High Sierra Topix

Sometimes one can turn negatives into positives: in this case the drought and pandemic-forced work changes. Many High Sierra enthusiasts know the positive aspect of the first of these negatives: an early thaw. Online automated finals would be a specific perk of no.2 (would have been in class proctoring at least one final this week otherwise). Like many teachers, I put in more than 40-hour weeks, and work regularly on weekends and winter and summer breaks, and the pandemic-related remote mode hasn't changed anything for me. So I figure that I will quickly make up "playing hooky" for two days. Since late April I've been thinking that some lakes of the NW Yosemite backcountry were thawed so I started thinking about doing my first early May trip since 1992. A field trip I led for my geomorphology class to Kings Canyon on May 1 sealed the deal as I gazed to the high country from Junction View.

The pull of the High Sierra became too strong to resist, so I put in a wilderness permit reservation to hike out of Hetch Hetchy on Tuesday (5/11) for an overnighter. This was also my first solo backpack trip since 1980 when I worked as an exploration geologist intern in western Montana. This trip would also mark a rite-of-passage, so to speak, for my relatively new (2019) Sentra, that replaced the beloved 2001 Sentra, affectionately dubbed the "Millenium Falcon". Going back to my trips with my dad in the 70s onward , Highway 120, especially the westbound (downhill) curves west of the park border were the standard test of vehicular cornering agility. I'd taken the 2019 on some mountain roads (including two weeks ago to Kings Canyon) and it seemed a very worthy successor to the Millenium Falcon, but it awaited the "120 test". It passed with flying colors and I had a blast driving in both directions.

The snappy morning drive got me to the Hetch Hetchy entrance station before 9 am. Gotta love Hetch Hetchy. There was no line of cars. They have one person manning one window of the entrance kiosk taking payments and another doing the wilderness permits (have to park to the side and walk up for then to print out reserved permit). Their cash register was acting up, so they said I could drop in to pay on the way out. The internet was really spotty so it took a bit of time to get the wilderness permit printed out. Both rangers were really nice and a pleasure to talk to. While the permit was printing, I noticed a map with the three trailed crossings of Frog Creek that lead to Laurel Lake circled in pencil. Next to two of the circles was the word "No". This reminded me to ask the wilderness ranger about those crossings. She said that backpackers reported the lower two (the two shortest ways to Laurel Lake) were not crossable but the upper one was. From past experience I recalled that some backpackers have a higher tolerance of risk on stream crossings than I do, so even as considered the upstream crossing my chosen route, I thought of Plan B. If I found the upper crossing beyond my comfort zone, I'd turn around and then head for Lake Vernon instead. One thing I didn't realize until reminded by the ranger is that there is a gate that they close a 5 pm each day (I think this is the "off season" schedule) which means if you don't reach that gate by 5 pm you're locked in and have to spend an additional night at the backpackers camp. At the time, this did not worry me because my plan was to hike out early enough to bring fish home in time for a good dinner with my family on Wednesday (12 May) and this meant reaching the car by 4 pm at the latest. Since Plan A leaving Laurel at about 10 am after some morning fishing, I figured to reach the trailhead at about 1 pm. But I have a history of changing plans for the fun of it...

At the overnight parking, I noticed a rugged-looking old fellow chewing on an energy bar, assembling his pack, so I smiled and asked "powering up"? It turned out he was leaving on a 14-day trip. Although hiking on two artificial knees, this fellow had put in about 1000 hiking miles on said knees and said he normally spends 6 to 8 weeks in the backcountry; "One of the advantages of being retired" he said when I expressed admiration and awe. He intended for 2021 to be a return to "normal" after having a somewhat diminished 2020 owing to pandemic issues plus wildfires. I told him that he was an inspiration, wished him a good trip, and was hiking at 915 am. Just before I left, I swatted a few mosquitoes. That seemed to forecast far worse to come.

As I hiked the road from the overnight parking I recalled that in May 1992, when Judy, Todd, and I hiked to Edyth and Bearup Lakes we parked at the dam (now day use only) and I'm pretty sure that Todd and I parked there in October 2004 for a miserably cold trip to Laurel. I thought that finishing the trip with uphill on pavement in blazing heat would be pretty harsh, but I'd deal with that when it came. I crossed the dam, took my "season opening photo" across the reservoir, then walked through the tunnel. As they would throughout the trip, memories, especially of the great 1992 Edyth trip came flooding back. I came down with a cold on that trip and labored the latter part of the last day. Todd and Judy were probably back at the car by the time I reached the tunnel. I was dizzy and wobbly and walking into the dark of the tunnel got me so disoriented I thought I would pass out. Tuesday morning I headed through the tunnel with fresh legs and a buoyant spirit. Although it felt odd backpacking alone, and I particularly missed Dawn, my daughter and no.1 backpack buddy, the joy of wilderness flooded into me. I felt like a wide-eyed little kid. But some older-person thoughts crept in, as surely they must when one is north of 60 (I can get my senior National Park pass as of August 2). Going solo was a chance to test myself, just as I tested my car on the drive, and find out what was under the hood. This winter and spring I put in the hardest geology hikes I've ever done, but on the hardest of them it seemed my uphill climbs faltered a bit and those were day trips without a full pack. The opening set of merciless south-facing switchbacks above Hetch Hetchy provided the calibration I wanted. It seemed to me this was the strongest I've felt on any trip in the last 20+ years, but I couldn't be sure if this was because of having a lighter pack (high 30s versus usual 50ish) than usual. I was also hiking without my usual walking stick so as to use this trip to build more leg strength; I would come to regret that decision while descending the next day. At 1045 I took my first rest stop about 200 feet in elevation above the Miguel Meadows trail split. On my trips with others, I find we take a bit too long at rest stops, so I observed a fairly strict routine--remove pack, sit and take weight off legs, hydrate, munch on something (usually a Clif Bar) and be hiking in less than 10 min. Another hour and a half of hiking and I found myself at the Beehive, the trail junction for Laurel Lake and after my second short break headed for the anticipated crux: the stream crossing. I still had plenty of time to get to Lake Vernon if the crossing looked bad, but I fretted about that crossing, because I had some unfinished business at Laurel Lake leftover from 2004.

The crossing of Frog Creek proved easy. The current was fairly swift, but only knee deep. I wanted a walking stick and found ample selection from all the downed wood lying around, from which I picked a really nice one. Downed logs had been the bane of the hike from the Miguel Meadows junction to the Beehive. One generally considers downed logs across trails, mosquitoes, and stream crossings to be the main negatives of early season trips. Logs: check. Stream crossing: not so bad. Mosquitoes: Virtually zero. Total kills at car=2. Total kills on trip for two days=1. I have no idea why. The breeze was reasonably consistent but commonly dropped to levels at which I'm accustomed to being swarmed. The trail after the Frog Creek crossing makes a super inefficient northward arc to get to the lake, so I figured on striking off SW along the moraine crest to aim for the SE shore of the lake where I had camped with Todd in 2004. Although it looks like a single moraine crest on the topo map, there are multiple parallel ones and there are plenty of thorny patches of thick brush. I managed to stumble into far too many of the latter and didn't reach a campsite I liked until a bit past 1 pm. As I reached the campsite I was greeted with the sight of a bald eagle circling over the lake and returing to the top of a tree fairly close by. That was a nice welcome. Rather than set up camp yet, I rigged up my fishing gear. In 2004 I had been so cold I didn't fish (spent all waking hours in tent recovering my core temperature) so figured I'd give the lake a thorough exploration, which I did. I returned to camp at around 5 pm and set up my camp, including going down to the lake with my usual folding portable water bucket. I wanted to test out my new Sawyer squeeze style mini filter, given that my ancient and heavy First Need, died on my big trip last year. I found the water bag for the Sawyer doesn't fill well from the bucket because it needs more depth, and the super shallow local shore of the lake also offered poor prospects. It took a long time to filter a single liter. After this learning experience I realized the sorts of places suitable for using this filter would be different than those of my old First Need and I figured to further test this the next day. The moderately strenuous day of hiking generated a correspondingly big appetite and I satisfied it with Alpine Aire Jambalaya and a package of Idahoan roasted garlic instant mashed potatoes. I felt fairly full after that and had some regrets. With campfires allowed in pre-existing fire circles (my campsite had one) I wanted to cook some fish my favorite backcountry way: salted and grilled over coals. I had been years since I last did that. I packed my portable grill for that very purpose and had made a nice cooking fire (almost no flame but good bed of coals) that I had boiled my water with. But I was too full and felt it wasteful to stuff myself. Any fish I kept that I didn't eat were earmarked for a big dinner back with the family. I decided to do a bit more exploring around the lake, after which more appetite returned, so I grilled up the smallest of the four fish I'd kept (about 13.5"; other three were 14-14.5"). Delicious! Unusually firm meat (for trout) with a rich fatty flavor, and yummy crispy skin from the grilling.

The sun began to set, the air became fairly still and some swarms of insects appeared. OK, here it comes, the mosquitoes have finally appeared in their early season form. Nope, I think they were some sort of non-biting midge. I had now been in camp for three hours and I realized how lonely camp is when hiking solo. I much prefer backpacking with others and I really missed Dawn (my first backpacking trip without her since the 2015 Gold at the end of the Rainbow trip). As darkness fell, I saw some headlamps to the west. They seemed to be approaching. Were these folks stumbling into the lake really late? I recalled zipping by an "older" couple (probably mine and Judy's age or a smidge younger) on the switchbacks and exchanging a cheerful hello. Could it be them? I sort of wanted to socialize, so I put on my own headlamp and started walking toward the lights but realized they were further away than I thought and abandoned the idea. In the meantime, my mind drifted to two things: first was generating a new Plan B for the second day. Originally I figured on doing some morning fishing, packing up, and possibly throwing some casts into Hetch Hetchy before driving home. However, I was thinking that I'd never visited Lake Vernon and I figured if I dropped my pack at the Beehive and dayhiked there, I could visit the place and still hike out in time to get home for dinner (and not get locked in). That would also mean leaving camp early in the morning when the stream crossing would be easiest. I also waffled on how to best preserve my fish. I had done the overnight tree hang, then pack fish out the next day (wrapped in towel) with good results before (ie fish were excellent and fresh when cooked at home later). I worried a bit about a bear finding the fish and getting a good meal, and briefly considered wrapping the fish in a towel and putting them in my bear cannister. I didn't see any signs of bears in the vicinity so I decided to leave the fish hanging on from tree branch.

I got up at about a quarter before 6 on Wednesday morning, checked around camp and found everything OK, including the hanging fish. To avoid the time lost building another cooking fire I did the usual quick water boil on the Pocket Rocket, had the traditional oatmeal plus my avoid-the-caffeine-withdrawal symptoms-high caffeine Clif Bar (Mint Chocolate Chip). I left camp at about 715 am. Given that it was so early, I thought I might check out the "middle" stream crossing because it offered a more direct path to the Beehive. I figured that the flows might be low enough to cross there and, if not, I could always work my way upstream to the upper crossing. The water was deeper there than at the upper crossing and I could see that this crossing probably wouldn't work except early in the morning, but I crossed fairly easily in water that got up to the top of my thigh. After getting across I was so excited at the prospect of an early arrival at Lake Vernon that I neglected to stop and wring out my socks. I have found that this helps prevent blisters later, in contrast to having soggy socks for the rest of the day. As the day wore on my feet seemed to dry out OK so I forgot about this detail. Upon reaching the Beehive I found a place behind a log to stash my pack so it was out of the line-of-sight from the trail. I removed the little portable daypack from the interior of my Baltoro 85, and put in two water bottles, my water filter, my lure box, and another fish towel (fish hung from night before were now in the other towel inside the bear cannister). In order to save space (little daypack doesn't fit too much), I donned my fishing vest, and assembled my rod and reel rig which I carried with my net.

The hike to Lake Vernon was easy as anticipated although the first bit above the Beehive had more of those annoying downed logs. I reached Lake Vernon and had my first cast the water at 915 am. Lake Vernon is a beautiful place highlighted by roaring cascade upstream of it. Unlike Laurel that is entirely fringed with woods and brush, Vernon is hemmed in by massive granitic cliffs. OK, it isn't the equal of the stunning Edyth Lake, but Lake Vernon doesn't require the extreme off trail effort to reach that Edyth does. I would like to return to Lake Vernon again and spend more time enjoying the place, whereas I don't have as strong a motivation to return to Edyth. My investigation of the fishing prospects and the operation of my water filter (much better with a good drop off into deeper water) successfully concluded and I bid good bye to Lake Vernon at 1115 am. During the return dayhike from Vernon I noticed I had developed some blisters (recall the not wringing the socks out thing) and the feet were becoming uncomfortable. I ran into two couples on the trail, one of which was the older couple I has passed the day before on the switchbacks. They were taking a break at the Moraine Ridge-Lake Vernon trail split. It turned out they had camped at Laurel the night before and were now headed for Vernon. They mentioned how pretty they found Laurel so I told them to they'd enjoy Vernon even more. Not far below that I ran into another younger couple who had also camped at Laurel the night before. They had some questions on route planning so I stopped, and pulled out my map to confer with them. I realized I was costing myself time, but I enjoy such backcountry meetings; I probably enjoy them more when I'm solo. After retrieving and reassembling my pack at the Beehive, I took a short hydration and Clif Bar break then shouldered the pack. This was probably the first time I've carried out a pack that weighed more than what I started with because of the unprecedented fish hike-out load (somewhere 10lb range).

On the hike out the blister pain became more and more intense. I could feel them on the tops of my toes as well as the bottom of my feet and the side toe contact areas (ie little and big toes). In addition, I had had this funny feeling that my boots were a bit small; about 6 of my 10 toes were now so sensitive that the smallest toe stub was exceptionally painful. Extra stuff, such as clambering over those downed logs, became extra painful. In fact this was the 2nd worst condition my feet have ever ended up in on a hike (Mordor I of 2002 with blisters or sores on more than half of area of both feet remains the worst). I started to fret that dinner would be a bit late but had no concerns about making the gate. I took a last rest stop at the Miguel Meadow intersection and when I started hiking after it the pain level reached a point that I was concerned that I would not be able to hike at more than a snail's pace. The feet felt like they were on fire with someone rubbing on them with red hot sandpaper. I experimented with different ways of walking and found that the least painful way to move was to jog, so I jogged most of the rest of the way out, walking only when on level ground or uphill reaches. This allowed me to pass everyone outbound I encountered except for one dayhiker who merged from the Rancheria trail just ahead of me and kept the same separation all the way to the dam. Unlike 1992 the tunnel was cool and refreshing and even the dreaded uphill-on-pavement-in-blazing sun (probably about 85F) wasn't so bad because hiking uphill didn't hurt my feet. I reached my car at about 335 pm. At 345 pm I was off and driving and not long after that (shortly before 4 pm) was at the entrance station to pay. The cash register was working, so they asked me my payment options and I said I'd just get the single-visit one. The fellow asked me my age (ie to see if I was 62) and I said I wouldn't be able to do the senior pass until August (but apparently if I keep my receipt the $35 will be credited toward my senior pass fee). I gave the wilderness ranger an update on the Frog Creek stream crossing conditions. In the course of my conversations with the rangers they mentioned I didn't look close to my age. I remarked that I didn't feel like it, either. I said that someday Father Time will slow me down, but it hasn't happened yet. I concluded the trip with a rousing run in the New Millenium, reaching Castro Valley at 652 pm. Plenty of time for dinner. My son had already been informed to start preparing for dinner (he is the head chef) when I had cell coverage (somewhere around Rim of the World).

Postscript. Lee filleted the three Laurel plus one Vernon fish cut each fillet in two (for a total of 16 pieces) and fried them up with his signature batter-and-panko coating. While filleting, hje noted something odd with the flesh of the one Laurel fish and asked me to look at it to confirm that it was OK to eat. The flesh had these strange red marks, like wounds. Then I remembered what the skin had looked like. It had these puncture marks. At first, when I landed and looked at the fish, I thought the punctures could be from a huge fish trying to eat it, but I looked at the pattern and it wasn't the wound pattern you'd expect from a fish bite. Rather the spacing suggested talons. I figure this fish escaped the grasp of a bald eagle or osprey, perhaps the bald eagle I saw at the lake. Lee also made his signature miso soup and we had Japanese rice and edamame to accompany it. This seemed like a huge amount of fish, but I assured Lee that I was super hungry, so he filleted four instead of simply the three Laurel fish (I wanted to make sure the "older" ones were cooked first). On Lee's end, he confirmed that trout are in fact his very favorite of all fish to eat although he'd still rather fish for ocean fish because he doesn't have to hike as far. He had four pieces, I had five, Dawn and Judy had two apiece, leaving three (which Dawn, Judy, and I had for a superb lunch today). Today Judy will prepare the remaining four fish. Overall, the trip was hugely enjoyable in spite of the painful feet for the hike out. The hiking speed and ease (other than the blister and toe pain) turned the clock back over 20 years and the fishing was good (not sensational with no lunkers caught or lost and all fish between 13.5 and 15"). For me this trip ranks with my best High Sierra season openers in memory, but I don't plan on backpacking solo again, because I much prefer hiking with someone. But if circumstances lead me to another solo trip someday, I guess I'll just have to make a positive out of a negative.

Fish big enough to fillet? That's quite a trip. Sorry to hear about the foot pain. That can really cut back on enjoyment.

Very detailed report for day dreaming in early season! Heading out of my office later today to do a solo trip over the weekend. I found the 1L bottle of smartwater (usually I got a box from costco every year) work best with Sawyer filter (standard one, not mini). The thread fits perfectly and it's durable enough for a few trips. The standard one has a much better flow speed and worth the little extra weight.

Thanks so much for the TR. It does not look like Vernon was excessively high. How was the bridge at the Vernon outlet?

Thank you for that trip report. It was an enjoyable read. One day, I want to visit that part of Yosemite. I hope your toes are healing fast.

oddtiger, thanks for the skinny on the Sawyer filters.

kpeter, I did not check out the bridge at the Vernon outlet but I assume it was OK because the only stream crossings noted as problematic at the Hetch Hetchy entrance station/permit pickup were the ones on Frog Creek (that lack bridges). In addition, while descending below Beehive I ran into a young woman who was doing a solo loop that would visit Vernon first then loop out to Rancheria falls. I figure she would have been dissuaded from that itinerary by the wilderness ranger if there were issues with the Vernon outlet bridge.

paula53, I do hope you get to visit that part of Yosemite because it is really nice (Vernon more so than Laurel). The feet are actually not so bad two days out. It is interesting that most of the damage to the tops of the toes are pure abrasion (ie skin rubbed off) rather than blisters (there are only two blisters on the top), which additionally supports the theory that this was all because of enhanced friction from the socks being wet. The most lingering side effect was from running instead of walking much of the final 4+ miles (it was actually closer to 5 miles out when I began jogging). Whereas that made the foot pain more tolerable it pounded the quads and knees more than usual. This is the most fatigued my quads have ever felt, be it after hiking, or any other sort of athletic endeavor. I will try to build on this when I restart training tomorrow.

Hi John/giantbrookie, thanks for the excellent report. It's well written and includes some fascinating points. This one in particular intrigues me:

This winter and spring I put in the hardest geology hikes I've ever done, but on the hardest of them it seemed my uphill climbs faltered a bit and those were day trips without a full pack. The opening set of merciless south-facing switchbacks above Hetch Hetchy provided the calibration I wanted. It seemed to me this was the strongest I've felt on any trip in the last 20+ years, but I couldn't be sure if this was because of having a lighter pack (high 30s versus usual 50ish) than usual.

Do you feel that the hard workouts from your geology field courses, though difficult at the time, prepared your body so well that you were in fact stronger than ever? If so, might I be able to audit these classes, if only for the fitness training? I am a bit baffled that one of my hiking peers (also "north of 60") speaks about feeling "stronger than ever." I have finally had to admit that age has caught up to my legs, and I am slower than ever. Please tell us your secret John.

Sorry to hear about the feet though; your description in painful even to read. Congratulations on your fishing success, and best of luck with finding partners-- if your kids are busy, I'm keen.

Thanks for the entertaining trip report, and sorry to hear about your foot problems. I'm really amazed that you put this lengthy and detailed report together the day after your trip!
-Phil

Harlen wrote: ↑Fri May 14, 2021 8:12 pm

This winter and spring I put in the hardest geology hikes I've ever done, but on the hardest of them it seemed my uphill climbs faltered a bit and those were day trips without a full pack. The opening set of merciless south-facing switchbacks above Hetch Hetchy provided the calibration I wanted. It seemed to me this was the strongest I've felt on any trip in the last 20+ years, but I couldn't be sure if this was because of having a lighter pack (high 30s versus usual 50ish) than usual.

Do you feel that the hard workouts from your geology field courses, though difficult at the time, prepared your body so well that you were in fact stronger than ever? If so, might I be able to audit these classes, if only for the fitness training? I am a bit baffled that one of my hiking peers (also "north of 60") speaks about feeling "stronger than ever." I have finally had to admit that age has caught up to my legs, and I am slower than ever. Please tell us your secret John.

Well, I didn't say stronger than ever. I'd say I was hiking at the speed I could do in my late 30s to 40 or so, which was certainly slower than I was when at my peak from about age 21 to 30. I think the biggest difference maker for 2020-2021 is associated with my conditioning. I've always been active, but from age 30 onward I wasn't playing full court basketball 5-6 days a week as I had before. Whereas I tried of offset that with regular running of stadium stairs and such, I think the overall level of cardio conditioning dropped off after that. I returned to playing basketball semi regularly, but not as much full court and not as often for the first three months of 2020, thanks to some of my students, but I still wasn't getting the level of exercise I did at age ≤30. The pandemic and gym closures changed that when I was forced to adopt distance running. I really think that is the big difference maker. By midsummer of 2020 I was regularly putting in 15-20 miles/week (commonly 4 x 5 mile runs) although in November I found that longer runs started to bother my right knee, which was further aggravated by collapses doing field work (with the evening pain alleviated with large doses of IPA). I've since dialed back to 3-mile runs and an average of 9-12 miles/week (3 x 3/4 x 3) plus my usual routine of own-weight strength training (plank, push-ups= aim to do at least 100 reps in a single set, and then the notorious pull-up and muscle-up routine). I also do some quad exercises to try to support my knees (lift up against bottom of chair or table--isometric sort of thing). Normally I'm in the weight room for the strength stuff. In addition to running, I figure doing fairly regular hikes helps, especially since they closed my favorite stadium for stairs. My dad found out long ago that running alone was not enough to condition legs for the ups and downs. I think this is where getting out, although somewhat sporadically, for some hard geology hikes has helped build on the foundation laid by distance running. I think it also helps that I carry a much heavier day pack than my students. This is mainly because my "standard" rock hammer I use for sampling is a 4lb sledge hammer (the standard size rock hammers are inadequate for many of the rocks I want to sample), as well as a set of chisels. I also tend to carry more water than the average student (at Laguna Mtn. my usual water supply was 4 x 1L bottles of water). Of course if I collect rock samples my daypack can get very heavy.

Anyhow it is clear to me that time has eroded some of my physical skills no matter how I train. Most notable is my vertical jump which has dropped from a high of about 35" at age 20/21 to about 25" (or maybe a smidge more) today. In basketball frame-of-reference this is the difference between getting most of a hand over the rim from a standing start versus not being able to touch the rim at all. My top end sprinter speed has dropped way off, or at least it seems like my hamstrings enforce a "speed limit" which means if I attempt to exceed a certain speed something bad happens with one of my hammies. Upper body strength doesn't seem to have declined at all. Bench press max declined a bit but mainly because I deemphasized it when I went to a more pull-up and muscle-up centric workout. I was 54 when I did my first muscle up. About 2 months ago my son showed me this video of this guy doing muscle ups with a hand clap above the bar and recatch. I vowed I could do one. My son, who has seen me do multiple muscle-up workouts, declared the hand-clap version impossible for me. My initial attempts did not inspire hope-not even close. However, I worked on increasing the explosiveness, and as of last Sunday when working out with Dawn, I warmed up (3 x12 normal pull ups, 2 x 5 "high amplitude" pull ups, 10 single regular muscle ups), 2 muscle ups with clap but unsuccessful attempt to grab and rehold, then told Dawn I was ready to successfully do the clap-and-recatch. I proceeded to repeat this successfully (as singles) four times. So, that was an athletic first for me at age 61.8 yrs. I realize that certain aspects of aging cannot be overcome by training, but having an athlete's mindset to training helps.

I think one thing working adults deal with is the time balance between working out and working and other life activities. I remember falling way off training during my first two years as a faculty member. Then I realized that the time spent conditioning more than pays itself back in increased energy and productivity during the slightly reduced time devoted to professional and other duties.

This reminds me. I slacked off for two days (Th, F) and it's time for me to hit it hard today again (before I get to this electronic pile of grading I have to do).