hike up from our campsite to Big Baldy Ridge (1100 feet, 5 miles).  Along the way, we came pretty close to the radio tower, which is visible throughout much of the area between Buck Rock and Dorst Campground:

Although there was still smoke in the south due to the prescribed burning, the views to the north were fairly clear:

That afternoon, we took a picture of our campsite, which was on a long cul-de-sac off of a rough forest road:

This was a lovely and silent site, even though it was just a little over a mile from the highway.  The only downside is that throughout the forest, many of the old-growth pine trees are dead or dying, from a combination of bark beetles and the drought.  The forest is loaded with fuel, just awaiting a spark.  

September in Basin and Range Country: Part V (Eastern Sierra)

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(Remember that you can click on the photos to see a slideshow, and then hit "escape" to get back to the text. Also, a note on the photo credits: as always, both Felice and I took these shots, and many of my shots resulted from her suggestions.  I do the photo editing using Lightroom; my goal is to reproduce just what we saw, as faithfully as possible.)

         Sept. 26:  We drove from Great Basin to the Oh Ridge Campground near June Lake, about 375 miles, along Highway 6 in Nevada and then Highway 120 in California.  Both roads were essentially empty – an easy and pleasant drive.  That evening, even though we had no radio coverage, we were able to listen to the first Clinton-Trump debate on Felice’s iPhone during an extended cocktail and snack session.  Interesting, if not relaxing.

         Sept. 27:  The campsite at June Lake had a great view of Carson Peak (on the left) and Parker Peak (on the right):

         We headed south to scout boondocking sites near the Mammoth Scenic Loop – there is a whole network of forest roads in that area.  We found a great place about a mile from the pavement – very quiet and isolated:

         Bear in mind, though, that this was a weekday.  I am guessing that on weekends or holidays, this area gets heavy use.  We saw a lot of ATV tracks in the forest.

         We drove down into the Red’s Meadow area beyond Minaret Summit to do a little late-afternoon hiking.  (For future reference, Red’s Meadow Campground was dusty and crowded and not RV-friendly at all.)  Throughout the canyon of the San Joaquin River, we noticed that there were tremendous numbers of very big old-growth trees that had been blown down.  I have since learned that there was a freak windstorm on November 30, 2011; they estimate that the winds were around 150 miles an hour.

         We took the Minaret Falls trail (4 miles, almost no elevation gain).  But after five years of severe drought, it was Minaret Trickles:

         By comparison, this is what it looked like in June of 2008:

         As we were heading back to the trailhead, we noticed this victim of the 2011 windstorm:

         I was puzzled by the big, heavy rocks on top of the tree trunk.  We have never seen anything like this before:  how did those rocks get up there?  It took us a little while to figure it out:  the root ball (on the left side of the shot) had trapped a number of rocks, as the roots always do.  But instead of riding the root ball gracefully down as the tree fell, as is usually the case, these rocks were violently catapulted out of the roots by the sudden shock of the tree slamming into the ground, propelled by that terrible windstorm.

         Sept. 28:  We took the Duck Pass trail in the Mammoth Lakes area, 10 miles with 2000 feet of gain.  It was a perfect day:  partly cloudy, breezy, and cool, with no snow on the trail.  And we were already acclimated to high-altitude hiking (after a full month of it!), so the hike was not difficult at all.

         The canyon headwall, seen from the perspective of Barney Lake, is a little daunting – to get a sense of the scale, Felice is in the lower left corner of this shot:

         But the trail up the wall is well-engineered.  It snakes through the talus with a reasonable grade, and the surface is not too blocky: 

         From the pass (at around 10,800 feet), we had a great view of the high country of Yosemite to the north, in the left background of this photo.  Skelton Lake is near Felice’s left hand:

          The big payoff, though, was when we made it over the top to Duck Lake.  Every other time we have gotten to the lake, the weather has been cloudy; but in sunny weather (and with the sun at the proper angle), the lake was a vivid mix of indigo and aquamarine, much like Crater Lake in Oregon.  The color in this picture is just about exactly right -- this might be worth clicking on: 

         We then headed west toward the outlet of the lake:

         At the outlet, there were several big metamorphic “whalebacks,” ridges of uptilted resistant rock that had been glacially polished and sculpted.  And on top of the whalebacks were erratics, boulders that had been carried and then dropped by the melting glacier:

         After lunch, we climbed back up to Duck Pass.  Barney Lake is in the foreground:

  

       Sept. 29:  Just before we left for our hike, I had to get another shot of the trailer tucked back into the forest, with the aspens backlit by the morning sun:

         We took the Mammoth Crest trail, 8 miles with about 1700 feet of gain.  After a long, steep climb (much easier than the last time, in deep snow), we arrived on the crest, which is an anomalous plateau.  (After some research, I could not find a geological explanation for the wide, flat ridge.  It is certainly covered in glacial material, but why wasn’t it carved up?)  Behind Felice are the Minarets, Mt. Ritter, and Banner Peak:

         We went pretty high up on the crest, but we didn’t make it all the way to the top – there were storm clouds forming over the Minarets, and the crest would be a bad place in a thunderstorm.  Before heading back, we posed (carefully) on the edge of the cliff:

         This is the storm that had us worried – eventually, it started to drift away from us, but discretion is the better part of not getting hit by lightning:

          The trail crossed the peak of a cinder cone -- Felice is holding a volcanic bomb:

         Halfway down, we took a detour to Crystal Lake.  I am pointing at the place up on the ridge where we stopped for lunch:

         That night, we took yet another Milky Way shot, right from the campsite.  We very briefly “painted” the aspens with an old-fashioned incandescent flashlight, which gives a much more natural light than an LED: 

         Sept. 30:  We hitched up and headed south to Onion Valley Campground.  After shoe-horning ourselves into a very small and un-level campsite, we went for a walk and stopped off along Independence Creek:

         Oct. 1:  I took the last of our “door shots” at sunrise:

          We started the hike up Kearsarge Pass (9.6 miles and 2600 feet), departing right from the trailer, a dream come true.  (Maybe not everyone’s dream, but that’s ours.)  It was a cool, breezy, and clear day, perfect for this demanding hike.  The trail was well-graded and well-maintained, which made it a lot easier than in the snow.  The mountains were distinctive southern Sierra crags:

         Up at the pass (11,800 feet), we spent quite a bit of time enjoying the view of the interior of the Sierras and the Great Western Divide, which we usually see from the other side of the mountains:

          As we descended, we were looking down on Big Pothole Lake, a classic glacial cirque.  On the left is University Peak, at around 13,250 feet:

         This is a close-up of the jagged granite “fingers” atop the headwall on the south side of the lake:

         We stopped off for a while at a cascade about halfway down the trail:

          We caught a glimpse of the trailer in the campground (lower left corner), far below us – it took us another 45 minutes from this point to get back down.  The Owens Valley and the Inyo Mountains are off to the east:

           We drove home the next day -- most of the day was spent listening to Vin Scully call his last game.

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September in Basin and Range Country: Part IV (Nevada’s Great Basin National Park)

(Remember that you can click on the photos to see a slideshow, and then hit "escape" to get back to the text. Also, a note on the photo credits: as always, both Felice and I took these shots, and many of my shots resulted from her suggestions.  I do the photo editing using Lightroom; my goal is to reproduce just what we saw, as faithfully as possible.)

         Sept. 22:  We drove from Twin Falls to Great Basin, less than 350 miles.  It rained on and off all the way, but it was still an easy and pleasant drive.  The road (Highway 93) was absolutely empty, the road drainage was fine, and it was not hot!  Northeastern Nevada is a hilly desert, not as bleak as the area around Las Vegas.  We passed the time listening to podcasts that Felice had downloaded at home – very enjoyable.

         As with most of the territory we saw during this whole month, this was “double scan” country:  turn on the radio, hit the “scan” button, and nothing comes up, neither on the AM nor the FM bands.  Just static.  That is wonderful, as far as I am concerned – it’s a sign that we are really out in the boonies.  The only problem is that we were completely out of touch with the news during the height of election season.  (On the other hand, not such a problem at all, especially this year.)

         We got to Great Basin in the mid-afternoon in a rainstorm and snagged a campsite at Lower Lehman Campground (or so we thought).  After unhitching and paying, we drove to the nearby Lehman Cave Visitor Center to ask a few questions, and we spotted this great rainbow over Baker, Nevada, to the east of us:

         

         But when we got back to our campsite, there was some unfortunate guy in a beat-up old van parked in front of our trailer.  He told us that this was his campsite!  It turns out that he was so broke that when he had taken the campsite and had later left for the day, he had nothing in his van that he could have left on the pad to show that the site was taken, which is the universal practice – not even a chair or a bucket.  He had attached a little paper tag to the clip on the campsite pole, but the rain had plastered it to the pole and it was not visible.  Moral of the story:  even if a campsite looks vacant, check the clip to see if there is a current tag.

         So we re-hitched and drove over to the Baker Creek Campground and got the last open trailer-friendly site.  We were surprised that all of the campgrounds had filled up on a rainy Thursday in late September; this could have been a problem, since all of the campgrounds are first-come, first-served at this time of year, and we would have had to go elsewhere.  As it turned out, we really liked our campsite – we could hear the stream, the campground was very quiet, and there were four wild turkeys who paraded comically back and forth through the bushes, a mother with three chicks.  (We later figured out that they were gorging on pine nuts -- pre-stuffed turkeys!  Just add sage . . . . )

         Sept. 23:  It had rained on and off during the night, and we could see snow in the higher elevations.  Let’s go!  So we took the Wheeler Peak Road all the way up to the trailhead at 10,000 feet, hoping to get to the Bristlecone trees, the oldest living things on Earth, and then up to the only glacier in Nevada.  (5 miles and 1100 feet of gain.)

         On the way to the trailhead, we stopped off at Mather Overlook:

         Right at the trailhead, there were snowy bare aspens next to trees still full of color:

         There was fresh snow on the trail to the Bristlecones:

         According to the plaque, this tree (still living) is 3200 years old – that kind of perseverance deserves a picture: 

         The snowy, gnarled Bristlecones were silhouetted against the storm clouds:

          Beyond the Bristlecone grove, we had the trail to the glacier completely to ourselves.  There were no footprints in the new-fallen snow except ours:

         These pictures make the hike look more adventurous, difficult, and cold than it was.  The temperature was in the high 20s, perfectly comfortable for hiking.  It was windy and sometimes a little foggy, but not too bad at all.  The snow was only about six inches deep.  And we were wearing our snow gaiters, which are knee-length and waterproof.   

         In this next shot, Felice is in the lower left corner.  The hilly stuff in the middle of the picture is a rock glacier:

         Apparently, the rock is thickly laced with ice that thaws and freezes.  As it re-freezes, the ice between the rocks expands, pushing the pile of rocks slowly downhill.  The trail took us up onto the rock glacier, fairly close to the headwall, over some pretty blocky talus.  The drifted snow on the trail actually made the hiking easier because it filled in some of the rougher patches.

         As we were getting ready to turn around, the sun came out for a moment and illuminated the stratified rock:

         Sept. 24:  We took the Timber Creek Loop, 5 miles and 1700 feet of gain.  Most of the route up was very steep, but at least the surface was good.  There were plenty of old aspens along the trail:

          Up at the crest, near where the Timber Creek trail joined up with the south fork of Baker Creek, there was a grove of really huge aspens:

         There was more fall color on the trip back down:

         The trail down was right along the creek, with many small cascades – very shady and pleasant.

         That afternoon, we drove up the Wheeler Peak road to the 8500 foot level, where we had spotted a dense grove of piñon trees.  We had been told that the pine nuts were in season and that there were two ways to harvest them:  directly from the cones, or else from the ground where they had fallen from the tree.

         Frankly, we were skeptical – if the pine nuts were any good, how could there be any left on the ground?  Wouldn’t the squirrels eat them all?  It turns out that there were so many pine nuts under the trees – thousands under each one – that the squirrels were probably sick of eating them.

         We were also told that the cones were full of sticky sap – as this photo clearly shows.  That white junk on the tips of the cone segments is like glue:

         Each of those nutshells is around 3/4 of an inch long -- maybe a little less.  The nut inside is about a half-inch long and a quarter-inch wide.  We decided not to touch those cones and opted for the “just pick them up from the ground” strategy.

         To protect our hands from the sap that had dripped from the cones onto the ground, we wore disposable nitrile gloves – the ones we usually use when dumping the black and gray water.  (News flash:  gathering pine nuts is more fun.)  We also brought a small step-stool, so that we wouldn't have to kneel or squat -- too hard on the knees!

         In much less than an hour, we had gathered two decent-sized plastic bags full of pine nuts, while working in the pine-scented shade on a mountainside at 8500 feet.  If you have to do stoop labor, this is the place to do it:

         When we got back home, we discovered that they were easy to prepare – rinse them, soak them in salty water for a few hours, drain, and roast at 325 degrees for 20 minutes.  They're done when the nuts turn a butterscotch color -- frequent testing is required.  Delicious!  But kind of a lot of work to eat – you have to crack each shell with your teeth (gently) and extract the nut.  A little time-consuming, but in a good way.

         That night, we again indulged my Milky Way obsession, since we were in a place that is known for its “primeval” dark skies, to quote the Park Service publication.  We drove up to the Mather Overlook at around 9000 feet (cold and breezy, of course), and this was the result:

         (That picture might be worth clicking on.)  If you look closely, you can see that the mountainsides are faintly illuminated:  the stars were so brilliant that they were dimly reflected by the fresh snow on the north face of Wheeler Peak.

This is a similar shot, oriented horizontally -- I have re-worked it in Lightroom to bring out more of the snow:

         Sept. 25:  We attempted the Wheeler Peak Trail, actually covering about 7 miles with 2000 feet of gain.  At the trailhead, there were great views of the sheer canyon below the peak:

         The first part of the trail was pretty flat and smooth, winding around the base of the mountain.  After a few miles, though, the trail ascended through the talus on the north slope.  At the 11,000 foot level, we ran into a lot of snow and ice.  The views were astounding – we could see for well over a hundred miles in every direction.  When we got up toward 12,000 feet, the wind started to howl over the ridge, making it really hard to stand:

         In this brief video, I am actually leaning into the wind at about a 45 degree angle, and the pressure of the wind is supporting me -- fun!!

         But in a few minutes, it got significantly worse – we could no longer stand up safely, even in a deep crouch.  We had to sit down.  The wind was so loud that we could not hear each other shouting.  Sticking a hand up felt exactly like putting a hand out of the window of a car on the freeway.  Bits of ice were sandblasting our faces.

         Basing my opinion on some Internet research and a series of videos shot at the Mt. Washington Observatory in New Hampshire (where they have a wind gauge and they showed the effects of wind on humans at varying speeds), I am fairly sure that the wind was gusting between 70 and 80 mph.  Especially with all of the ice and snow, it was no longer safe to keep climbing, so we had to head down.  Fun is fun, but there is a limit to adventure.

         On the way back to the trailhead, we stopped to admire the 13,000 foot peak:

         This multicolored aspen was right along the road on the way back down to the campground -- all of those colors are on one tree:

         Later that afternoon, we stopped in at the Lehman Visitor Center to see if they had a wind gauge on the peak (no), and then we noticed a fruit orchard just east of the parking area.  The trees looked ancient, and they are – we later found out that this was the Lehman Orchard, planted over a hundred years ago by an early settler, the discoverer of Lehman Cave.  (I think his name was Lehman.)

         One of the apricot trees still had ripe fruit on the branches – little reddish-orange apricots, and some of them were pretty good!

         Overall, Great Basin substantially exceeded our expectations.  It is such a cool and green anomaly, set in the middle of the high desert.  There aren't very many hiking trails available, but this park is certainly worth a stay of three or four nights.  And it would make a great stopover on a trip from California to Utah or Colorado.

Part V: Eastern Sierra