An ode to the Sierra Nevada in 1972

[Gogd]

@jimr Admiral Halsey was 1971.

Hwy 14 and Hwy 395 were 2 lane tracks for most of the way from So Cal. Drove up in the middle of the night, listening to the AM radio when we could find a channel we could tolerate. Didn't care much for the Bakersfield Sound, but learned to like Hank Williams Sr, and old school C&W. Coffee kept us awake; a frisbee, Zig Zags and a lid kept us mellow. So much has changed along the route since then, recollections of the drive almost as nostalgic as the mountains. Hey, does anyone remember the wooden stave aqueduct that ran parallel to Hwy 168, down Bishop Creek gorge?

I was a young hippie in a band when I first hiked the Sierra in the mid 60s. High Sierra, South Lake to JMT, to Horseshoe Meadow. Traffic on the JMT was sparse back then. It was boss. Cool. Groovy. She was like a rainbow. There is nothing like power hiking on El Sid. If you listened intently enough, you could hear nature calling, and John Muir replying. And the wind whispering Mary. The early morning jamming of birds and the breeze, putting the best improv Miles Davis ever mustered to shame. Thor, his electric bolts and booming acoustics echoing among the peaks, beckoning the next Stravinsky to compose Rite of Summer.

But I must confess: much as I love it, and its unofficial designation as the center of the universe, the Sierra made me more appreciative of a comfortable bed, good food and a hot shower. What a long, strange trip it's been!

Ed

[scottmiller]

That was around the same time I took my first backpacking trip, to Emigrant. I was hooked after that.
We never went out for more than three or four days, and we were young, so our packs were ridiculous. A jar of Tang, including the jar. Half a round of Monterey jack. Quart of rum. Guitar. Grill for cooking. Jar of peanut butter, including the jar. No tent, just a poncho. No rain gear. Boots and sleeping bag from army surplus.
Life and whatnot eventually took priority so I stopped backpacking until 20 years ago when, in a moment of somewhat drunken over-enthusiasm, three of us decided to saddle up again. Two of us later came to our senses and realized that the idea was ridiculous, we were far too old and out of shape, but we weren't going to be the ones to dog out. The third guy was actually serious about it, so the next thing I knew I was trudging up Bear Creek. We went to Seven Gables and that blew my mind, and we've been going every year ever since.

[Harlen]

cgunderson says:

This is going to be a trip down memory lane, so if you're not a fan of self-indulgent solipsism (and is there any other kind?) cut your losses and move to another post. But, if you're even remotely sentimental, well........here goes:

Well solipsism - smolipsism ..... has never ruined a great story. Thanks mate.

[Gogd]

We went to Seven Gables and that blew my mind, and we've been going every year ever since.

@scottmiller The view east from the top of Seven Gables is a fine day hike from the nearby lakes along Bear Creek. The route hugs tight to the runnel just north of Sandpiper Lake, on the west face of the mountain. Use the brush for good hand holds. Easier than it looks, especially considering how high you get. Dangling your feet off the east side cliff faces makes a memorable picnic. I saw no evidence of other human visits, up top, so it is a nice, pristine respite.

Ed

[cgundersen]

Ed, Scott, Ian........Thanks for sharing the recollections......the impact on impressionable psyches......the great food choices......recreational drugs/alcohol...and the dearth of wilderness "style". What also amazed me is that once I started getting off the big trails, there were as many folk wandering around the "off-trail" areas as there were on the thoroughfares. Over time, the big trails got more popular and it became easier to find tranquility off the beaten path. I sometimes wonder how different my life's trajectory would have been if it were not for the Sierra? Hmmm?
Cameron

[sbennett3705]

What a great story, brings back simpler times for sure. I was trotting the San Gabriel’s around that time when my late brother organized a North Lake/South Lake loop with a group of ten in 1974. This was my first trip into the Sierras and from then on, I was hooked. My brother and I were already Eagle Scouts by then a relatively in shape, so we each carried 60 lbs to help out the lady’s loads. Stuff dangled from out Kelty’s, but we didn’t seem to mind. In fact, nothing really mattered except to *be there*. Bother John, if you’re reading this, God bless you for gifting me a lifetime of joy.

[Harlen]

This is a great post, thanks Cameron. sbennett3705, you and I share the same year ('74) for our first Sierra travels-- I wonder if you, your brother and I were all in the range at the same time and place too? Sorry that you lost a brother and a kindred Sierra traveler. The easy commaradery found among us here at HST comes from our deep shared love of the Sierra Mountain country, and the experiences we share from there. In that sense we have become a loose band of brothers and sisters, and I hope you have found partners to partially fill the void from your loss.

So we would have been in the same Sierra if you guys were backpacking out of Onion Valley, and gazing into the mighty Southern Kings River country. I'll retell, and add to a short story of my own fortunate, and pure happenstance introduction to the Sierra.
My folks loved nature from afar, and the closest we ever got to it was to take a Sunday drive into the sheep and cow-filled hills which are now coated with the homes of Laguna Niguel and Mission Viejo. My parents were both scholar/jock types, and so we were kept fit playing with various shapes of balls, and bats and rackets. The best thing a tennis racket ever did for me was lead me to the Sierra.

First year in H.S. I had the great luck to be paired with a tennis coach who was a passionate Sierraphile, and he took the team to Onion Valley for a team-building adventure. A few of us gazed about in awe and wonder at the Foxtail Pines and jagged peaks above us-- sometimes stoned, sometimes not, but always in awe! I chose to follow Coach Wahl up to the crest of Kearsarge Pass, and there I was simply blown away with wonder! I probably said to my mates that it was "Too Cool," "Bitchin," and "Farout," and that last phrase was the most meaningful. Like Cameron, this post's originator, I wanted nothing more than to get Farther out into those mountains. I asked what that area was called, and must've been told it was the Kings River country. I dreamed of getting way back in there, and lo and behold-- dreams come true!

100_3798.JPG

Almost 50 years later, 17th time on, or crossing Kearsarge Pass.


My first trips were into the Yosemite backcountry, and then in and around Mammoth Lakes. There I stupidly followed ski tracks across the middle of a frozen lake, till I saw they were melted ahead of me-- we are sometimes just lucky to survive our early ventures. I climbed with great difficulty up the backside of Mammoth, till at the top I realized it was the ski mountain I was on, when a couple of young guys from Europe skied over to check me out. They asked if I wanted to smoke a joint with them, and then I followed them out to the crest where they showed me "Scotty's Run," or was it "Dave's Run," which they then shot down. Amazing, but was the first and only time I've been on a ski slope.

Weird gear I remember from the Mammoth trip was my boots/shoes made of soft suede, and with smooth soles! I was alone in early summer, and it was very snowy, and though I don't recall cursing those shoes, I do remember that when it came time to slide back down Mammoth Mtn., I was stoked to find that these smooth soles were perfect for boot skiing down the mountain! I remember the same old cloth sleeping bag I always used-- green outer, red plaid inner-- remember those giant things?! I froze in it, and kind of expected to; I reckoned that freezing at night was part of the deal, and thought it was cool that it got me up so early to warm up by running about, swinging my arms like an ape, but I was really just a young jackass with bad gear. What else to date my early travels? Remember the bright orange plastic "Tube tents?" I brought my heavy ocean fishing pole once, sticking four feet above me, I probably brought the big "rebel lures" that I used for catching bonita and barracuda off the coast, and I don't recall catching any trout back then.

Enough of my early rambles in the Range of Light. I have really enjoyed the reminiscing, and hearing other's stories-- Gogd, yours is funny and great!
Thanks again to cgunderson for getting this post going. Cheers, Ian.