Date: 2007-10-30
From: Michigan

To: Sierra Nevada - Evolution Valley - Part I
Miles today: 0.0

Ranger Jan Reporting9 Days in Paradise        If I employed every superlative in my arsenal, I would doubtless fall short of describing my Sierra Nevada adventure. Whatever disappointment, remaining from my abruptly terminated Appalachian Trail thru-hike, was completely purged in the vast majesty of the John Muir Wilderness. My father was doing well after his mid-summer stroke. (The reason my thru-hike was interrupted) Moreover, how could one ever complain about ending the hiking season in John Muir¢s ¢Range of Light¢, the incomparable Sierra Nevada? Arguably, THIS IS the finest backpacking country in the world. Sure, I¢m a little sad at not finishing the AT with all the new friends I¢d met, but there¢s always 2008 and more new friends. (Hopefully I can finish the last 575 miles and cap-off my 2nd Appalachian Trail thru-hike.) The nine days spent hiking the Evolution Valley Loop was without a doubt the best backpacking trip I have ever taken. So to ask me, how disappointed I am about the AT, is like asking a man who broke his leg, then won the lottery the next day, how bad he feels about the broken leg. (Knock on wood, about the leg-breaking)        My sister Kim, her husband Bill and I decided to forgo the increasingly unpleasant experience of air-travel and sandwich the Sierra hike between a couple of weeks of road-trip. (Michigan to California and back again) It proved to be well worth the effort. On the outbound trip we hiked and camped in Rocky Mountain National Park (NP), camped in the Flaming Gorge NRA, visited the Great Salt Lake and Bonneville Salt Flats, and meandered along the shores of Lake Tahoe. The return was equally rewarding as we explored Death Valley NP, waded the Narrows of Zion NP, dined in Arches NP, strolled along the North Rim of Grand Canyon NP, passed through Monument Valley and hiked/biked the Moab slick-rock, finally camping on the nearby Colorado River. Our road-trip would not be considered a shabby vacation in itself, but let¢s get back to the crown jewel of the trip ¢ the Sierra Nevada.        I¢ve never hesitated when it comes to the Sierra Nevada (Spanish for ¢snowy mountains). It is, without a doubt, my favorite place to backpack. Most people are familiar with the stunning vistas of Yosemite and the giant trees in Sequoia, but these national parks barely hint at the wealth of backcountry scenery in the Sierra range. The world¢s largest continuous granite formation, the range stretches 420 miles in a north-south orientation. (Width 60-80 miles) Elevations range from 5,000¢ to 14,495¢ at the top of Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48. The John Muir Wilderness, where we would spend most of our time, was established by the Wilderness Act of 1964. Instrumental in establishing Yosemite NP and founder of the Sierra Club, the Scottish immigrant John Muir was America¢s pioneer conservationist. This wilderness, only a small part of the whole Sierra Nevada, includes over half a million acres, 957 lakes and 627 miles of rivers and streams (Including the headwaters of the San Joaquin and Kings Rivers).        My friends, Bruce and Mary had selected the destination and organized the trip, studying maps, reading the journals of hikers who had been there, and pulling permits. They couldn¢t have made a finer choice and we soon experienced for ourselves why the Evolution Valley Loop is the first hike featured in ¢The World¢s Great Adventure Treks¢ by Jack Jackson. Kim, Bill and I rendezvoused with them at the South Lake (9820¢) trailhead in the Inyo National Forest, 21 miles west of Bishop, CA. The parking lot was packed, as was the lot at North Lake trailhead, our exit point. Crowds are something I¢ve rarely encountered in the Sierra Nevada. As we would be traveling on portions of the combined John Muir and Pacific Crest Trails, I wasn¢t that surprised. Completed in 1916, the 211-mile John Muir Trail (Mt. Whitney to Yosemite Valley) is, after all, the most heavily traveled wilderness trail in the entire nation. I knew that once we put a few miles between the trailhead and ourselves, the additional humanity would be diluted by the vastness of the high country. Invariably, I would end up with the same feeling I always get out there in the backcountry ¢ ¢I own this place.¢      We shuttled one of our cars to North Lake after transferring all food and odoriferous items to a bear-proof metal box, provided by the Forest Service. The last thing we wanted was to return from our hike and find that a passing bruin was enticed into trashing one of our vehicles for a free meal.Finally leaving South Lake (actually a reservoir), the five of us began ascending towards Bishop Pass on our first day in the ¢Range of Light¢. We took a breather along the north shore of Long Lake, first of the many lakes and tarns we would encounter. Hurd Peak peered down on us from one side of the lake and the Inconsolable Range from the other. Virtually all these High Sierra lakes are fed by winter snows, patches of which still snuggled under the north faces of the surrounding peaks. Hurd Lake, Bull Lake, Timberline Tarns, Saddlerock Lake and Bishop Lake (each higher than and draining back down into its predecessor) lined the trail to 11,972 ft Bishop Pass. Dozens of other lakes, often invisible from the trail, also contributed water to the communal stream. Water trickled, it bounced and bubbled, it flowed, it rushed and it fell in its homage to gravity. The scenario would be recreated up and down every pass, throughout every basin and along every valley over the ensuing days. From the highest tarn came rivulets, lower down creeks grew into streams, finally minor rivers emerged and then formed real rivers on the valley floors. White noise was all around, the sounds of wind and water washing over civilized, frazzled senses, soothing the soul.       The broad crest of Bishop Pass was the highest point our trail would gain the entire trip. Well above treeline, only tiny alpine flowers or rock lichens, hugging the lee side of a boulder, managed to survive. Mt. Aggasiz (13,893¢), to the east, presided over our midday repast as we rested in the thin mountain atmosphere. Once over the pass, we descended into Dusy Basin and found a secluded campsite off-trail, along the shore of a nameless lake. Dominating North Palisade Peak (14,242¢) now held our view. Settling in, any weariness soon forgotten, we realized the adventure had really begun.The next morning was crisp and clear, reflections of alpenglow on North Palisade floating in our nameless lake. I luxuriated in my zero-degree sleeping bag as my bleary-eyed companions began their morning rituals. Unaccustomed to the exertion, the elevation, and sleeping on the ground, backpackers invariably experience only a few hours of fitful sleep on the first night out. I¢m sure some in the party welcomed the morning¢s downhill into Leconte Canyon.       We were in Kings Canyon National Park now and the destination for our second day was Big Pete Meadow. On the descent we paused at a substantial wooden footbridge to snack and enjoy the canyon scenery. Fireweed grew in tufts along the banks of lively Dusy Branch, now cascading down into the canyon. Magnificent specimens of Sierra Juniper dotted the slope, joining the ubiquitous Lodgepole Pine. Halfway down, the stream splayed itself over a huge granite slab, transforming into a waterslide and gliding on for hundreds of feet. We continued playing tag with Dusy Branch, until it joined the Middle Fork of Kings River, and intersected with the John Muir/Pacific Crest Trail at the bottom of Le Conte Canyon (8750¢).        In Little Pete Meadow, my sister Kim, being a hardy Michigander, plunged into icy Kings River. The rest of us lounged and proffered an imaginary shiver in sympathy. (Personally, I could postpone my aquatic longings until the Blayney Hot Springs, a few days hence.) Shortly thereafter we began a gradual ascent to Big Pete Meadow (9300¢) and our second camp. Situated on tributary creek among large boulders and Lodgepole and Western White Pine, the campsite was nestled along the edge of the meadow. A family of Mule Deer drifted silently by as we scouted the site. Below 10,000 feet for the first time since leaving South Lake, we could enjoy an evening campfire. (Above 10,000 ft resources are too scarce to support campfires; the soil needs all available decomposing matter.) While my companions wrangled over choice campsites, I just laid my sleeping bag out under an open space in the canopy of evergreens. With fall coming on, the cool, bug-free, star-studded evenings in the High Sierra are perfect for cowboy camping. Later, watching the slowly dying campfire and surveying the night sky, I soon drifted to sleep. It was all so primal, touching a deep, hidden part of my human legacy, long forgotten.      Did I mention the sunshine? Crisp, clear Sierra evenings invariably give way to warm, sunny days. Of all the major mountain ranges in the world, the Sierra Nevada boasts the mildest and sunniest climate. (In 15 years and a couple dozen trips in the Sierra Nevada, I have never encountered any substantial rainfall.) Typically only 5% of the annual average precipitation falls during July, August and September and that comes in the form of an occasional and brief, localized afternoon thunderstorm. This year we hiked in the jaws of a heat wave and the afternoon histrionics were more frequent. The peaks of the Glacier Divide, below which we now walked, funneled the warm valley air upward, building thunderheads. Off in the distance, pockets of rain could sometimes be seen falling. But it never rained on us. By early evening the clouds vanished completely, the breezes died and only an occasional owl or coyote punctuated the aural canvas of running or lapping water.      So on day three, under a warm sun, we proceeded along the John Muir Trail, ascending toward 11,955 ft Muir Pass. Mountain Hemlock joined the medley of conifers as we retreated from Big Pete Meadow. The trees thinned and we crossed open, grassy basins, or what John Muir coined ¢sky gardens¢. An emerald tarn possessing a shade of green I¢ve only seen in the Sierra flanked one garden. We climbed steadily, a marmot, fat and ready for hibernation, monitored our progress, and billowy cumulus clouds intermittently shaded our path adding a chill to the air. Gaining an overlook above splendorous Helen Lake (11,417¢), we paused to enjoy. (This lake and Wanda Lake, on the far side of Muir Pass, are named after John Muir¢s daughters.) A Western Grebe bobbed for food, seemingly the only other life in this naked, ice-scoured landscape. I¢m repeatedly amazed at the uniqueness of each High Sierra lake we encounter, especially their colors. Ranging from a bright emerald green to dark nitrogen blue, and often multi-colored, they¢re always pristine. On many a hike, I¢ve been caught in a dreamy visual reverie gazing over a Sierra lake.      Muir Pass remained hidden until the final few yards of our uphill march. At 11,955 feet, this was only 17 feet shy of our trail high at Bishop Pass. A large stone hut sits atop the pass, and beyond, just coming into view, the upper lakes of Evolution Basin. The well-constructed hut was built in 1931, in honor of John Muir. It provides emergency shelter to hikers in the event of inclement weather. The view is vast and inspiring. Black Giant (13,330¢) and Mt. Warlow (13,206¢) reign over the pass, and Wanda Lake sits far below like an uncut blue gem in a giant rock garden. Despite the chill wind slicing over the pass, we took a brief lunch and chatted with a few passing hikers. Soon, though, we needed to rekindle our metabolic furnaces, so we pushed on, down into Evolution Basin and then on to a campsite at the far end of Wanda Lake.       At 11,426 feet, Wanda Lake would be the highest camp of our journey. A cluster of truck-sized boulders provided some protection from the wind. Far in the distance, thunderheads were forming on the backside of Glacier Divide. After pitching tents we rinsed the trail grime from our bodies by gingerly splashing in the lake. (After a day of hiking, a dip, no matter how cool, is a real luxury.) The lake¢s outlet stream gurgled nearby, while slowly dissolving cumulus clouds offered their undulating forms to the pale orange brush of the setting sun. After dinner Kim shared her hot chocolate with everyone. Our gratitude diminished slightly after finding little white things floating in the confection. (Was it coconut? No one could say for certain.) It was very tasty, nonetheless.       By early evening the winds had ceased and a deep stillness permeated the moonless night. We huddled around an artificial campfire, of macaroon shaped fire-starters, and watched as familiar constellations joined the stage above us. The Milky Way cut its familiar swath across the sky and a few minutes of patient gazing was often rewarded with a shooting star. Camping in the mountains doesn¢t get any more idyllic than this. As the mercury dropped, my companions retired in pairs to their nylon lairs. Again, I was unsuccessful in persuading anyone of the special joys of sleeping under the stars. So, perched on a horizontal slab of granite, I maintained the stargazing vigil for a couple more hours, before drifting off to sleep. Kim later recalled this as her favorite campsite. And I¢m not likely to disagree.       Overnight temperatures dipped below freezing, leaving the top of my sleeping bag coated in frost. Dawn of our 4th day, clear and still, promised more exceptional hiking. From my toasty cocoon, I watched the ever-changing alpenglow as it spread into the basin, first touching the peak of Mt. Goddard (13,034), then pinnacles along the Goddard Divide. A group of White-tailed Ptarmigan drifted serenely over glassy Wanda Lake. Early risers Kim, Mary and Bruce were already knee-deep in early morning enjoyments. Freshly caffeinated, Kim was halfway up the adjacent ridge, basking in the first rays of sunlight, unwilling to wait for the sun to reach camp. Bruce and Mary wandered the shoreline of the lake and nearby rock gardens, taxing the capacity of their camera¢s memory card. Finally the sun crested the shoulders of Mt. Warlow, sending bone-warming shafts of radiant energy to the basin floor and speeding our decampment.      With the sun at our back, we began descending along Evolution Creek. Evolution Basin gets its name from the peaks surrounding it: Darwin, Mendel, Huxley, Spencer, Haeckel, Wallace and Fiske. (All were pioneer advocates of the theory of evolution.) There was no shortage of grandeur along this section of the footpath, as the John Muir Trail continued to live up to its reputation. New combinations of rock, tree, water and sky greeted us at every bend. A short gradual descent led to Sapphire Lake (10,966¢), a multicolored mirror for arrow-shaped mounts Huxley (13,066¢) and Spencer (12,431¢). As we retreated from the lake, Mt. Solomons (13,034¢) and perennial snows clinging to the Goddard Divide, cast their own mirror image. Evolution Lake (10,852¢) followed, a 3000¢ wall of green-gray rock dominating its eastern shore, with mounts Darwin (13,831¢) and Haeckel (13,418¢) book-ending the massive ridge. A multitude of tributaries nourish all the Sierra lakes and assorted other bodies of water having no title. The streams and creeks, feeding-draining-connecting, bind the lakes and tarns in one great liquid society, eventually forming the great rivers of the Sierra. Abrupt changes in elevation spawn vigorous falls, slight changes gentle falls, animating the watery network. Smooth rock produce water slides, level meadows stem the flow, giving birth to marshes and wide serpentine watercourses.       California Red Fir could be seen as we began a final steep descent, via switchbacks, into Evolution Valley. Pockets of Sierra Juniper dotted the slope, projecting an air of agelessness and the raucous scolding of a Clark¢s Nutcracker alerted its neighbors to our presence. Far below, Colby and McClure Meadows beckoned, promising respite to weary travelers. The wealth of beauty was staggering. For me, the universe was speaking in the language of experience, free of any verbal ambiguity. In a place like the Sierra, how could anyone mistake the creator¢s intentions?      A cluster of evergreens next to McClure Meadow cloistered our new campsite. The Hermit (12,328¢) and Emerald Peak (12,543¢) graced the skyline, and Evolution Creek flowed lazily by, on its way to the San Joaquin River. Afternoon thunderheads barked but never bit, eventually reforming into a spectacular canvas for the setting sun. At 9660 feet, we were again allowed a campfire with its relaxing evening ambiance.      Firing up camp stoves, we began dinner preparations. The repast of freeze-dried entrees still satisfied me (Having subsisted on the same meals since April on the Appalachian Trail), but my companions were starting to grumble a little. It only emphasized the importance of testing the palatability of any food you bring into the backcountry before heading out. After dinner we packed all the food into our bear canisters. (Hard plastic varmint-proof containers) Cooking utensils, toiletries, medicines, lotions, or anything else producing a scent, must also go in the canisters. They are then stashed away from camp. Ostensibly for our protection - keeping bears from disturbing our camp - they actually protect the bears. Black bears are opportunistic omnivores. And, while normally timid in the wild, they can become more aggressive after getting food from humans. Problem bears are often shot, and in rare cases, they do injure human beings. Bear canisters are now required for overnight stays in the National Parks and Forests of the Sierra Nevada.      From McClure Meadow the trail continues its gradual downward trend. Jeffrey, Western White and Lodgepole Pines populate the valley. At our approach, squirrels bounded into the trees and chipmunks scattered, squealing in excitement. Bruce and Mary, confessed bird-watchers, spotted a Townsend¢s Solitaire. Too lazy to remove our footwear and ford safely, we charily negotiated a couple of downed saplings, to cross over Evolution Creek. Beyond Evolution Meadow, a rocky overlook gave us our first glimpse into Goddard Canyon. The trail follows a series of switchbacks, and the creek foments several rowdy waterfalls as it cascades into the canyon. The steep, but visually arresting descent would deposit us at the South Fork of the San Joaquin River. En route we met a trio of dusty, rock-busting trail maintainers. Holding nature at bay, these unsung wilderness heroes deserved all the thanks we offered in passing.       Reaching a trail junction on the floor of Goddard Canyon, we crossed the South Fork of the San Joaquin River. Fortunately this and our next two river crossings would all involve well-built bridges. Stands of Quaking Aspen embraced the trail, one or two boughs dressed in the brilliant yellow raiment of fall. A Northern Flicker kept its distance in a nearby tree. Re-crossing the river, we commenced skirting its now sizable gorge. Deep emerald-green pools terminated in boulder-clogged narrows, as the river¢s personality alternated from peaceful to agitated and back again. Precipitous walls of rock rose from both banks as the canyon narrowed and the gorge deepened. But before claustrophobia could set in, the canyon widened and the confluence with Piute Creek came into view. In the morning we would cross a bridge over the creek, into the Sierra National Forest, leaving Kings Canyon National Park behind. Tonight, though, we would camp on this side of the juncture.       Arriving early to camp, my comrades decided to retire to their tents and indulge in an afternoon nap. A few thunderheads had again blossomed and an occasional peal of thunder reverberated through the surrounding canyons. The neighboring canyon sustained a couple of lightning strikes and a drop or two of rain portended a possible shower. Knowing my tent offered no real electrical protection, I choose, instead, to enjoy the meteorological show. Donning rain gear and positioning myself under a small conifer, I waited, perched on a non-conductive sleeping pad. I was about as safe as one could ever be, outside in an electrical storm. Fortunately or unfortunately (for the show), the storm never drifted our way and by evening the sky was again cloudless.       Piute Creek (8050¢) boiled and rolled in the background as we dined, and then settled in around our campfire. The light of the fire imparted a ruddy glow to our meditative countenances. Day five meant we had passed the halfway point of our odyssey. It had been another day full of superlatives, soul stirring. But now we rested, basking in that now familiar sense of equanimity that accompanied the day¢s end.       Being cold-blooded, the snake seemed barely alive in the cool morning air. It was the first snake I had seen on this trip, and it wasn¢t until later that I learned, it was a Rubber Boa Snake. A muddy monochrome brown, it was reluctant to expend any energy escaping into the bushes, even as I brought my camera in for a macro shot. Other than an assortment of birds and the ubiquitous Western Gray Squirrel, Chipmunk, and Mule Deer, we hadn¢t encountered much wildlife. It¢s out there, but the peripatetic nature of backpacking, especially in large groups, doesn¢t lend itself to frequent sightings. Our sounds and scents travel far in advance of our eyes. The best way to observe wildlife is by sitting still. Prime viewing is at dawn or dusk, when many creatures are most active. With patience and luck, one might see Black Bear, Yellow-bellied Marmot, Ringtails, Bighorn Sheep, Coyotes or even the elusive Mountain Lion. More diminutive species one might glimpse include an assortment of mice, voles, shrews, bats, hares, rabbits and the Pika. Fishermen can cast for Golden, Rainbow, Brook, Brown and Cutthroat Trout in the lakes & streams of the Sierra.      We planned to re-supply at Muir Ranch on our sixth day and spend a half-day luxuriating in the nearby Blayney Hot Springs. Reminiscent of ¢Dogpatch¢, the rustic Muir Ranch holds food caches for hikers. Several weeks earlier we had mailed 3 days of provisions to their post office box back in civilization, which they must then drive, ferry and haul on horseback to the ranch. The $45 charge was well worth it because we could spend more time in the backcountry without carrying more weight.       The easy 3.5-mile hike to Muir Ranch, from the Piute Trail junction, continued on the John Muir Trail. Halfway to the ranch, we left the John Muir and headed toward Blayney Hot Springs. (Hot springs are one of those rare backcountry treats well worth a detour.) As we approached the San Joaquin River¢s South Fork, thickets of Black Cottonwood adorned the trail. Fording the river, we pitched our tents a short distance from the hot springs and nearby Warm Lake. Both are situated in spongy Blayney Meadow at the foot of Ward Mountain and the short trail there was like walking on a mattress. The afternoon quickly disappeared as we alternately warmed our bones in the hot springs and swam in the pleasant 70+ degree lake water. Up to our neck in the hot springs, we wiggled our toes in its smooth dark silt bottom. At the lake we were joined by a Pied-billed Grebe, diving for food, undeterred by our presence. Latter a nap, dinner and requisite campfire lounging rounded out our day. As I flirted with sleep, the lonely cry of a Spotted Owl resounded in the distance.      Retracing our steps on day seven, we re-forded the San Joaquin and returned to the junctions of the John Muir and Piute Trails. (The Piute Trail and three days of hiking would lead us to our shuttle car at North Lake.) Climbing steeply from the junction, we followed Piute Creek, The Pinnacles on our left and saw-toothed Glacier Divide to our right. A robust breeze rattled the walls of Piute Canyon, intensifying the parched air. Mary¢s knee, already complaining over the last couple of days, redoubled its protests. After a week in the wilderness, of tramping and constant exposure, some members of the party were beginning to fray along the edges.      Backpacking is a demanding activity, one not likely to be embraced by the masses anytime soon. (Lucky for us, I guess) Early in the trip, bodies not accustomed to the elevation and the exertion suffered mild altitude sickness and sore muscles. Later, aching shoulders from packs, sore knees from steep downhills, and blistered feet all took their toll. Bruce incurred an allergic reaction on his hands (his second bout with it), probably from an unfriendly local species of flora. Kim applied oceans of balm and lotion to her body in a losing battle, as the dry desert winds and intense UV radiation chapped her lips and reddened her skin. It was Mary¢s knees, however, that attracted the most attention as we headed to Hutchinson Meadow, that night¢s camp. We all winced in sympathy as she gamely plodded on, knee-brace and all. Being a nurse, Kim had already begun to supplement Mary¢s pharmaceuticals with more potent ones of her own. To everyone¢s credit, though, hardly a word of complaint was heard during the entire expedition.      Soon the trail leveled and we stopped at an inviting cascade on Piute Creek. Reposing, some supine on sun-warmed granite slabs, others sitting, feet soaking in the cool stream, we passed an hour at the picturesque setting. I spent time shooting stills and live video of stream, rock and falling water for my next movie. It was just one, of so many sublime moments, we experienced during our Sierra adventure.Only a day or two from North Lake and its pack animal coral, Hutchinson Meadow (9490¢) has seen hard use. Dried horse and mule dung, scattered throughout the meadow, and numerous campsite with fire-rings, testified to the popularity of the spot. (Which also sits at the junction of the French Canyon Trail) The wind continued to gust as we established our camp and then huddled to cook dinner. Soon shade engulfed our meadow and only Pilot Knob (12,245¢) remained illuminated, resolutely poised like a lighthouse without a sea. Finally the winds abated and we felt safe kindling a campfire.      Conversation around the fire lagged as we all sensed the end of our journey approaching. Deep joy, coupled with trail-weary bodies produced an all too familiar bittersweet emotion. I lingered over the campfire, long after the others had retired, and extracted from those moments, every last drop of serenity I could. The stars were bright, the day¢s steady wind having removed all traces of the subtle haze, precipitated by a far off wild fire. My senses stretched out into the darkness, savoring surroundings undisturbed by man¢s machines. I resisted the desire for sleep. These are the moments¢¦moments I want to remember for the rest of my life. All my triumphs, all my failures seemed of small import. The feeling, the contentment, that¢s what is real and I was experiencing it now. No amount of money can ever buy what I was being given. Of course I never overlook the universe¢s sense of humor. There is no real perfection in the physical world, no matter how exquisite it may appear. I wanted to cowboy camp that night, in the stillness, under the canopy of stars, but that bumper-crop of mule dung¢¦.