TR: Aloha Lake Fastpack - a reminder of Fall
Posted: Sun Oct 16, 2011 9:37 pm
A spur-of-the-moment quick trip that shows that shows you still need to focus when going into the Sierra
Having approximately 24 hours between dropping my girlfriend off at a wedding in Davis on Saturday and picking her up again Sunday morning, I decided to go for a quick backpacking trip in the Desolation Wilderness to finish off the hiking season. After a few quick stops to REI to fix a leaking sleeping pad and the Pacific ranger station to get an overnight permit out of Echo Lake, I arrived at the trailhead and headed out around 3.30pm. I couldn't find a spigot for water anywhere around the Chalet complex, but figured it wouldn't be a problem - after all I'm hiking around a huge lake for the next hour. Unfortunately the trail is cut into the granite cliffs lining the resevoir and never gets within a hundred vertical feet of the water. Oh well, the views kept my mind off the fact that I was thirsty...
I cruised up towards Lake Aloha, purifying water at Tamarack Lake. Mt Ralston above showed evidence of the snowstorm two weeks ago.
Indeed, above ~8000ft there was 3-4 inches of icy snow left on most north-facing, shaded aspects. It made for careful stepping above Lake Margery. At 6.30 I arrived at Lake Aloha and set up camp. Timing it almost perfectly, I spent the next twenty minutes taking pictures of the gorgeous sunset; the few high clouds were offset by the calm waters of the lake.
The night cooled quickly and the stars came out as I ate dinner. There was no wind, and I amused myself by trying to take star photos with my girlfriend's point and shoot. With her slowest shutter speed (15s!) I was able to get a few to come out. I settled in with my tent free-standing and no rainfly to spoil the view of the milky way as I fell asleep, happy with my final backpack of the season.
At 2.30am the howling wind woke me up. It was coming up and over Pyramid Peak, crashing down on the top corner of my tent. I was in the lake basin, with nothing to act as a windbreak. With each gust the top-right pole lifted and skidded in towards my head, the walls of the tent collapsing in on me. I debated going outside and trying to secure the corner, but there was nothing but granite on that side of the tent: no purchase for my tent stakes. The wind died a little, and I fell back into a fitful sleep that echoed the rise and fall of the wind in my dreams...until it started raining at 4am.
With the first sprinkle I instantly awoke. I could see that the stars were gone and the wind had risen even further than before. Another few drops landed on the tent netting and I sprang into action, dashing outside, struggling in the dark with the gusting wind to secure the rainfly. Getting it on backwards and upside-down, I hurriedly tossed my pack and boots into the tent with me, along with my maps and phone. As I zipped up the tent it started raining in earnest and the wind rose to a new pitch, pushing strongly against my tent's weak corner and flapping the rain fly out like a flag. With each lull I pushed the corner out square, and with each gust braced it with my hiking boot to keep it in line. The wind and rain kept coming and the temperature dropped. For the next three hours I fought to keep my tent upright (I couldn't leave the tent now if I wanted to - the wind would instantly flip it) and took stock of the situation: though I was currently dry and relatively comfortable in my sleeping bag, I was wearing every piece of clothing I had brought (top and bottom baselayer, fleece top with hood, nylon pants) except for a puffy jacket. Even though I was getting colder, I decided to save the jacket for if I got wet. I had no rainwear for my torso, and the nylon pants wouldn't do much against a steady rain - it would be an uncomfortable walk back to my car if things went bad and I had to bail. With three hours still before dawn there was no chance of sleep as I listened to the storm around me - just stoic patience and hope that it would abate in the morning and that my tent would hold and I wouldn't get wet and hypothermic.
At sunrise the storm increased in intensity again, but I could see through the billowing rainfly that the clouds were breaking to the north. Finally this break came overhead as the rain poured, then stopped, the poured again, the stopped for good. I emerged and began packing quickly, hoping there wasn't another round of rain on the way - if there was I wanted to be in the protection of the trees before it hit. The wind flipped my tent, but I could see that the sky was clearing.
The air was clean and clear, fresh with the dawn. I saw two other groups emerge from their tents and take stock of the situation. I had no time to laze around, however, since I needed to be in Davis and it was already 8, an hour past when I had wanted to leave camp. Quickly, I shook things moderately dry, packed up, and headed out. The wind continued to be blustery, but blue sky quickly chased the clouds to the east. The sun came out as I took a last look back towards the basin; I hiked out in a perfect morning, much like the perfect evening...perfect Sierra weather to bookend a rainstorm.
Lessons learned - Expect everything when you hike. I typically time my backpacks for good weather windows - which as of Saturday morning was what the weekend would be. I was tempted not to bring my rainfly with me when I left since the weather appeared calm and cloudless, just like the forecast. Fortunately I did. I had no rain gear or gloves, just nylon hiking pants and a synthetic puffy that are minimally water resistant. I also sited my tent with no protection from the elements. Typically I pick sites near trees, but the low-level Aloha islands/peninsulas were too tempting to pass up with the calm and clear evening conditions. Had my tent failed in the wind (rain fly ripping/tearing, collapsing since I had not guyed the walls/corners, or water leakage) I would have been very cold in the 40-45 degree night. Had the temperature dropped even more and produced snow, I would've been completely unprepared. As it was, I was only ~6 miles out, but that's still a long hike in a stormy night when you're soaked and chilled to the bone. As it was, I ended up just losing sleep, but it does make one think...
Having approximately 24 hours between dropping my girlfriend off at a wedding in Davis on Saturday and picking her up again Sunday morning, I decided to go for a quick backpacking trip in the Desolation Wilderness to finish off the hiking season. After a few quick stops to REI to fix a leaking sleeping pad and the Pacific ranger station to get an overnight permit out of Echo Lake, I arrived at the trailhead and headed out around 3.30pm. I couldn't find a spigot for water anywhere around the Chalet complex, but figured it wouldn't be a problem - after all I'm hiking around a huge lake for the next hour. Unfortunately the trail is cut into the granite cliffs lining the resevoir and never gets within a hundred vertical feet of the water. Oh well, the views kept my mind off the fact that I was thirsty...
I cruised up towards Lake Aloha, purifying water at Tamarack Lake. Mt Ralston above showed evidence of the snowstorm two weeks ago.
Indeed, above ~8000ft there was 3-4 inches of icy snow left on most north-facing, shaded aspects. It made for careful stepping above Lake Margery. At 6.30 I arrived at Lake Aloha and set up camp. Timing it almost perfectly, I spent the next twenty minutes taking pictures of the gorgeous sunset; the few high clouds were offset by the calm waters of the lake.
The night cooled quickly and the stars came out as I ate dinner. There was no wind, and I amused myself by trying to take star photos with my girlfriend's point and shoot. With her slowest shutter speed (15s!) I was able to get a few to come out. I settled in with my tent free-standing and no rainfly to spoil the view of the milky way as I fell asleep, happy with my final backpack of the season.
At 2.30am the howling wind woke me up. It was coming up and over Pyramid Peak, crashing down on the top corner of my tent. I was in the lake basin, with nothing to act as a windbreak. With each gust the top-right pole lifted and skidded in towards my head, the walls of the tent collapsing in on me. I debated going outside and trying to secure the corner, but there was nothing but granite on that side of the tent: no purchase for my tent stakes. The wind died a little, and I fell back into a fitful sleep that echoed the rise and fall of the wind in my dreams...until it started raining at 4am.
With the first sprinkle I instantly awoke. I could see that the stars were gone and the wind had risen even further than before. Another few drops landed on the tent netting and I sprang into action, dashing outside, struggling in the dark with the gusting wind to secure the rainfly. Getting it on backwards and upside-down, I hurriedly tossed my pack and boots into the tent with me, along with my maps and phone. As I zipped up the tent it started raining in earnest and the wind rose to a new pitch, pushing strongly against my tent's weak corner and flapping the rain fly out like a flag. With each lull I pushed the corner out square, and with each gust braced it with my hiking boot to keep it in line. The wind and rain kept coming and the temperature dropped. For the next three hours I fought to keep my tent upright (I couldn't leave the tent now if I wanted to - the wind would instantly flip it) and took stock of the situation: though I was currently dry and relatively comfortable in my sleeping bag, I was wearing every piece of clothing I had brought (top and bottom baselayer, fleece top with hood, nylon pants) except for a puffy jacket. Even though I was getting colder, I decided to save the jacket for if I got wet. I had no rainwear for my torso, and the nylon pants wouldn't do much against a steady rain - it would be an uncomfortable walk back to my car if things went bad and I had to bail. With three hours still before dawn there was no chance of sleep as I listened to the storm around me - just stoic patience and hope that it would abate in the morning and that my tent would hold and I wouldn't get wet and hypothermic.
At sunrise the storm increased in intensity again, but I could see through the billowing rainfly that the clouds were breaking to the north. Finally this break came overhead as the rain poured, then stopped, the poured again, the stopped for good. I emerged and began packing quickly, hoping there wasn't another round of rain on the way - if there was I wanted to be in the protection of the trees before it hit. The wind flipped my tent, but I could see that the sky was clearing.
The air was clean and clear, fresh with the dawn. I saw two other groups emerge from their tents and take stock of the situation. I had no time to laze around, however, since I needed to be in Davis and it was already 8, an hour past when I had wanted to leave camp. Quickly, I shook things moderately dry, packed up, and headed out. The wind continued to be blustery, but blue sky quickly chased the clouds to the east. The sun came out as I took a last look back towards the basin; I hiked out in a perfect morning, much like the perfect evening...perfect Sierra weather to bookend a rainstorm.
Lessons learned - Expect everything when you hike. I typically time my backpacks for good weather windows - which as of Saturday morning was what the weekend would be. I was tempted not to bring my rainfly with me when I left since the weather appeared calm and cloudless, just like the forecast. Fortunately I did. I had no rain gear or gloves, just nylon hiking pants and a synthetic puffy that are minimally water resistant. I also sited my tent with no protection from the elements. Typically I pick sites near trees, but the low-level Aloha islands/peninsulas were too tempting to pass up with the calm and clear evening conditions. Had my tent failed in the wind (rain fly ripping/tearing, collapsing since I had not guyed the walls/corners, or water leakage) I would have been very cold in the 40-45 degree night. Had the temperature dropped even more and produced snow, I would've been completely unprepared. As it was, I was only ~6 miles out, but that's still a long hike in a stormy night when you're soaked and chilled to the bone. As it was, I ended up just losing sleep, but it does make one think...