High Sierra Topix

I have been frustrated by the heavy snow year, and so I jumped at the chance of squeezing in a trip over Labor Day. I have rarely tried to do trips during my school year, which starts in mid August, but with my teaching on a MW schedule and Labor Day canceling classes—I could afford a six day trip if I planned it well.

Emigrant is my go-to destination when I have limited time, since the trailhead is barely more than 3 hours away from my home. I wanted to see some parts of Emigrant that I have missed before, and I became inspired by trip reports from Wandering Daisy and Harlan. I had never been in Emigrant late season before, I had never made it up canyon from Lord Meadows before, I had never seen Huckleberry/Letora/Cow Meadow lakes before. So I planned my trip.

My goal for the trip was to do a counter clockwise loop out of Crabtree. I would take the low trail to gain access to Rosasco Lake and Big Lake, then descend down the outlet stream and granite slabs from Yellowhammer Lake to Cherry Creek. From there I would take the Huckleberry Trail up canyon to Huckleberry Lake. From Huckleberry I would take the old trail from Huckleberry’s SW end up to Letora where I hoped to stay one or two nights, as the highlight lake of the trip. From Letora I would continue past Cow Meadow and then probably cut north to Buck Lakes, taking the “high” trail from Buck Lakes all the way back to Crabtree via Deer, Jewelry, Gem, Piute, Camp etc.

The weather report was slightly unsettling. An unusual cool/rainy/windy front was supposed to come through during my trip, but the National Weather Service only predicted one day as being possibly very wet. After I left, however, the report further deteriorated and I had significant rain and almost no sun at all on days 2, 3, and 4. The constant rain in the middle of the trip shortened the distances I could hike, sapped my morale, and forced some changes in plans. I managed to stay warm and dry at night, but only just barely. As a result, I did not have enough time to camp at Letora, but was able to glimpse it while passing. And on my last day I made a beeline out on the low trail, skipping the lakes of the high trail for greater speed and efficiency getting to the car.


Day 1

This was a good day. I got up very early, drove to Pinecrest and filled out my permit at the self-help kiosk (disappointed though that station had shuttered its restrooms,) and was at the trailhead and hiking before 8 am. The weather was beautiful, sunny and cool, just right for a hike.

Crabtree is a purely utilitarian trailhead for me—very convenient but I don’t much care for the first part of the trail. Nevertheless, it is now a very familiar haunt, and I made short work of the trudge over to the cut-off down to Pine Valley. That cutoff passes those unusual metamorphic rocks (I presume—GiantBrookie can correct) before heading down to the “superhighway” of Emigrant trails—the Bell Meadow Trail which I typically just call the “lower trail” to distinguish it from the “high trail” that runs parallel and slightly north and uphill. I passed steadily through the various healing burn zones, past pretty Lily Creek, past Grouse Lake, up the “staircase” to get to Piute Creek, and from there up and over the pass into Louse Canyon and the West Fork of Cherry Creek.

West Fork Cherry Creek is one of my favorite places in Emigrant. The lower trail lacks the lakes of the upper trail, but when there is ample water flowing, the cascades and falls from the crossing to half a mile north are spectacular. As I descended into Louse Canyon, however, I could see that the water was limited, as one might expect by late season. Still flowing—but not the volumes I am used to seeing in June.

Since I was headed to Rosasco, I cut south and joined the creekside boot path to get to the crossings that would situated me under the Rosasco trail. The map and GPS shows two crossings and two trails up the north side of the canyon, before they join about halfway up and take a single track in to the lake. On my only previous trip to Rosasco I went to the more southerly crossing and eventually found my way to some old switchbacks that led up. This time I tried the more northerly crossing. The trail was much less distinct, but it was well ducked. It involved some climbing through a ravine and a little class 2 stuff. I think I will stick with the southerly route on future trips.

While the trail to Rosasco was sketchy and intermittent for the first half, once the two options joined (halfway up) the trail became quite obvious. It probably hasn’t been maintained since the wilderness was designated in 1975, but it gets enough traffic to keep it going. At the top all pathways funnel down to one choice and it becomes yet more obvious. Whether it was the weather, or the time of day, or my mood, I found Rosasco prettier this trip than the last time I was there. The very wet season may have enhanced its greens and the sun brought out the blue. But since it was only 3:00, I decided I would continue on and see whether I could get closer to Big Lake on my loop. The trail from Rosasco over to what I call the “granite cross country valley” was better marked than last trip. This may be a benefit of later season hiking in Emigrant—it allows for others to set up the ducks that inevitably got toppled by snow the prior winter. A common problem throughout Emigrant on these old “Leighton trails” is that they persist best where there was rockwork but vanish most completely in the green. GPS is really, really helpful if you wander off track in a meadow or in forest duff.

When I came down into the granite valley, I had to decide whether to turn south and head down the mapped route to Big Lake, or whether I should just plug up the granite ramps to Pingree Lake. The two times I had been to Big Lake before have both been by going to Pingree first and then descending the granite to Big. As it was late in the day, I decided I would head to Pingree as a suitable first night and enjoy the slab walking in the morning. So I still have not approached Big Lake from the “trail” that goes south and then east to reach it.

Pingree was lovely as always. I threw my stuff down in the big camp in its NE, too tired to keep hunting for the better camps on the east side. I was treated to a nice sunset—a harbinger of what was to come.

Day 2

I awoke early as always, packed up, was hiking by 7:30. I usually would hike even earlier, but I was reminded on this trip that by September the landscape stays darker much longer than my usual Emigrant season in June. This was chopping an hour off of my early day hiking, and contributed to my problems over the next three days.

Beginning on Day 2, I barely saw my shadow for 3 days. This day the rain held off until mid afternoon, but the grey skies ruined many of my photography plans. For example, Big Lake—one of my most beautiful subjects on earlier trips—was not really photogenic. The sparkling blue turned into dull grey—about the same color of the granite, and thus with no contrast. Hiking under steady grey skies, I finished moving down the east side of Pingree and emerged on the incredible granite slabs above Big Lake. From there it is an easy (and fun!) walk down to the lake. It took a little bit of micro-route-finding to circle around the western shore of the lake to its south side, but this I had done once before and the experience helped. Now I was into new terrain. The plan was to find my way out of the Big Lake basin and into the Yellowhammer drainage. Getting around the southern end of Big Lake and up and over the divide into the drainage was slightly tricky. You can go highish or you can hug the shore. Either way there is some brush to contend with, but at some point you have to turn south and head for the pond on the drainage stream at 7680. I initially stayed on the northern side of this pond and emerged onto the granite after passing its outlet.

The country opens up dramatically once you get to the granite, and I found myself crossing the stream back and forth at will to get better views or to find an easier path down. Early season when the stream might be difficult to cross would make this kind of navigation a lot harder, but on this day the stream was decorative and reassuring without being any kind of barrier. Despite the weather, the granite slab walking is always exciting and my spirits were lifting. When I got to the bottom, I was pleased to see that crossing the East Fork of Cherry Creek (the main branch) was comparatively easy. I did so between two ponds on the creek where the water ran little more than ankle deep over the granite. Walking on the southern shore required some brush avoidance, and eventually I came to a part of the creek where the cliffs made it necessary to detour uphill and over. At the top I found a duck—clearly this was the normal route. From there I just stayed high until I reach familiar territory and my old campsite down in Lord Meadow, where I picked up the Huckleberry Trail.

I still had delusions of reaching Huckleberry Lake today, so after snacking and resting I set off east along the trail. It is a very old trail with very strange maintenance done to it. There were places where it cut across granite and dynamite had been used unnecessarily to create a roughened pathway. Then there were places where it headed into the riparian woods where it would disappear completely under ferns, mosses, and grasses. Someone had been through this year and cut quite a few sapling trees down that had been encroaching on the trail—but big deadfall has not been cleared for a generation. There was no signage anywhere. Odd. I managed to follow it without too many problems, but it is certainly not akin to the other major E/W trails further north, and it does not seem to get that much traffic. The map shows two alternative crossings to initially get to the north side of the creek (when traveling from Lord Meadow to the east), but I never saw the first. The second alternative was a bit bizarre. The trail left the granite and plunged deep into a forested, ferny, wet riparian area. It twisted and turned through the ferns and seemingly dead ended at a channel of the creek. It was not difficult to cross this woodsy knee-high stream, but once across there was no obvious trail. My GPS eventually led me out of the riparian area to more open granite, and I found a duck which lent me encouragement.

Having just found the trail, however, the heavens opened up, and I quickly put up my tent on a well- drained gravelly flat in the granite. I managed to batten down the hatches without getting soaked, and spent the rest of the afternoon riding out the first day of the storm. I had gone only about half as far as I wanted to on this day, and the first little worries began to appear in the back of my mind about whether I would be able to complete the loop in the days I had left. The rain did let up enough for me to make dinner, and it retreated during the night.

Day 3

My approach to rain, based on many years in the Sierra, is to get up and hike very, very early and get as much hiking in as possible before the rain hits, which is usually not before the early afternoon. By then I can have a camp set up and can stay dry and warm. I’ve never in the past had to hike for long distances in the rain—the Sierra thunderstorms rarely last that long.

So on Day 3 I tried my technique, got up and got going as early as possibly. The hike up Cherry Creek was quite interesting, and I knew it would involve a couple more crossings. Since I wanted to finish on the North side of the Creek to pick up the most direct trail to Letora, once I finished my two crossings I would not have to do it again.

The day began well, if grey. The trail was simple enough to follow, and when I came to the first of the day’s crossings (7210) I discovered that the water was once again shallow as it sheeted over the granite. I crossed a little too soon and had to scrounge around after the crossings to catch up with the trail, but once I got on it, it proved to be a pleasure. The trail had one switchback through rock and then got started east, with the view dominated by an impressive granite dome at 7600 that the creek flows around and where the final crossing of the day would be. That crossing was wider but no more difficult. The trail then follows the north shore and climbs steadily, sometimes going up the back sides of domes and rocks that separate it from the creek. In those areas where the trail levels out it can be easy to lose, but in those places where the trail was blasted through slots it was unmistakable. These were some of the more scenic parts of the hike as I climbed through the slots and domes, with Cherry Creek making cheerful noises—sometimes near, sometimes far. Finally, after the steady climb through the granite, the trail leveled out. What I had not discerned from the maps was the huge, mostly level area beginning about 7800 and lasting all the way along the creek, by the snow cabin, and the entire length of Huckleberry Lake. That valley/meadow/lake is about 3 miles long and utterly flat. Soon after the trail leveled out I came the the old snow cabin. The space between the snow cabin and the lake—about 6/10 of a mile—must have been an open snow meadow when the cabin was built. But the lack of snow to crush seedlings over the last decade allowed a thick forest of “christmas trees” to get established, and it was something of a maze of trees to get though. The trail was at best a grassy area that occasionally appeared between bands of small trees.

Finally I managed to navigate through the small trees and caught my first sight of Huckleberry Lake. Just as I did so, at about 11:30 in the morning, the rain started.

After my experience on the previous day, I was doubly frustrated that my progress would once again be interrupted. Today was “Letora or bust.” So I donned my rain jacket, pack cover, and decided to try hiking through the rain. But finding the old, partly overgrown trail in the rain proved difficult, and I took a couple of wrong turns in the downpour. With my spirits sagging, I realized I need to make camp and get into a dry tent.

I was concerned about high winds and snags that could topple, so it took quite a while to find a site that I thought would drain well and also be free from the danger of deadfall. The site, as it turned out, was right back where the trail first approached Huckleberry. It was almost a symbol of my frustration—nature would let me reach Huckleberry but not a step further.

I did get set up and climbed in to stay dry, but everything was a little more damp than the day before. Each additional day of rain makes it harder to keep the gear dry. At this point I was beginning to wonder if I could even find the trail to Letora, whether the rain would let me get there, or whether I should just reverse course and begin the long tramp backwards. Using my satellite device, I texted my wife for updated weather reports, and it was even worse than I thought. Day 4 now was listed as an 80% chance of rain and wind over 40 mph. But I could not afford to sit in the tent for the rest of Day 3 and all of Day 4—I was too far in to make it home on days 5 and 6 alone. Plus the fun-factor was gone. One can only stare at the green walls of a tiny coffin-sized tent for so long before screaming.

Fortunately, the rain did let up by late afternoon. Too late for me to pack up a wet tent and move forward, but in time for me to make dinner and to explore the trail ahead a little. That reconnaissance lifted my spirits a little, since in the absence of a downpour I was able to find the trail and trace it up to a key switchback. I now knew where I needed to go in the morning. The sun even poked out for about 10 minutes, and Huckleberry Lake began to look pretty to me.

Day 4

I needed to move ahead, rain or shine, so I got up, packed a sopping wet tent, put on my best rain gear, and got underway. For a couple of hours it did not rain—but the old trail was so brushy that my boots, socks, and pants became rapidly soaked. My feet audibly squelched with every step. However, I was warm and I kept eating sugars and carbs to keep my energy up. The rain returned in a couple of hours but it tended to come in gentle showers, and fortunately the winds were not as bad as expected, nor was there thunder or lightning. So long as I kept moving and eating I could stay warm.

The trail up out of SW Huckleberry to Letora proved to be one of the more interesting trails on the trip. Fortunately, someone on a mule or horse had been over it a day or two earlier, and so there were fresh horseshoe prints to help guide me through the wet areas. But the trail followed an interesting path north then west then North again, sneaking through and around the granite. Olive Lake was small and green, but I was particularly impressed with the long unnamed lake at 8349 right before joining the main trail. It looked to me that there might be nice campsites on its east shore, though the trail hugs the west shore. It was with great relief that I came to the intersection with the main trail and saw an actual signpost. I knew that if I made it to Wood Lake by the end of the day that I would be able to make it out in a single day if I needed to—with no difficult trail finding skills or rain-dodging skills required. Letora Lake, however, was a few hundred yards east, in the “wrong direction.” Given that the whole trip had been designed to see it, I decided emphatically not to bypass it entirely, and I took the jaunt over to Letora.

It was raining again, but even so, Letora struck me as the most beautiful and interesting lake I have seen in Emigrant. I took a few pictures, and clung to its granite shores as long as I could, but reluctantly pulled away without camping there to continue my progress toward Wood Lake. Letora is the lake I wish I had been able to camp at—rather than those hurried and unimpressive camps in Lord Meadow and Huckleberry Lake. Had the weather been better, I would have make it in time to properly enjoy Letora, but as it was, I was grateful I saw it at all. As I was leaving Letora I met the first people I had seen since Day 1. A young couple was camped near Letora. They were on a 14 day trip, hiking but resupplied by horse packers. They were very pleasant people and I realized that just chatting with them was a bit uplifting after my solitary tent fever of the last couple of days. I also left thinking that the quality and size of tents and raingear, and extra changes of dry clothes, would make it easier to enjoy a wet trip when horsepacking than when backpacking.

By this point I was very wet, and in a sense it was liberating. There was no reason to keep my feet dry so I just waded through puddles and fords in my boots. It was interesting to descend into the North Fork Valley and see Cow Meadow Lake for the first time. I expected an ugly, muddy hole in a pasture and got to see a lovely, green, forest and granite encrusted body of water. The North Fork was at this point perhaps 25 feet wide and knee deep, but no matter—I did not even slow down much as I splashed through it in my boots.

The climb up out was steady, and the uphill exertion helped keep my body warm in the rain. I was pleased to see that the turnoff to Lower Buck Lake was clearly marked with a post, and had I stayed to my original plan I would have taken it then exited on the High Trail. But I squelched past it and headed for Wood Lake.

I’m glad I did. The one time I had visited Wood Lake before I had only seen its western end and I was not terribly impressed. This time I came in to the eastern lobes of the lake. The trail goes right though a shallow part of the lake—it was thigh deep—and again I barely slowed down. My boots could not possibly get any wetter than they already were. But opposite this crossing I saw a somewhat sheltered area with good drainage, and I made a beeline for it, and during the first lull in the rain got the wet tent set up and organized. I grabbed a garbage bag out of my pack and segregated my wet cloths, put on all dry cloths including my down puffy, and settled into the tent in warmth to ride out the rest of the rain. Late in the afternoon and evening I began to get some breaks in the weather. I put up a clothesline and hung my wet clothing—sadly it was too cool and humid to be of much use. But it was pleasant enough for me to move around in my Crocs (I would not put my soaked boots back on again until I had to) and I explored this green and reflective body of water. Foremost in my mind--the weather reports my wife had sent me indicated that day 5 would be sunny.

Day 5

I slept well, but barely kept warm enough. There was frost and some ice outside in the morning, but all my efforts to keep my down dry had only partially succeeded. Even when you keep a bag and parka out of the rain, it is impossible to prevent 100% humidity and the condensation from your own breath from taking a toll on their loft.

But the sun was out! It was going to be a glorious day. However, I knew that I did not want to spend another night in my wet gear. I had a couple of choices. I could spread all my gear out in the sun and dry out. Nothing was drying yet, however—I would probably have to wait to early afternoon for things to be warm enough and the sun direct enough to thoroughly dry me out. But then that would leave me a lot of miles to go, and as much as the eastern Wood Lake was pleasant, I did not really relish staying there another 6-8 hours.
So I took the other choice. I packed up wet and hiked out. Progress was fast, with a lighter bearbox, soaring morale, and the feel of sun on me. The worst part of the day was putting on my wet hiking clothes, but they at least did dry out over the first few hours of hiking. It was not long before I was back to West Fork Cherry Creek, and then I was retracing my steps of the first day. I was meeting many people, almost all on the way out, and there was a little comaraderie that we had all survived the deluge and were grinning about it. One of the oddest sights was a very large pack train that passed me on the way out. There was a mother, her youngish boy, and three dogs along. Two of the dogs were large and walking on their own. But one dog was a dachshund, riding along draped over one of the wrangler’s laps, enjoying the sights and not having to expend any effort. A dog’s life! I wonder if the dachshund ever got wet! He certainly didn't have muddy paws.

Then back to Crabtree and the car and the drive home, with family, hot food, hot water, and plumbing.

Reflections:

Reflecting on this trip is complicated. I saw some lovely places I have always wanted to see. I took on and successfully completed some route finding that pushed my limits a bit. I now know that I can keep warm dry and safe even in less than ideal conditions. But if I had it all to do over again...I wouldn’t. Too many hours waiting out the rain was depressing, worrying, and distinctly not fun. Not every backpacking trip can be successful—sometimes things go wrong. I guess we have to be prepared for the occasional bad trip as the price we pay for many more good ones. And as you can see, there were some good moments.

Emigrant is my favorite area in the Sierras because the biggest fish in the backcountry come from that area. Huckleberry is one of the best self-sustaining fisheries in the whole backcountry of the Sierras and Letora is probably the best looking lake in Emigrant Wilderness. Thank you for the wonderful TR, it brings back many great memories. From your excellent pics it looks lush green like it did when I went the last week of August and first week of September in 1995. Another record snow year. Thanks again for sharing.

Texan

Great report, KPeter. Yes, Latora is a wonderful lake, and I've always wanted to go back there...we only walked by once, as did you, and it seems worth at least a day of exploration.

Note that it's Rosasco Lake. And note that once you leave the trail to head out to Rosasco, all of those cairns are considered "routes" but the USFS, and are not maintained in any way. They are use trails, and only get marked by people who use them. That is NOT a suggestion that you mark them better...just leave them as they are, and let folks find their way, as you did.

That granite west of Big Lake is simply amazing...I even feature it in one of my mysteries set in the Sierrs. We entered Big Lake above the outlet and took the left-hand side of the lake around the YellowHammer. It's wuite easy, IIRC. There is then a way to get up the slabs to Five-Acre Lake, and then Leighton and Karls, and back to Woods Lake. From Leighton and Karls, You can also wander west to check out Coyote and Kole Lakes, as well.

Wonderful part of the world.

balzaccom wrote: ↑Sat Sep 09, 2023 7:04 am Great report, KPeter. Yes, Latora is a wonderful lake, and I've always wanted to go back there...we only walked by once, as did you, and it seems worth at least a day of exploration.

Note that it's Rosasco Lake. And note that once you leave the trail to head out to Rosasco, all of those cairns are considered "routes" but the USFS, and are not maintained in any way. They are use trails, and only get marked by people who use them. That is NOT a suggestion that you mark them better...just leave them as they are, and let folks find their way, as you did.

That granite west of Big Lake is simply amazing...I even feature it in one of my mysteries set in the Sierrs. We entered Big Lake above the outlet and took the left-hand side of the lake around the YellowHammer. It's wuite easy, IIRC. There is then a way to get up the slabs to Five-Acre Lake, and then Leighton and Karls, and back to Woods Lake. From Leighton and Karls, You can also wander west to check out Coyote and Kole Lakes, as well.

Wonderful part of the world.

Thanks Balzacom! For ten years I have been misspelling Rosasco. Not sure how I got started down that wrong path!

Your suggestion about exploring from Big toward Yellowhammer, Five-Acre etc. is an excellent one--and in fact is one I took on your advice about 7 years ago. It is a fun hike. This trip I saw the other access routes into that area--going south from eastern Woods gets you to 5 acre, going south from western Woods gets you to Karl's, etc. I did really like Red Can and Karl's when I saw them on that trip, although Leighton Lake left me cold and Five Acre struck me as non-descript. I've never made it to Kole or Coyote Lakes.

The history of the trails in this area--south of Buck Meadow Creek and east of Louse Canyon--has always interested me. They are shown on the USGS maps that date to the 1960s, just before wilderness designation. The area was a USFS "Primitive Area" before 1975, but my theory is that these trails were mainly created by Leighton to serve his wilderness "village" at Leighton camp and his thriving business of bringing in fishing parties. Yellowhammer Lake was created by him in 1920 and he kept installing check dams in the area up through the 1950s. In those years horsepacking was much more extensive than today, and backpacking was very rare. He needed trails to support the mule trains that carried in all the supplies to his central camp, to all the satellite lakes where he ferried fishermen, and to carry in all the bags of concrete he used to make several dozen checkdams. Those trails were never built by the Forest Service and the Forest Service has probably never maintained them. However, there are many places along those trails where you can see that someone maintained them--large old logs that have been cut out, some rockwork here and there, and even bits of blasting.

The one trail that puzzles me is the Huckleberry Trail--running all the way from Shingle Springs to Lord Meadow to Huckleberry Lake. On the stretch I did on this trip it is obvious that at one point in its history it got a lot of heavy-duty maintenance, but very little has been done to it for years now. I know the section from Shingle Springs to Styx Gap has had a trail crew over it a couple of times since the fires that went through that area, but it is hard to see that much has been done between Lord Meadow and Huckleberry for years--except for those saplings that were cut, oddly.

Thanks for sharing this report! That's some perseverance amidst unforgiving weather conditions.

I've had a few trips over the years that were similarly plagued by more rain/inclement weather than anticipated, and like you I've come to the conclusion that despite the lessons learned and sights seen, if I had the opportunity to do it all over again, I wouldn't. With that said, perhaps the value of Type III fun (not fun while doing it, and while you might take pride in having done it in retrospect, you wouldn't voluntarily do it again) is to put the other more typical types of fun in better perspective. If we knew all of the trips would be good, they might not be as good as when there's a risk of something not working out perfectly.

That trail past Huckleberry began life (or at least, was used at one point) as a road to a mine up in that area. That's why it is so wide and, in places, so developed. The hike downstream to Huckleberry is an ugly walk down that road, filled with cobblestones that are no fun at all!