Trip Date: October 18, 2013
The potential was there to get out to the Black Rock Desert with six or seven guys for two nights over this weekend, but as is sometimes the case, the trips falls apart. Fortunately this time, the three of us still wanted to go somewhere, even if we couldn’t go for two nights and we didn’t want to go too far. Fortunately there is never a shortage of places we’d like to go, roads we want to check out, or areas that need more exploration, so when the bigger Black Rock trip fell apart, the three of us reorganized into a smaller expedition of closer-to-home areas.
I am a firm believer in following the seasons, push up into the higher elevations in the summer, but stay out of the higher elevations in the off-season. Depending on the weather of a particular year, season, weekend, you can always push things a little bit, and this was going to be one such occasion. Ken loves to see the Fall colors, especially the Aspen which only grow at high elevations. Our friend Bob had been at Monitor the weekend before and had a glowing report of the color up top. We didn’t want to go as far as Monitor, but we did want to get up into the Aspen. Most importantly, the weather was cooperating; even though the lows at elevation had been in the upper 20’s, daytime temperatures were very warm, and the air was clear and calm.
It was decided we would head up Mormon Emigrant Road which leaves Highway 50 at Pollack Pines at 4,000’ and crosses Southeast across the El Dorado National Forest to Highway 88 at 7400’. Mormon Emigrant is a great road; paved, in great shape, rarely used, and providing access to a world of beautiful forest, views, rivers, lakes, wildlife – all within an hour or so of Sacramento.
Bob Dos had been on for the previously scheduled Black Rock trip for this weekend, and had remained in contact to see what might evolve in its stead. He called at about 8:00 pm Thursday night all excited and wanting to go, even though he had done no planning, preparing, or packing. He wanted to go and that was all he knew. I reminded him that we always have immense amounts of food and water, and plenty of gear for the commons – kitchen, fire, cooking, etc. All he needed to do was get his clothes and sleeping situation and be at my house by 8:00 the next morning. He was stoked and I was stoked. I did not want to tell Ken or Bob H so we could surprise them when we picked them up, so I got back to my packing with a little extra hop in my step.
At 8:00 the next morning, the phone rang and responsibility, someone I barely knew, was on the other end. Bob had let reality seep into his consciousness and all that he needed to do had lined up in front of camping with the boys, another phenomenon I am not familiar with. However, we are intent on continuing to get out on a regular basis, so if someone misses one trip, another opportunity will not be too far behind. Bob needed to take care of business and I respect that, I don’t understand it, but I respect it. Gut punched and bloody from the news, I stumbled forward, into the capsule, check instruments, engine on, ignition, all systems go.
When I backed into Ken’s driveway, I was a little surprised not to see a pile of his gear already outside. He almost never sleeps and therefore is almost always ready to go in the morning. I was hoping I wasn’t in for another dose of cold, lonely reality, when the garage door began to rise. I first noticed his sandaled feet with white socks – a look not even Ken can pull off – but for some reason I thought of Moses – I doubt he wore little white tennis socks – but who really knows. I was still tripping on his sandals even though the door was all the way up and Ken was just standing there – seemingly waiting for something. Finally, I was able to pry my eyes off his feet and up to him and I suddenly knew why things were as they were.
Ken had made a special sign and taped it to his shirt that read, “All will be revealed tour”. This had been the subject line of many of our emails back and forth (during break time to be sure) while deciding where to go and who would be coming and when to leave, etc – the usual trip planning that goes on for days and days and hours and hours prior to each trip and sometimes prior to cancelled trips as well. The sign just about made me cry with laughter – it was the perfect medicine for the current concern I had about the possibility of Ken not coming on the trip and the disappointment of Bob not being able to come. Ken was still coming and I laughed and laughed – what a perfect beginning.
We began to load the truck, and Ken suddenly turned to me and said he really expected to see Bob, that he had been feeling like he would come on the trip with us, even though we had not mentioned him in quite a while. This revelation stunned me as I had been waiting to tell him about my call with Bob last night and then again this morning. So I told him all about Bob calling and our conversations and the many ups and downs on these trips – even before they begin. We were hysterical now; after telling Ken how close we were to actually having Bob on the trip with us and then how bummed I was that he had to bail. I was enthralled at the power of Ken’s intuition. He does live with three women and maybe they were finally able to get him to accept and embrace his feminine side. Perhaps we were going to be seeing and experiencing a new Kenny.
Ken untapped his sign from his shirt, taped it to the dash board in the truck, and we were off to Cameron Park to pick Bob up. That seemed to take all of about 20 minutes, and we were back on Highway 50 pointed East. We really hadn’t a definitive plan or destination so we discussed our options as we drove – we had great weather, we didn’t want to go too far; there were some known options, and better yet there were many unknown options. We chose the latter.
I have driven up Mormon Emigrant Road 50 times I bet and have taken many of the roads North and South, but there were still some I had not explored. Since the road often follows the ridgeline, there are many areas offering great views to the North of Pyramid peak and Desolation Wilderness, and farther North out into the Tahoe National Forest. The slope is very gradual to the South, so the potential for views are minimal. We are always searching for new spots to camp that offer nice views, are close and easy to access, and may be good options for the various times of year we want to get out. But I often have a hard time stopping and roaming and investigating when I am on my way somewhere; I typically want to get to where I am going rather than fooling around along the way.
This trip, however, provided the perfect opportunity to explore. We didn’t have a definitive destination and we didn’t want to go too far. Ken, Bill, and I had explored some roads above/ East of Silver Fork road a few months back because you could not have campfires below Silver Fork road. While there were not many options above that point, we drove what there were and didn’t really find anything worth going back to. Now, we would explore the options below Silver Fork and see what we could see.
I would say we drove 6 or seven roads, all off to the north side, that extended anywhere from a mile to 100 feet off Mormon Emigrant road. There were some views to be had and some flat ground, but rarely was that combination in one spot. We didn’t find a single area that seemed better than a spot Ken and I had camped years ago down Light Canyon Road. But it was really fun and very satisfying to be on mellow, driving real slow on Mormon Emigrant, and taking any left turn we could to explore as far as we could and see what we could see. Before long, we had made our way past the gigantic slash piles from the recent thinning and fire break clearing the Forest Service had done and up to Silver Fork Road. At this point, we knew that our work here was done and we would head farther East to an area above Caples Lake.
It may have been 1998, almost to the day. Most of this group, a solid core anyway, worked together, partied together, and often played together. We played on a number of softball teams, had picnics, and supported each other’s hobbies. One of our number suddenly and unexpectedly died on Halloween night, for no apparent reason. His was not the only death of a co-worker and friend we would experience together, but he was one of our own, our own age, a teammate, someone we often hung out with, and although we never camped together, he had a crew he camped with and we would often share stories, tell tall tales, and laugh at each other’s adventures and misadventures. We always said we would combine groups and have a massive blowout camping trip someday. Unfortunately life got in the way and we never made it happen.
Johnnie told us one of their spots was above Caples Lake with a view of the lake, Kirkwood Ski Resort, and the surrounding mountains. He told us the road left Highway 88 opposite the lake and passed through a Caltrans work station. This place is only about 10 miles from where Mormon Emigrant comes into Highway 88 although it may take 20 minutes to drive the twisty turny road. It had felt really good to be in the space to go slow and explore and take every road, path, track we could find to its very end. How many times had I noticed these roads and wondered, sometimes out loud, what was up there, could that be a good camping spot, was there a view, was it far enough off the road, could we be seen from there. Now I would not have to wonder any more.
And all the more so, I was excited and more than a bit sentimental about heading up this road to try to find Johnnie’s spot. Maybe sometimes I hadn’t wanted to go up there, hadn’t really wanted to find it. Sometimes I felt like the entire area was a memorial and I was afraid to enter it, afraid it would be too much, or I would be too emotional. Johnnie wasn’t a real close friend, but he was a real good friend – a real good guy and we did a lot of things together. But the feeling was powerful. I was glad to be doing it at long last, but I was also very glad to have Bob and Ken with me.
Up past the Cal-Trans station, the road split several times. We stayed on the main road figuring we would get in as far as we could or until we thought we might have found his camp spot, and if not, then we would turn around and work our way back down. Our eyes were peeled and the senses were a little heavy, a mix of old memories, good and sad, and excitement at being here, looking for Johnnie, and enjoying the day, being with friends, exploring all this great country, and ultimately looking for a camp spot for this trip – another trip that we in fact did make happen and that we were enjoying in many different ways and on many different levels.
The views South from the road were spectacular – just as Johnnie had described – Caples Lake big and blue, the trippy formations above Kirkwood – easily identified and apparent from many places we have been. Round Top Mountain near Carson Pass which sits as a backdrop to Lake Winnemucca – a pretty easy hike from Carson Pass which many people take every year. Elephants Back was sticking up a little farther East, but prominent nonetheless. All we needed was the spot. We rounded a bend and came to a cattle ramp, a very old one, on one side of the road and a camp on the other.
This was a bit of a different thing for me as this was not a campground, although marked as such on the Forest Service map. It had no signs, no fee, no tables or fire rings, no individual sites per se. It was just an area that was all carved up by roads that you obviously could camp at. There was also a modern 8×8 shed with a window that was on skids. Apparently it serves as a “warming shed” in the winter for hikers, snowshoers and snowmobilers. We drove out this road thinking this could be it. At the very end was a somewhat private spot with some nice rock outcroppings and a bit of a view if you looked just right; between the trees, and around the bend, and over the rocks, and out the side, through the crevice. It was a great place to stretch and have a beverage and share our thoughts and inner most feelings. But this was not the spot.
The road continued past this spot, so we continued past this spot. Not very far however, and the road dropped into a beautiful mountain meadow of yellow, orange, and red grasses, bushes, and shrubs. A picture perfect red barn sat off to one side and a lone old timer sat beside it sharpening a tool or whittling a stick, or polishing a knob. While a picturesque Fall beauty, this was not the spot. We waived to the old cowpoke and headed back, slowly and methodically, making sure we did not miss a road or a track that may need exploring, but we didn’t see any options we missed on the way up. Slightly bummed and a tad mystified, we passed the camp area again and the tiny corral and ramp, and continued to roll down the hill although very slowly and unsure, quite unsettled actually. I felt lost and in a bit of a daze. I didn’t want to go, but we didn’t know what else to do.
What to do – what to do. Well, much was revealed. A road below us revealed a fairly large campfire ring. Since it was clearly visible from the road, this would not be a place we could probably camp, but it required additional reconnaissance. Putting my blinker on at least 500’ before the turn, we proceeded safely and cautiously to the right, below the main road at a slight angle veering away from it. Just before we got to the fire ring now off our right, between the vehicle and the road we had just been on, we crested an ever so slight rise, and low and behold, a gift from those that preceded us. The road dipped and continued on another hundred feet or so ending at a massive fire ring at the base of a massive granitic promontory. The views South to Caples were spectacular; Kirkwood’s ski runs and volcanic knobs and ridge top stacks couldn’t be clearer. Round Top and the Sister’s were visible to the far East from the rocky promontories – two granite ledges that could be ideal locations for a cocktail hour or three. This was the place – this had to be Johnnie’s spot. We were ecstatic.
Camping in a new spot is like buying a home; it is very exciting and you want to look around, in every nook and cranny, and try to really get to know it. The three of us kind of spread out and went in different directions. We would call each other over to share something cool or interesting. Then another guy would bring us over to another area to share the view, or show him a flat spot for a tent, or to decide where the kitchen should be set up.
I backed the truck deep into the spot and we quickly unloaded. I hate to have the vehicles too near the site; I don’t like to see them at all if possible, but at least not to have them so close that you feel their presence or they impact the view or the feeling of openness. Once we unloaded, I drove the truck down the road to the other camp site, the one you can see from the road to make it look occupied as some type of effort to make it less likely anyone would try to camp there – and it got the truck well out of sight.
Bob went to work on the fire ring. Rings that are too large prevent much of the heat from getting on our bodies and warming us up – it keeps you too far away. And, I really like to have two areas – one to have a fire for light and warmth, and one to put the grill on for cooking. So Bob was on this in a big way. He made two excellent spaces – each a perfect size for fire and one for the grill – walled off in case of wind and level as heck for the grill. It even had some flat spots for pots, towel, tools, or whatever. We quickly found three clear and level spots for our tents and a fantastic spot under a Mountain Juniper near the fire rings and the granite outcrop for the kitchen table and water. The smaller table was set up for the bar and food prep. Honey – I’m home.
We were all pretty excited, and even though we had driven up and back down the road, we wanted to take a walk and get to know the area better. We loaded up with beverages and binoculars and camera and headed out to the main road and up towards the corral. The sun was so warm, the sky so blue, the Fall colors way more prevalent than we noticed from the truck. The views of the lake, Kirkwood, Round Top and Elephant’s Back were spectacular and ever changing with the angle of the sun and the perspective from the road. But the thing that kept drawing my attention and holding it for longer and longer was the cliff face to the North, about 300 yards from the road.
The face of the cliff was deeply cut and fissured – the more you looked the more erosion and sculpting you could see and I am sure this would happen if you sat and stared at this face for a lifetime. The primary color of the rock was a dark brown/gray, but the formation had huge areas covered in red and yellow/green lichen. With each look, and certainly the changing angle of the sun, it would appear remarkably different. I could hardly take my eyes of the cliff; had it not been for the Aspen and willow and grasses that were a thousand shades of Fall color, and twinkling sunlight on top of that; the lake views and the far distant mountain views, I may have made my life’s ambition to notice every inch of that cliff in every possible light. It would have been a noble cause.
The three of us had split up yet again. When we got to the corral, Bob and Ken ventured up the hill towards the cliff. I needed to stay on the road, so I watched the two of them go out of sight and then meandered back down the road towards camp. I took many photos, often of the same thing, but every step and every different perspective and the low angle of the Fall sun, made every sight a wonder. I sometimes felt like I was having a photo shoot with a beautiful model and an automatic camera with a speed rewind snapping photos as quickly as my finger could depress the button, from every angle, in constant motion, repeatedly telling her how beautiful she was and how great all her various poses were. Everywhere I looked was an inspiring photo opportunity.
As I slowly pulled myself out of this trance, I noticed Bob was descending out from the field towards the road. I waited for him and we walked together back to camp. I know I asked about Ken and we shared a few words about how cool the cliff was, but we were both in awe of our surroundings and neither of us wanted to talk too much for fear of breaking the spell. The radiance of this place was profound.
Ken appeared shortly and reunited, we shared our excitement and joy at having found this place. I needed a cocktail and Bob got the fire started and Ken, well Ken was busy. As usual, each of us had brought nearly enough food to feed all of us, but we still figured we would cook everything, eat as much as we wanted, have the rest for tomorrow and bring any leftovers home. I brought the massive Dutch oven Haley gave to me for Christmas and the “root dinner” Kristen and I had planned for our Central Coast trip but never made. I had a couple pork tenderloins to add to the roots, which were really potatoes, beets, yams, and Rutabagas, to make a full and complete meal in the Dutch oven. Bob added the briquettes, or really the Mesquite to the fire and we were on our way.
I was a little concerned about cooking the Mesquite instead of briquettes for the Dutch oven. These things are very forgiving because they are thick cast iron steel, and so it takes a lot of sustained high heat to really over cook or burn anything – unless you are baking delicate deserts. But you do have to take care to get most of your heat from the top rather than from the bottom. The cookbooks and guides recommend two-thirds or three-quarters of the heat should be on the lid. The lids of a true Dutch oven have a lip specifically to hold briquettes, mesquite, buffalo chips, hot rocks or whatever the heat source is. They also have three legs and I have an additional metal stand to keep the bottom of the pot from being too close to the heat. The Mesquite is actually charred chunks of wood of various sizes – some big and some small and some really small chips. This makes the heat uneven – the bigger chunks burn hotter and last longer so it is more difficult to get even heat on all sides of the oven. You have to pay attention when you reapply coals and take care not to pile them up too close and to keep the heat distributed evenly as best you can.
While I was doing my thing, Ken was tending his chicken, and regularly basting it in his special chef’s surprise sauce. He also had some zucchinis he put right on the grill. Bob had a pot of rice cooking on the stove and laid out a bunch of beautiful sweet peppers on the grill all around the zucchs. We eat better than most of the “best” restaurants in any city in the world on these trips and this meal was certainly not going to be an exception. Ken loves his red wine and it was indeed flowing. He also brought a very special bottle of Cognac that we sipped from and toasted on as the sunset cast yet another spell on the group. This whole thing was just too much.
All during cooking, the fire, the sunset, the meal, the intelligent conversation, I would just find myself staring up at the cliff. There were a million faces in the rock, a million stories, a million years. If ghosts are real, I had a few come down from the cliff and enter me – repeatedly. I wish I could recall their message or remember the meaning or learn from the experience, but all I know is I am a changed person. I had to spend more time with them so I suggested to the boys that we attempt to get up on top of the mountain, or at least try, without getting hurt or making it too painful. Our camp was at 8400’ and I guessed it was another 1000’ to the top, so the air was thin, and the going would be slow and steady. I wasn’t hell bent on getting all the way to the top, and certainly wasn’t sure if it was even possible, but I wanted to spend what time we had tomorrow with that mountain. The boys were agreeable and our destiny was fixed.
The night brought a full moon, which was pretty cool, but the low level of coolness that the super full moon brought a couple months back has mellowed coolness factor of full moons. It is neat that the place is all lit up and you can see just about everything that is relatively nearby just with the amount of light the moon beams down, but quite frankly, I’d much rather be able to see a bunch of stars when we are out beyond the city lights. We took an after dinner walk or a stumble if you must up the road to the corral. The moonlight reflecting off the white bark of the Aspens and illuminating the yellow leaves was a pretty spectacular vision to end a superbly spectacular day. And of course, a late night walk is always good to help with digestion.
And help with digestion it did. I often, perhaps frequently, have gas; explosive violent outbursts. This is not uncommon on camping trips because I often eat a lot more meat than is typically in my diet and it has been known to happen that I drink more on these trips also, so my stomach and intestines frequently are in full revolution mode on these trips. It sometimes happens to some of the other fellas as well. But this, this was tectonic scale; this was cartoon-like; this was sophomoric comedy by getting a laugh with something that isn’t funny just because you keep doing it and doing it and doing it. All three of us had almost non-stop farting all the way up and all the way down the road. To this day I don’t know what caused it. We didn’t eat the deviled eggs that sat out all day at the picnic; we didn’t eat the soup-like-substance at the potluck; we didn’t eat the prune cake. Whatever it was we all had it – a lot of it. It ruined the tranquility, wrecked the calm, terrified the animals, pissed off the reptiles, and changed the chemistry of the air. Humans and nature just don’t mix.
The extreme flatulence may have been measured by the local air monitoring stations and possibly responsible for the incredibly reasonable temperatures we had. It just wasn’t that cold. The expected lows were supposed to be in the mid-high 20’s, and we were up higher than those areas, so it could have been even colder than that and we would not have been surprised. We all had our heavy cold gear with us, but the real cold simply did not materialize, either naturally or unnaturally. I did put on my leather, I mean wool socks and some army surplus pants that have thick lining and are super warm. I also had a long sleeve shirt and my UC Davis sweatshirt, but with that much I was warm, hot at times. I did not want a jacket, or a cap on my head, and did not stay near the fire very long. There was absolute calm to the night, so that certainly helped. I am told each of us took off a layer or two in our tents and had various body parts hanging out of our bags – something that certainly does not happen when it is really cold. Here we were at 8400’ in late October and the temperatures were very pleasant, sunny, calm, and clear.
Vampira Ken was up before the dawn, as usual, and he had a glowing report of the setting full moon to the West and the rising full sun in the East. That must have been quite a spectacle to begin another great day, and I am sure it brought a sense of relief that the events of the prior night did not prevent this day from coming. This morning also was not that cold, no frost to be sure, no dampness, no shivering nor need to cuddle. Bob has a very cool small quantity coffee maker – it looks like it could be in a fancy latte’ shop, but he was working it hard brewing up some great morning Joe. The small fire was perfect to take the slight chill from the air. We had decided to try to get up to the top of the trippy cliff to our North, or as far as we could get without really working too hard.
In the old days, I was determined or competitive enough that it would be very hard for me to quit before getting to the top, the end, the bottom or finishing something. These days, it truly is about the experience. I was really excited that the boys wanted to venture on the cliff and so we decided to pack up and load the truck so we were ready to roll after our hike. I do not know what time Ken was up, not when Bob and I got up, but it was a nice leisurely morning, and by the time we had filled our day packs with our needs for the day and loaded the truck to be ready to go home, it was almost noon. Another spectacular day was in the offing for us.
We drove up to the corral and made final preparations on day packs, food, beverages, and gear. I realized I did not have my sunglasses with me and presumed I left them in camp when we were packing up. Leaving the fools behind, I started back down the road and suddenly remembered I had left them on the rear bumper when I jumped out onto the granite ledge to say my goodbyes to the site. I figures as rough as the road was, they must have fallen off near the site. I parked alongside the road and walked through the first site within view of the main road and then on down into our site, keeping my head down and eyes straining towards the ground. I was sure I set them on the bumper, and they certainly fell off, but apparently not on or near either of the campsites. They must have fallen onto the main road which I had just driven down…Sure enough, about half way back up to the corral, smack dab in the middle of the road, covered in dust but otherwise unscathed, there they rested.
Back to the corral, reunited with Ken and Bob, in full readiness, we started up the shoulder of the mountain. None of was sure we could get to the top, and none of us were hell bent on it. We knew it would be very interesting to be among the formations and shapes and color, and every step higher would give us better views of Caples, Kirkwood, Round Mountain and Elephants Back. Ken is constantly stitching the Sierra’s together in his mind; places we’ve been, trips we’ve been on, the various perspectives we have had, the various times of year. I have to bet that he was hoping to get high enough to perhaps see beyond Elephants Back to see mountains farther East and South – perhaps Monitor, Ebbetts or Sonora Pass. Maybe see the Nipple around Blue Lakes or some of the Thimbles above Hope Valley – landmarks we could use to identify where we have been and what we were seeing on previous trips. In the old days, these were all the “signs” the old timers had – peaks, formations, landscapes, stars – can you imagine how rugged and smart those folks had to be to make it out in this country? Whether making a living or passing through, being alive in this area in those days was simply remarkable. I think that is a big draw for us – just to be in the same area – not pretending we are like them or could have done what they did – actually the opposite – knowing that we could not. But just being in the same areas as it roughly looked and still was in some ways – was a big thrill for us.
Maybe someday we will have to cover ourselves in axle grease and muck and walk beside a replica Conestoga wagon or a horse and go on a re-enactment trek to get a closer look and better feel for how it really was back in the day. But for now, my muleskinner friends were high above me on the shoulder of the cliff face, periodically checking on me to make sure I was still coming and absorbing the view, the air, the smells and the few sounds of a spectacular Fall day high in the Sierra Nevada. We were incredibly impressed with ourselves as we continued on, higher and higher, closer to the top without burning lungs or failing parts. I wouldn’t say it was easy, but we were doing it with a lot less effort than we expected and in a lot less time.
Above one ledge, over the next, and on top of the next, I was remembering many hikes and backpacking trips where I was begging to reach the summit. From the trail, only blue skies above guaranteed that next bend would be the last and the summit would be under foot, only to be fooled again and again, each new hump and turn of trail belying yet another ridge to ascend before reaching the top. Just one of the many reasons I don’t backpack anymore. This, while frustrating a couple times, was easy compared to those recollections. The elevations were less, the ridges were replaced by small humps, and the distances in between were literary feet instead of miles. Maybe an hour from truck to tip, we were in fact on the top – well done boys.
We hunkered down in the shade of a small patch of tiny, twisted, but possibly ancient Lodgepole. We absorbed all we could, including a beverage and some of our day snacks, and kicked back to enjoy our accomplishment, company, and surroundings. The map was oriented with compass, the binoculars were out, and Ken was surveying the horizon for images of past trips, prior experiences, and future memories to add to the quilt. There were peaks out there, further East and Southeast. Faint, distant, snowcapped profiles of past trips, earlier voyages, and silhouettes of prospects yet to be imprinted to fabric. It helps us connect past, present, and future – ours and theirs – those that come with us and those who do not – who cannot. It felt good.
The way down was shorter, faster, and easier on our lungs, but definitely harder on knees, joints, and muscles. I had to collect a couple small samples of the dark volcanic mélange for my rock garden volcano, so my arms were aching by the time we got back to the truck as well. A celebration ale and off we went, down the road for the last time, for this trip anyway, but full of new memories and stories and life. We didn’t get too far down 88 when we stopped at Caples Lake Resort to check it out. It was a bit rough, only partially because they were mostly closed for the season and making fast preparations to shutter for the long winter. We also stopped at Kit Carson Lodge and Resort on Silver Lake and had even less luck there. It clearly was time for this turtle to come home.