Tom wrote:She asked if I had seen her old man and invited me in to chat. When I eneterd the cabin the thing that caught my eye was the bong an the table. She poured me a lemonade, started cutting up carrots asked if I wanted a hit. I declined, but when the ranger showed up and offered...well it was the 60's. What an enjoyable sunset that evening.
Tom, your experience brings back a significant memory along those lines, from a similar time, which I wrote into a story last year. If I may, I'll share it here:
Bogarting at Bishop Pass
©2008 by Bruce Peet
How could fate smile so warmly on us? Here we are, Lance and I, into our fifth day on the trail, having experienced so many sublime moments already - - John Muir surely would have called them sublime – since leaving our car at Florence Lake where we began the Muir Pass Loop. Here we are, reclining against our packs at Bishop Pass, sunburned, dusty, marinated in sweat, munching our trailmix, and completely swept up by the glorious view above Bishop Lakes over to the Inconsolables, with Agassiz and the Palisades so close we could almost lean back and rest our shoulders against them. Here we are, saying a friendly good morning to two lovely young backpacking ladies from Arizona just arriving at the Pass from Dusy Basin, as we had, although we'd not seen them before. We offer some of our trailmix. “Homemade,” we say. “Looks good,” they say, and unshoulder their packs to join us sitting in a circle, and we trade introductions, first names only, and after a brief, relaxed conversation about nothing in particular one of the girls produces a well rolled joint and offers to share it with us, and we accept. Was this having everything turn out perfect, or what?
I met Lance while living in a Sonoma County hippie commune. He was ruggedly handsome, physically fit, with a blond ponytail and a gentle, frequent laugh that lit up his features. I sensed he was practicing paying attention to some inner guru of his, and since I was doing some personal searching of my own around then I quickly gained a respect for his quiet, meditative, but purposeful manner. Somehow, one afternoon we got to talking about backpacking. Lance was from the East Coast, Massachusetts I recall, and although a hiker, had never spent time in the Sierra. I had been away from these mountains for the last six years, so I was feeling a powerful need to get myself back into the Sierra, and I needed a trail partner. I suggested the Muir Pass Loop would be just right for us.
Lance was a vegetarian, which introduced a new backpacking variable for me. On my hikes, I was used to consuming lots of animal protein and carbohydrates, usually of the dehydrated variety, and burning up calories like a locomotive uses coal. This venture required an alternative approach to calories and cuisine. We negotiated a menu for ourselves with lots of trailmix and daily rations of dried fruit, granola, dried soups, hardtack, cheese (for me), and chocolate. To me it seemed almost like a “no-cook” diet; we would use stove fuel very sparingly if at all, and thus reduce pack weights a little.
We spent our first night atop Kaiser Pass, arriving after dark and sleeping next to the car. It gave us extra time to acclimatize to the altitude, and it seemed a great place give Lance a first impression of this country. I was also curious to find a witness tree marker I placed there while on a Forest Service summer job some years back; I went looking for it the next morning. Sure enough, there was the placard still nailed to its tree, referencing one of the forest growth sample plots I established and measured during my first summer in this region. I was elated to find it. Next stop, trailhead.
Neither Lance nor I had the fare for the Florence Lake water taxi; we only had enough cash for food and gas on the trip home. So we got to enjoy views of the Lake slowly passing by on our left as we hiked along the shore and got adjusted to our packs in the first few miles. With the added time and miles, we decided to press on after reaching Muir Trail Ranch, so we could spend our first night on the trail at the confluence of Evolution Creek and the South Fork of the San Joaquin. It was more than satisfactory. The next day brought us to McClure Meadow and Evolution Valley. I had spent a summer at the doorstep of this fabled Sierra locale, but this was my first visit into the Valley. It was enthralling; I think Lance was as uplifted as I was to be here. Later that day at Evolution Lake we met a young couple with their two sons. Their youngest boy had just lost his first tooth. I admired that couple enormously for the love and confidence they were giving their children by introducing them so positively to a backpacking experience, and I hoped someday to offer something like that to my own children. Our second night's camp was on the shore of Sapphire Lake.
We went no farther than Muir Pass on the third day. The weather had been ideal, and we wanted to savor the afternoon and evening at this milestone along the John Muir Trail. We had time to leisurely read the Hut register, and both Lance and I smiled at the entry by someone who had reached Muir Pass in late May that year, only to become snowed in and forced to remain in the Hut for four days before being able to continue his journey. We had chosen nonchalantly to lay by, and only for part of a day; we wondered how it must have felt to be “trapped” at the Hut by bad weather for an uncertain period. Not as pleasant, we concluded.
By the time of the descent from Helen Lake to Big Pete Meadow in Le Conte Canyon I imagined Lance's conversion to being a lifetime Sierra aficionado was complete. If anything, this dramatic trail section only embellished the grandeur he had seen on our arrival at McClure Meadow. The descent seemed like strolling down all the flights in a grand museum, only better: a continuous visual treat of surpassing beauty and magnificence. For me, reaching the Meadow for the first time was a dream come true, the actualization of so much fantasizing from years of pouring over Sierra maps and trail guides; I had an enormous desire to just keep on hiking south. We had agreed, though, to find a campsite that night in Dusy Basin, so a major ascent awaited us in the hottest part of the day. We lunched in some welcome shade next to the trail and then began our climb.
Overheated and panting at a rest stop on the umpteenth switchback, Lance was still marching, slowly but steadily, some yards ahead of me. I was determined to keep up, so I shifted back into my lowest gear, my steps marking the beat to a rendition of “Pomp and Circumstance” playing in my head. This pattern of listening to repetitious, mental music always seems to kick in about the time I think I can't take another step. It keeps me going, but the endless repetition, pleasant at other times, can drive me nuts. After reaching camp later I joked with Lance about seeing myself as if at a graduation ceremony, trudging uphill to receive my diploma at the end of the day's walk. He chuckled, and said that he visualized a huge magnet, too strong to resist, relentlessly pulling him up the trail. That inner guru again. As it was, that day we had descended about 3,500 feet elevation and regained about 2,700 feet to reach our campsite at the first lake in lower Dusy Basin. Trout were rising everywhere, dimpling the otherwise calm waters. I found some wild onions and diced a few to garnish our dinner soup. We had front row seats to a free show of alpenglow on Columbine and Isosceles until the daylight was finally spent.
Next morning, there we were at Bishop Pass, where the heavens really smiled on us. I no longer remember the two girls' names, or where they were from in Arizona. But the feelings of flying down the switchbacked cliff below the Pass, and soaring effortlessly all the way to the South Lake parking lot was such a rush it remains with me still. The girls gave us a ride in their station wagon the short distance down to the Tyee Lakes trailhead, where we bid them good luck and safe driving; they were headed home. So were we, via Table Mountain to Lake Sabrina, North Lake, Piute Pass, and Piute Canyon, to ultimately close our trail loop and return to Florence Lake four days later.
To this day, the Muir Pass Loop remains one of my favorite Sierra jaunts and the only one where the high was anything more than natural. Those last four days had their own special moments to be sure. Most unexpected and inspiring perhaps was a chance meeting with an older couple, well into their '60's we guessed, on the trail downstream from Muir Trail Ranch; she in a floral print dress, wide-brimmed straw hat and tennis shoes, looking like she was going out to the backyard garden, and he, carrying a full pack and walking with crutches! We must have looked pretty trail worn and grizzled by this time, while they were in high spirits, eager to begin their week's stay at the Ranch. I'm not sure which pair of us was the most impressed with the other, but Lance and I greatly admired their audacity and confidence. We wished them well.
In the end, I think I owe all of the superlatives of that trip to Lance himself. I'd never spent mountain time with anyone as calmly balanced and centered as he was, and I still believe that all of the good vibes of those ten days emanated from his poised serenity even during the most strenuous moments. Ever since, I have considered myself fortunate in two respects: for having been the person who introduced Lance to the Sierra, and for having learned so much from a real guru. I suppose its just the way these mountains bring out what is best in each of us.