Ten days with backpack in the High Sierra - August 2006

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Back to Index Page Written by Big John, dedicated to Mike, Jasmine and Ken

Day One, or "No Guts No Glory"

Having experienced only one short backpack trip as a youngster I feel it's time to try it again, being that I'm 47 years old (and not getting any younger). The plan is to join my brother Mike and two others above Fresno California in the Kings Canyon watershed for a bit of sightseeing in the vast Sierra Nevada range. We have ten days worth of food tightly compressed into our black plastic bear cannisters and there's no bad weather on the horizon this fine August of 2006. I'm going for it!

Day dawns with Mike, his long time companion Jasmine, Ken Adair, and Yours Truly facing off against the Woodchuck Trailhead near the Wishon Reservoir at 6500 feet. We know the first miles of our route will have at least 2600 feet of vertical climb so the mood is Serious Anticipation.

We get a good, albeit late start, but things soon go awry when we let ourselves be led onto a short deadend road. After some wandering in the woods we regain the trail, legs quivering from the steep scramble thru the bracken. Is this an augury of things to come? You betcha!

For now tho, we proceed along a delightful up trending trail. Views of the lake far below peek between the pines and we cross our first Sierra brooks. I'm having a great time despite the pregnant elephant that nestles against my back. Rests come frequently, as is proper for city folk under pack on the first day.

Soon the trail begins to trend down, and then even more so. Ken mutters "No good can come of this" or something to that effect. Since I'm no longer fighting gravity I'm not concerned and with a jaunty laugh I dismiss his fears, fool that I am. We then reach the bottom at the Woodchuck Creek crossing, the cause of our descent. After filtering water the expected climbing resumes.

Now it's getting serious and there's nothing for it but to trudge onward and upward, and I do mean up. Shortly the first switchbacks appear, while Ken falls far behind and I doing not much better. We're still below 7500 feet and the day-heat is somewhat oppressive. After a while I catch up to Jasmine and Mike resting trailside where we enjoy a reverie until Ken chugs into view.

Now the scene is entirely obscured by thick pine woods glowing in the early afternoon sunshine. I fall into a trance, the whole of existence narrowed down to the pack and the motivating body underneath. Nothing else is important enough to break thru. I'm not actually suffering any pain; it's more a contest of wills between me and my rapidly depleting body, one I somehow manage to keep winning...

By this time Ken and I are walking together, and I pass the time giving him pep talks which are actually thinly disguised attempts to convince me. About 4pm we stagger up to a trail fork and in our befuddled state Ken and I commence to argue about the correct course of action. I have my ideas and he has his, and the one thing that doesn't happen is a quick look at the map, which is inconveniently located in the pack. Woe!

The upshot is that we decide to turn toward the signed 'Chuck Pass' route, which is somehow associated with our Crown Pass destination. Naturally the Chuck Pass fork climbs incredibly steeply from the git-go for at least 200 vertical feet. After we finally heave over the top to a flat area I experience a rush of brains to the head and drag out the map. To my horror I see that we are headed far out into right field, naturally. After "informing" Ken of the situation, and after the sobbing dies away, we stumble back down to the main trail. Something good does come of this tho, in that I learn to always keep the map ready-to-hand while wearing a pack!

Unfortunately Ken, in his distress, fails to collect his laid-down sunglasses before our descent and is then forced to go without for the rest of the trip! A bad thing indeed while hiking 'The Range of Light.' Light colored granite that is, which reflects raw high-altitude solar ultraviolet extremely well.

Back on the main trail, our trials not yet complete, we are required to continue climbing for more than another full mile, altho with some nice views of Wishon. However, by that time we're beyond caring very much.

Along about 7pm we hear Mike hallooing in the distance. Great thundering nuggets! We're saved! As Ken and I round the final bend we see Jasmine by a creek, filtering water for camp. A more joyous site never met these weary eyes.

I feel sure that I will at once collapse into a steaming heap, never to revive, but strangely I'm soon up again, preparing tents and things. A fine camp.

Day Two, or "A Crowning Achievement"

This day begins well and altho there is more climbing, it is nothing like the 2600 feet of day one. After a few hundred feet of rise the trail begins to flatten for longer stretches and we're enjoying it more. To save time we bypass the long roundabout to Woodchuck Lake in favor of a direct drive to Crown Pass and Halfmoon Lake beyond.

Lunch arrives in a wonderful little glade and soon thereafter we cross a creek running down a picture perfect valley, so we take pictures. Water is obtained here, and it's a good thing too because we won't see any more until Halfmoon Lake, more than three miles distant.

The expected severe foot and leg pains have mostly failed to materialize and in fact will not happen for the duration of the trip. Even my back seems to be doing okay. Sweet!

After a bit more hiking we break out onto a rocky windswept ridge far above Crown Valley and its lake, with rank upon rank of misty Sierra peaks stretching to the horizon. Superb.

The rest of the day passes fairly well. We reach Crown Pass quickly and make the long switchback descent to Halfmoon Lake in fairly good time. There are some mosquitoes here but I am "deetified" and hardly notice. The others prefer head nets and seem less than pleased.

At this time the idea is to continue on the trail to take advantage of the two hours of daylight remaining, but some reconnoitering proves that once away from the lake there will be little water so it's back to the lake.

We find a spot to camp, but I am not satisfied and hunt around a bit more. Nearby a much better campsite is found, but fatigue and inertia almost defeats my entreaties to move camp. I prevail though and amidst much grumbling we shift 100 yards to the good campsite.

Halfmoon Lake is sublime, with high jagged cliffs rising on the far side and steep woods on our side. As darkness gathers the little trout commence to jump. Ahhh. I finally begin to feel like I'm "settling in" to this trip. Surely tomorrow will be great.

Day Three, or "Where did Ken go?"

On this day the trail goes along the lake outlet for a short distance and then forks, one way going downstream and the other crossing and heading along the contour lines to the right. We know that this right turn is the correct way for the intended route up the Kings River North Fork, and Ken takes off early. The rest of us reach the trail split without sighting Ken and turn onto the side trail. This path is a pleasant walk thru open woods but it's very faintly marked and thus it's very easy to wander off-trail if you don't pay attention.

Both Ken and Mike have GPS gadgets so the danger is not great. I do okay too, having lots of experience following faint desert game trails. Mike, Jasmine and I more or less stay together, but soon we begin to notice a disturbing lack of Ken-sign on the trail. The longer we go, the more obvious it becomes that Ken Has Not Passed This Way Today.

Whistles are brought out and blown, to no avail. Did Ken somehow wander down the wrong fork? Is he halfway down that steep trail in the wrong direction? No way to tell, and Mike assures us that Ken is fully able to fend for himself so we trudge on with some concern.

About lunchtime we arrive at the fast flowing Kings River (just a creek this far up), and pause for refreshment. Bye and bye Ken does appear, with a story about "wandering off the trail for a while." Sure. I bet it was really a tryst with a wood elf, or maybe some pining ursine. Still, it was a very faint trail...

Now the walking starts to get squishy. Mud in copious quantities covers the deeply trenched creek trail, which is obviously used by horses quite often. The skeeters are ever-present and I apply double doses of deet. All hail the great god Deet!

It's squishy because we're trending upriver along its south side with a huge north-facing snow-covered ridge looming overhead, dripping down upon everything. The far side of the creek looks pretty decent but the trail is on this side, and perforce we squelch onward and upward.

Long about 3pm we decide we're at the correct spot to cross the creek and begin our planned cross-country journey up into Blackcap Basin and the high country beyond. Trouble is, the creek here is fast and tumbling with few safe-looking boulders in the flow. It's while we are thrashing along the bank in search of a way across that Mike has a Mishap.

As I recollect it happened this way. I was directly behind him and we were all quite fatigued. As Mike climbed onto a big old log next to the water he stuck one hiking pole into a rotten spot on the stump. The pole sank almost to China, causing Mike to sprawl on the log, busting the pole clean in half. Then he lurched upright on the log, and swayed around next to the rushing waters. One foot away from possible instant death and he seemed not to even realize it. Before I could reach out it was over and Mike was back on dry land. At that instant I truly realized how easily fatigue can cause disaster.

Anyway nothing happens (except to that unfortunate pole), so we get across and begin to do serious climbing up thru mixed woods and granite slabs, heading for the basin far above. This is steep stuff and we make slow going of it. As usual, Mike is far ahead and seemingly tireless. I'm sure he could go much faster alone and it must be hard for him to hold back, even if he does have only one pole left.

Toward late afternoon it's agreed that while the spirit is willing the flesh is weak, so we settle onto the slabs next to a nice cold stream rushing down from the basin above. Washing up is in order as there's some time left before sunset.

While we're busy with camp chores and thinking of starting the evening meal, we get treated to an interesting sight. Just 100 feet away there are horses! At least eight pack horses in a string, with a packer on the lead pony and a dog running around. The dog does zoom by for a glance or two but the packer never turns his head as he and his string plod slowly up the slabs and out of sight. So quietly do they pass that Ken never notices, being busy with tent affairs.

As the sun goes away the full moon rises over huge granite peaks to the east, causing much oohing and ahhing. I do enjoy the sight, and even more the sight of Mike attempting to whittle a repair peg out of an old stick for his broken pole. The task is hopeless (not to mention hilarious) and he soon abandons it.

Tomorrow's hike will involve hard climbing up thru Blackcap Basin to a high pass at Confusion Lake, perched on the White Divide itself. By now we are beginning to harden up and I feel good about it. That resolve will be tested, come the morrow...

Day Four, or "Good lord, we're going up where!?"

Dawn on the slabs is chilly, but warms as soon as the sun rises over the mountains. Shortly we realize that we had almost completed the climb the night before as we quickly enter Blackcap Basin proper. It's just as well because now we are rested and can fully appreciate the magnificent alpine meadow stretched before us, ringed with tremendous white snow-speckled peaks. Wow.

The meadow itself is very damp and delicate so we thoughtfully skirt around it to reach the next slab climb. This valley is clearly glacier-cut, forming a series of huge flat steps separated by steeply angled granite slides. The slide we're approaching has a fast creek shooting straight down the smooth rock to the meadow below, and we speculate what riding that slide would be like. Long, fast and deadly, most likely.

During this climb we once again see our packer friend and his string far across the meadow, plodding slowly back the way he came in. He must have been restocking camp supplies somewhere in Blackcap Basin for a large hiking group. What would life as a Sierra packer be like, I wonder?

Topping the first slide we see another meadow area, not nearly as pretty as before but still great. Far above at front and center is the pass over the divide, beckoning us onward. Before we can attempt the pass there is another big rock slide to surmount, with Rainbow Lake squatting at the top. We zigzag up the slabs and soon are treated to a view of a true High Sierra lake. There is almost no vegetation at all as we are near 11,000 feet now, having climbed a full 1000 feet today. It's noon so we take lunch by the frigid waters.

Now our route is in clear view, a mere 600 foot climb up slabs and broken granite blocks to the pass, but at this altitude things are beginning to slow down. Mike seems to be supercharged tho and while we plod up the easiest route he is seen skipping across the crags and rubble far up the sides of the canyon. Where does he get all that energy?

Eventually we do manage to crawl our way up to Confusion Lake by 3pm. It's a bit cool and quite windy here at 11,400 feet so we all button up tightly. This lake is amazingly blue and is surrounded by masses of jagged broken granite and snow fields. It's awesome, and just a little scary. We know we can't stay here long so it's time to get going, but how? To the left it's obviously impassable except for mountain goats, and to the right is a big snow field that drops steeply into the water. There's even big hunks of snow that have "calved" into the lake, glacier-style.

There's no other way so we are forced to climb 200 feet up and around the snow field, actually crossing the snow on its upper flatter section. This is a very tense moment since the slippery snow forms an unbroken sheet all the way to the lake. Happily the snow has heated in the sun and we can crunch in a bit, using the holes as walking anchors. Our hiking poles are really paying their way now! I fondle mine lovingly and promise to always treat them with great respect.

Once across the snow field we drop back down to the opposite lake edge where we get an eyefull of upper Goddard Canyon beyond and directly below. This deep canyon once held a massive glacier that swung by the spot where we stand, carving away at the divide until Lake Confusion no longer had a backing ridge at all. Now this lake actually has two outlets; the original one down thru Blackcap Basin and the other draining over a sheer lip created by the long vanished Goddard glacier. Most unusual!

It's at this point that the mutiny takes place. We are so high that we can easily see very large Lake Martha at the upper end of Goddard Canyon, surrounded by the biggest peaks we have yet seen. Hugest of all is Mount Goddard, 13,568 feet high. Mike's plan is to descend to the canyon below and then go upcanyon, skirting Lake Martha and thru a very high pass next to Mount Goddard to the mysterious and rarely visited Ionian Basin beyond. Mike is still ready to do this but it's clear that at our current pace the route and the long round-trip it would entail would not happen in the ten allotted days.

Mike's inner agony is palpable but he does the right thing and agrees to abandon that portion of the plan. Instead we will simply descend Goddard Canyon to where it meets the John Muir Trail (JMT) and then turn right and up into Evolution Valley for a day. After that we will return up Goddard, cross over another pass in the White Divide, and head back to Wishon.

Now our only problem is that big drop to the floor of Goddard Canyon. It's only 800 feet below but the drop is extremely steep, almost a cliff in fact. Near the lakes' edge is a snow field that forms a long cornice overhanging the canyon below, so we sidle sideways until the cornice is bypassed and it looks more doable. After one false start our descent begins in earnest, but with packs on it's dangerous all the way down and takes over two hours. Before we reach open ground we're in shadow and a camp must be found soon.

Unfortunately the area we find ourselves in is rather wet and boggy. The upper end of the Goddard Canyon trail terminates just a short distance down the canyon, so we head that way. We're all very tired, even Mike, but camping here would be unpleasant. The search for flat dry anything continues, and sure enough a down-canyon trail of sorts does become evident soon but no good campsites appear. It's getting close to sunset and we might have to rough it tonight.

But what's that up ahead in the twilight? A tiny little dry campsite, right near the rushing creek? Joy! We seize this gift of the trail gods and make camp in record time. Whew.

Day Four was extremely tiring but we got to see and do the kind of things I have always dreamed about. It was worth it. Tomorrow will be easier with a long downhill and only a 1000 foot climb up the well-maintained JMT to a premier Sierra location, Evolution Valley.

Day Five, or "Running the Pig Chute"

Day dawns clear, sunny and warm. We have seen no clouds since the 2nd day and all that cold-weather gear I'm lugging is going totally to waste. My polar-grade sleeping bag is so hot inside that it's practically useless. We break camp and head down the Goddard Canyon Trail toward its junction with the JMT, four miles away.

This canyon is really neat. When that ancient glacier oozed out of the upper canyon it slimmed down considerably, creating a narrow and deep U-shaped profile. Later the creek cut down into the bottom of the canyon, so we are walking on a trail that hangs up on one side of the deeply trenched modern canyon. The creek is usually inaccessible down in that rocky trench and we see several impressive waterfalls and plunge pools from our high vantage. The cut that the creek runs in is so deep and vertical along the mid-canyon section that it bears the name "Pig Chute." The canyon walls on both sides are very close and tower far above us. Cosy.

I'm loving it all, primarily because we are not climbing. Along the way we pass thru fields of wild onions, my first exposure to these natural delectables. Jasmine tells me to pull them and munch the sweet stalk bases and she's right, they're delightful! The evening meal will be greatly enhanced by handfuls of these vegetable wonders, yum.

Around 1pm we arrive at the junction and the wooden beam bridge over Goddard Creek that carries the JMT on it's way up to Evolution Valley far above. There is a camp site across the creek where we rest and prepare for the short but grueling 1000 foot climb ahead. It's here that we meet people for the first time on the journey. (The packer doesn't count) A gang of teens on a trail repair trip, some couples and trios, and all with packs. It's a long long way to any trailhead from here.

After a time we gird up and commence to tackle the big climb. This trail segment switchbacks up a massive and almost vertical descending ridge that forms one side of the steep entrance to Evolution Valley, with a rushing cataract to our left that tumbles down from above. It's hot and west-facing, and I stop often in tree shade to cool off. Many other hikers are also climbing and descending here. At least fifteen of them pass us going down. Happily the trail is excellent and we make steady progress.

Finally we top out into the woods and soon the creek appears before us, blocking our way. It's about 30 feet wide here and knee deep at this time, but not terribly cold. The current is reasonably slow, but fast enough to engender great caution in the crossing. Mike informs me that the trick is to focus on the bottom rocks, not the surface of the water. If you do that you get disoriented.

Once again my blessed hiking poles provide comfort and stability during the barefoot crossing on the slippery algae-covered cobbles. I pity the fools who lack such vital equipment, but they'll come around, eventually.

Now it's back into the woods and the trail climbs only mildly here. Quite nice but the trees prevent us from seeing any views. It's past mid-afternoon, we are tiring, and campsites are slow in coming. After another mile we reach the first meadow but the campsites here are just flat dirt with no scenery. Tired as I am, I really want a nicer spot so while the others rest I set off uptrail in search of something better.

Almost a half-mile further on I do locate more open terrain that looks okay and go back to collect the gang. Amid much moaning and groaning we trudge up to the new spot. I hear some grumbling about the location not matching my glowing description, but now we're here so we settle in.

To this point we've fully exerted ourselves for five solid days with no rest, and tomorrow is slated to be "easy." Cool. This probably means we will not be able to visit Evolution Basin, as it is far up the valley and then up another 1000 foot climb. Next time for sure! For this trip we'll have to be turning around soon so we can walk to Wishon before our vittles are exhausted.

Day Six, or "Llamas!"

'Sleeping in' is the order of the day, followed by a bear-cannister-cum-clothes-washer session. Those bear cans are so useful! Not only do they frustrate bears, they wash clothes and provide a nice swivel-chair in camp as well. After our duds are hanging on a line we take turns using Ken's portable shower behind a big tree. Of course it runs out just as I'm trying to get the suds off and I'm forced to 'streak to the creek' nearby and take the plunge. Just call me "nature boy."

Soon we all head up the trail, leaving the tents and packs behind. Mike and Jasmine want to be alone for a while so we stop near a pretty bend in the creek to enjoy life. McClure Meadow is less than one mile up the trail and it's supposed to be very nice, so I decide to head up and check it out. Turns out it's great. A huge expanse of grass and flowers stretching up a softly curving valley with the white granite crags of the upper basin grouped around the head of the valley. A really excellent view.

Just off the meadow I spot the Ranger's cabin, but he's had to rush off for a search and has left a note on the door. It's a pity because we wanted to inquire about the pass we will be using on the return trip. Oh well, it can't be helped.

I go back downtrail and see Ken tootling on his penny whistle. He goes back up to McClure with me and we agree that this meadow is something special. I don't want Mike and Jasmine to miss out so I go back yet again and fetch them up. I know, sounds like a lot of shuttling back and forth, but this part of the trail is what all trails ought to be like all the time. Besides, without the pack I'm feeling a lot like Paul Bunyan, yeehaw.

McClure Meadow is a big hit with Jasmine and Mike and we all spend a timeless interlude basking in the afternoon sun, lounging amongst the grassy sward. Too soon it's time to go back to camp, sigh. We take one last look at the meadow and those faraway peaks, vowing one day to return.

Since it's still pretty early we decide to pack up and return down to the trail junction to get a jumpstart on the next day's heavy climbing. Along the way we run across two middle-aged ladies with llamas. Previously I would have scoffed at the expense and hassle of using pack animals like this, but my attitude has been revolutionized by having become a pack animal for the past six days. The ladies tell us that while horses are banned from the JMT, llamas are not, and are actually quite dainty trail walkers. Works for me.

The walk down is much easier and quicker than going up and we soon make camp at the bridge. This camp is at about 8000 feet and tomorrow we will have to re-ascend Goddard Canyon, re-crossing the White Divide at Hell For Sure Pass above 11,200 feet. I find this name rather ominous but Mike dismisses my fears. Hardly matters anyway, since we have no choice. Looks like we're in for it now, with only the fading golden memories of Evolution Valley to sustain us. Oh boy, I can hardly wait.

Day Seven, or "All Sierra Trails Got Switchbacks"

Day dawns and we begin our trudge back up Goddard Canyon. Okay it's uphill, but if I have to climb I can think of much worse places to do it. Once again we collect/munch the wild onions and so far it's pretty nice going. However, the day is yet young.

Goddard Trail climbs the length of the canyon to just above our camp of the fourth day, and near that point a side trail breaks off to the right, going up to Hell For Sure Pass. This trail heads almost straight back downcanyon but also angles up along benches and such, eventually turning hard left and climbing over the White Divide to another high basin beyond. Mike's plan is to cut three miles off this huge switchback by leaving the canyon trail at a likely point and driving straight up the side of the canyon to the higher trail.

I try to talk him out of it, but it's his expedition and he's still smarting from having to abandon all those carefully laid cross-country plans on day four. The others seem to be okay with the idea so I go along, and to my surprise it's not all that hard to find a way up. Slow and very steep yes, but quite doable. In a couple of hours we reach the upper trail where we meet two colorful British-type blokes coming from the pass. They say they went over the pass only an hour ago, cheering us greatly.

By now we have climbed about 2000 feet and and there's at least 1000 feet to go, what with all the ups and downs. Our steep trail-cut has sapped my strength somewhat but I'm a lot stronger than before, and the pack is getting lighter too. Onward and upward.

Once the high trail turns toward the pass it gets seriously steep and there are no long Sierra-type switchbacks at all. This trail must have been built after the CCC era, when cheap labor was no longer so available. Both Ken and I are getting hot and tired but it has to be done so on we go. Mike and Jasmine pull far ahead.

There's not much more to say about the climb, except that it's relentlessly steep all the way up. At long last we top out at the pass and look over to a beautiful basin, featuring yet another of those patented eye-catching alpine lakes. Yes! The descent begins and it's only 500 feet down, but very steep all the way and rather soggy in places from snow melt. At the lake it's only about 5pm but we're worn out, so camp-time it is.

Hell For Sure Lake is rarely visited except by people heading over the pass, and we find almost no trace of previous camps. It's a really pretty natural setting and as the sun drops behind the low western horizon the sun-glow off the great crags around the lake reflect in the water, turning the lake to a sublime pink hue.

Later as I stand alone in the darkness, the others in their tents, I spy a pure white dot in the sky going straight overhead at orbital speed. It's so bright it has to be the Space Station! Moments later I see a long meteor trail streak down, almost kissing the black outline of the peaks across the lake.

Inspired by these sights I wander to the water's edge. It's totally still and silent. Suddenly a deep whirring passes my head in the dark, a large insect no doubt. I next hear a faint strange grumbling that seems to emanate from the unseen water itself. Is some primordial monster of the deep coming up to get me? The grumbling changes to a clatter and then dies away, and I realize I have heard a stone falling down the rocky slope on the far shore, the distant sound carried to me across the flat water.

Later in the night a fitful lake-breeze kicks up from time to time. Since I have a freestanding tent and there has been no wind in any camp so far, I've used no tent stakes. The tent-side bumps me a few times as it attempts to fly away. Fat chance with my dead weight inside, and I do mean dead. I'm beyond caring about nervous tents and slumber on, almost oblivious. Tomorrow is a downhill day, that's all I care about.

Day Eight, or "We don' need no steenking maps!"

This day I arise well before the sun tops the peaks and emulate Mike by rambling around the lake shore to explore a bit. I'm having a great time and reach a vantage overlooking some other small lakes nearby. Then the sun comes out and I better get back. There is a 20 foot wide gully full of snow to cross on the route back. Hey, no problem for the big Mountain Man who braves dangerous glaciers over death plunges in howling gales!

The conditions are a bit different this time tho. I haven't got my trusty poles with me, and this snow has not been warming all day in the sun. Still, it's a gentle slope, it's got no dangerous hazards nearby, and it's only 20 feet across. Hah!

I remember every detail. The first step should have warned me as my boot came down on a rock hard glaze, but no, Dumb John had to keep going. The third step was my last. Whoosh! I was slammed to that hard ice in an instant, painfully banging my hip. Then gravity took over completely and I slowly and helplessly slid down the dippy surface, leaving little gouge-trails as I went. Shortly I fetched up on the other side of the gully, thankful at least that no human eyes had witnessed my prone, bumpy, face-down, feet-first progress.

Now I have to find out if a rescue is in order, but God looks out for children and fools, so the hipbone is still mercifully intact. Whew. It does hurt like blazes but I accept the pain as an appropriate and rather light penance for such a boneheaded blunder. I limp back to camp, hoping that the injury will not grow into a major issue during the day's hike.

Luckily the pack causes no increase in the pain and by the next day I will be mostly untroubled by it. Now we head down the trail, passing Disappointment Lake and making great time. On we go, burning up the down-sloping miles. We're all "in the zone" and Ken has raced far ahead. He likes to go real fast on downhills.

Then a vague thought begins to tickle my mind. I like to study maps a lot and this trail seems to be heading in a direction we are not supposed to go. Hmmm. I shout ahead to stop Mike and Jasmine and we butt heads over the map. Sure enough, we've passed the faint trail fork we were supposed to turn at! There really is no excuse for this. All hiking parties should examine the day's route on the map before starting out, but we had neglected to do that.

The fork is only a quarter mile back so it's not a tragedy, but what about Ken? The last we had seen of him, he was small dot and getting smaller fast. He could be miles ahead by now. Mike de-packs and takes off trotting, but soon gives up and returns. Once more we have been rendered Kenless. Never a dull moment with him around! Or not around...

So we turn and go back to the fork. Now we're headed the right way and Ken will just have to wake up and look at his GPS sooner or later. This new trail is not nearly as good as the old one, but it's thru pleasant woods so we don't mind. Close to lunch time we're forced to climb a steep 400 foot hill to pass by Devil's Punchbowl, one more wonderful Sierra lake. Views here are spectacular and we settle down to wait for our "sweeper" to arrive.

Eventually he does, and having rested we push on over a ridge and down the Meadow Creek Trail. The trail descends thru more woods, occasionally breaking out into very nice meadows. It's along this section that we meet a group of around 10 elderly gentlemen climbing the trail under full pack. Here we are, at least two days from the nearest trailhead, and we bump into a gaggle of cotton-tops. Cool!

Some of these guys say they've been doing the Sierra thing since the 50's, back when the trails were all new. They're headed up to the Punchbowl for "a few days of fishing." Oh, to be able to camp out with these geezers and hear some of their stories! Ah well.

Now it's becoming steeply down and the Kings River ahead is nowhere to be seen. The slope steepens more and it blows my mind again thinking about those old men and what they do for fun. After a long time we finally reach the river trail, where Mike wants to begin a new "shortcut" trail up to Crown Pass. I have my doubts since it doesn't appear on my map, and after Mike and Ken get a look at where the hike will go we agree to take the longer way around thru Halfmoon Lake.

About this time Ken realizes that he left his penny whistle far up the trail we have just descended. He really is a caution!

Now it's up the easy river trail looking for a campsite, which we find on a granite bench near the rushing river. It's a really nice spot, and Mike and I take a dip in the refreshing stream. Once more we devour our dinner and after a bit of campfire-chat we prepare to turn in.

This night the moon is finally out of sight for a while after sunset, so Ken and I stay up for stargazing. The Perseid meteor shower is active and we're treated to several long brilliant streaks in a short time. Okay, time to get some rest, there's a big climb tomorrow.

Day Nine, or "The Once and Future Crown Kings"

This day we hit the river trail and have soon hiked the two miles up to Big Maxton Meadow. There's a neat old historic cabin here and we muse over what it must have been like to live in this remote location. There's a bit of trouble locating and reaching the side trail up to Halfmoon Lake but eventually we get across the river and find it.

From this point it's 1000 feet up to the lake and another 1000 feet to Crown Pass high above. We discover that this trail, while not appearing very good near the river, is actually well switchbacked. Nowhere on the climb does it get really steep and we cruise up easily, going back and forth many times. A couple of hours later we arrive at the lake and relax while Mike goes skinny-dipping. Such a nature boy.

Having rested, we continue on up to the pass, arriving winded but not quite depleted yet. We've decided to take the slightly longer route back to Wishon that goes by Woodchuck Lake, and that lake is four or five downhill miles away so we hustle to get there before dark. Along this section the care and dedication of the old CCC trail crews is evident. Several hundred yards of trail have been blasted out of a steeply tilted solid granite slope, creating a mostly level trail section with tremendous scenery both down and out. I can just imagine the trail planners putting the trail along here specifically to "wow" the passerby with these killer views.

It's a long trot and we run out of water just before reaching Woodchuck Lake. No biggie, and the trail then travels down the length of the lake right at the water's edge. This part is majorly idyllic and I wish we could have explored here just a bit, but time is short and tomorrow will be quite lengthy too.

At last we reach the far end and find lots of great campsites on a hill above the lake. There's no one else here but clearly this lake gets lots of visitors. Tomorrow will be almost all downhill and our packs are much lighter, but our hearts are heavy with the knowledge that this is the last camp. No one wants the campfire to end and we all linger, staring into the dancing flames for a long time.

Day Ten, or "Down to Earth"

This day we get on the trail and soon discover that horse riders use it quite a lot, leaving very many loose stones on the trail. It slows us a bit but it's all downhill and we're light and strong now. The miles flow by like magic, very differently than was the case on the first day, oy.

We reach the site of our first camp and then the infamous side trail to Chuck Pass. Ken bolts up to the top to retrieve his shades and now he's a stylin' dude again!

The rest of the hike down is long and uneventful, except for a short halt to perform a quick photo-shoot. Seems Mike wants to do a "re-creation" of the 'Incident of the Broken Pole' from the third day. As he attempts to portray falling thru space while really standing on one foot and leaning over, I snap away. The camera loves you, baby!

With only one mile to go, we halt at the last brook to fill our bottles with Genuine Sierra Water®. These bottles will be husbanded and enjoyed when the walking has long ended. Such water cannot be obtained in any way other than to walk up and get it yourself. Finally we reach the End of the Trail, tired but happy. I definitely plan to do this again, oh yes.

Postscript:

Once back at the trailhead I was so euphoric that somehow I managed to drive away while leaving my cherished poles behind. Shades of Ken! When I discovered the mistake I was hundreds of miles away with no chance of return. After recovering from the loss I swore a painful oath to replace my old friends with new ones just like them, and so I have. Perhaps those old poles have found their way into the hands of some deserving person, and if so, may they serve their new owners as well as they served me.

Big John
August 2006