Trip Date: July 29, 2016
Find this Spot
I had been looking forward to returning to Sonora Pass since my last trip up there with Tom last year. We had received a very positive response to the floating of these dates so I was expecting a larger crew as the date approached. However, by the time it came, we had Steve, Bob, myself, and the possibility of Reinhard and H-man coming up Saturday night. This was a fine cast and crew.
It took us about an hour at my place to transfer gear from their rigs to the Tundra, look around the yard and such, and prepare for departure. K had left the day before for a week in Utah so I was a little more discombobulated than usual. I hadn’t done much to organize gear or set stuff aside, although I had cooked and prepared some excellent food stuffs. I was up and adam early and fairly well organized by the time the lads arrived, although I had spent most of my time watering and cleaning up outside.
My ace in the hole was practice and this came in handy as they unloaded their rigs and I threw stuff from the house into the driveway for them to load and pack. I was very excited to be headed up Highway 50 by 8:15 or so and leaving the valley behind. With fire restrictions in affect, no wood was needed and as the boys were laden with water aplenty, I did not add to the volume. As such, we were fairly light and our speed up the hill reflected the reduced engine load. Up 50; up Mormon Emigrant; up Carson; down Hope Valley; up Monitor; down 395; it seemed quick and easy to be turning West onto Highway 108.
The closer we got the less clear I became about where the road was that we should be turning onto. I recalled a larger turn-out and couple signs talking about restrictions, and regulations, and military operations. When I made copies of the map for Bob and Reinhard, I saw that the road number was 062 and it was much closer, within 2 miles or so, of the Summit, but I was still looking pretty hard at each and every wide spot and dirt turnout. Finally, I saw a spot that looked familiar and took the turn. We were golden.
Only about 2 miles up this road, although it seemed much much longer, we came to the unnamed/unmarked steep track up the ridge to the landing. No one was there, and although it was windy, the view did not disappoint. The boys were impressed. We hung for a bit and roamed about, noticing again that there was very limited flat space, except for the very exposed area out on the flat ridgetop. It was very rocky and had a parking lot feel, and being out there would impede the view of the others, which could be considered a tad rude.
I wanted to show Bob and Steve and see for myself again the other spot Tom and I had scouted a little further down 062. Down we went and quickly came to that spur and right up to the other spot. It was instantly disappointing. Not much more flat ground, but more importantly, the view was far from satisfactory. You had to work for a little slice of the West Walker River valley below; it was no comparison at all to the view from up top. We did wander about and got into some very cool rock formations, covered in beautiful red, yellow, and black lichens mixed in to perfection with native Sage, Sorrel, Sedge, and Mountain Mahogany. While we lingered in this little pocket of alpine perfection for quite some time, it could not overcome the shortcomings of the site and could not change our minds about the superiority of the initial spot.
So back up the hill we went. It was still relatively early in the afternoon so we had plenty of time to unpack, have a beverage, pick our tent spots and get set up. We set out some grub and snacked as we set up the kitchen, set out chairs and tables, and slowly began to absorb the tremendous 270 degree view. I could not make myself deal with my tent, so I just piled all my gear in the approximate location of where I wanted it to arise.
We had some time so I suggested we mount up and try to find the spot on Silver Creek that Tom and I had lunch at last time. Tom and I had swapped several emails, maps, Google Earth screen shots to the point I felt confident, we had identified the right location, but I still wasn’t confident we could find it on the ground. It seemed the Marines preferred unmarked/unnamed roads. With Bob navigating, we headed off on our quest. The meadows were green and most every culvert and stream crossing had water in it. This bolstered my confidence that should we find the spot, it would have plenty of water for a dip.
My first landmark was a pair of ginormous Mountain Juniper trees. Tom and I stopped for a beverage and I gathered a couple strands of bark fiber I still have in my garden. We soon passed these guys and were again quite impressed with their stature. My next landmark was the US Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center ski area. This too we soon came to, confirming the notion we were in the right drainage. With a multiplicity of roads, tracks, and paths, turning like we were on an Olympic snowboard course, I chose the incorrect road a couple times, before carving our way through a very narrow path barely squeezing between Western White and Lodgepole Pines. We came to a sign and a chain lying across the road and I recalled this from the past. This track had 2 inch saplings growing down the middle of the road and larger trees on either side, we were literally plowing ahead, until I saw the meadow. This was it.
I don’t recall the last couple boulders in the road as Tom was driving his shorter wheel base FJ last time, but I resisted taking them on and instead, turned off the road enough to allow for the unlikely passersby. We spread out in the tall grass and inspected this classic high mountain stream. Much to our surprise, the Silver Creek was not very cold and I was able to stay in and rinse off, upstream from the other two of course, for quite some time. It felt great to knock the dust off, and feel the cool-refreshing water. What an incredible spot – tall green grass, wildflowers, an expansive meadow across the creek. We stayed here for another beverage and sat in the cool shade for quite a spell. I was real happy to have gotten back here.
Back at camp, Steve got to cooking – heating up some pasta and an excellent pork chili verde in green sauce. Bob had a bottle of Manhattan’s that made the entire experience quite outstanding. I eventually made myself set up my tent and it was quite exhausting. I almost didn’t emerge from the task. Without a fire, we still gathered about an old ring and stared skyward, awaiting the first star, then the next, then the next, and some constellations, and then the Milky Way and then we were in total awe of the screaming starry night sky. The skeeters were fairly thick, especially in the time between the wind dying down and it finally getting cold enough to make them go to bed. I was in bed not long after the skeeters and long before the moon came out so there was no moon interference at all. We saw a few solid shooting stars and I was ready for bed.
My sleep was spotty at best and what minimal sleep I got was not very restful. I think maybe the elevation was preventing me from feeling my best as I just wasn’t feeling quite right. The lack of sleep added to my feeling a little off, but I was really excited to have our agenda for the day include exploring the West Carson River valley South of 108 and possibly even getting up into the granite basins in the high country. The views of the river and the wide valley gradually narrowing at the far south end and then stair-stepping up the granite ledges into Walker, Hannah, and Center Mountains, and Grizzly, Bigelow, Forsyth, Tower, Eagle, and Hunewill Peaks was a huge draw.
We packed trail foods, water, and beverages, and an ice chest to leave in the rig. We would definitely be doing a lot of stream crossings through the West Walker so I packed my river sandals, floppy – wide-brimmed hat, sunscreen, insect repellant, Beth’s soft insulated bags that fit perfectly into my day pack, ice, a few beers, some French bread, cheese, trail mix, water, and a couple candy bars. We didn’t go to the trailhead parking lot, but parked up-stream/trail from there, so we had to boony-crash our way down to the river.
Once there, we daintily started across the creek, even rolling our shorts up to minimize how wet we got. It was great crossing back and forth over the river channel. It was a perfect temperature – cool and refreshing but not cold at all. Most of the crossings were a foot or so deep, some two–ish. Back and forth we sloshed until we barely slowed down and took no precautions but rather gleefully splashed in and took our time across. It felt cool and refreshing and the wet shoes and socks kept us cool in between crossings.
After 45 minutes or so, we had picked up a little game/hiker trail. It was bringing us closer to the main hiking trail that led out from the parking lot/trailhead. Eventually the two merged and we were on an open, hot, dusty, well-travelled trail. Passing people was kind of fun to see what they were wearing, if they were day-hikers or backpackers. Some had dogs, some were couples, and some were hiking/camping buddies.
After a brief stint in the gray dust, we were ready for a break/snack/beverage. We pulled off onto a rocky ledge that offered a fine view of what we had just traversed. We settled in and relaxed, and took stock of what a great hike it had been thus far. Other than the part on the dusty trail, being out on the flood plain and traversing the West Walker had been grand fun. We decided we would follow the trail a bit farther and hopefully it would lead us up high enough to get to the area where the granite steps blocked the river valley and the river became more of a chain of lakes among the granite pools of the high country.
Back on the trail, I was tired of being on the main route, but we basically were headed to where we wanted to be heading. We stopped periodically to check our commitment to the trail and to climbing and to our ever so slight progress to where we thought we wanted to head. We were stopping more frequently now, and we decided to give the trail 10 more minutes before bailing off the edge to freestyle down the ledge back to the valley below. It was clear we were not going to get far enough West to get above the stream to actually see it come from the lakes over the granite and into its meandering valley course. At that final time check, we peered over the edge and picked up what appeared to be an old stream course or ravine wide and open enough to follow. That would be our goal.
We pitched off the edge and cascaded down the steep bank, checking our momentum on large trees before careening out of control. Back and forth, we switch-backed until we got down to the little channel. As soon as we were in/on it, we realized it was more than just a water course, it was an old trail. It was very faint and hadn’t been used for quite some time, but it surely was an old path. We cruised easily and smoothly along the path until we came out on the edge of the meadow, exactly where we had wanted to end up. It was as if someone had us by the hand.
There was much rejoicing at our good fortune, and we hadn’t wasted any time at all, and certainly had faced no peril that most certainly could have been our fate depending upon the choices we made. We were very much in a celebratory mood, so when we came back to the banks of the West Walker, and an extremely inviting pool was before us, I believe the message was loud and clear. We unloaded, and jumped in. OMG! This was heaven. I am not a real cold water guy. I never put my head under water – partly because my ears often don’t drain well, and because I don’t want the brain eating amoeba’s to eat my tiny brain, but also because the cold water often gives me the ice cream headache type feeling – no Bueno.
But this water was not nearly that cold – once in I, swam over to the submerged tree, up current to float back down, along the bank to check out all the wild flowers. This was an incredibly beautiful and relaxing spot. We hung for quite some time, just sitting, or laying out on the sand bar that was below maybe 3-4 inches of water making for a perfect water bed. Rinsing the dust off, floating around like three ‘ol bears; I couldn’t imagine a finer setting, well I could, but I don’t think the USC cheerleader bus could break down here – maybe their rafting trip could need saving…
We made a conscious effort to stay in the stream channel and not return to the main trail. It was very cool being this far up the valley as some of the banks carved by the river were 10 or more feet tall and big chunks had calved off the edge forming groups of islands on the sharp curves. At one stretch we came to an old oxbow lake which was tough to see even up close as it was a thick growth of short grass and it was green as could be. It wasn’t until you were almost trying to walk on it that you realized it wasn’t grass growing from soil, but grass growing from water. I can only imagine how cool it sounds at night when all the creatures are doing their thing. It reminded me of the lake Vinny, Ken, and I walked to up around the North side of Lassen.
We clambered out of the river bed to walk along the bank some 10 or more feet above the water. This West side of the river was a massive meadow/short grass field. It was flat and smooth and the walking was extremely easy. We stayed up top for some time as it was so interesting. Then we dropped into a creek bed that meandered through the meadow about 3 feet below the level of the meadow. I felt like an Indian moving about invisibly hunting game or maneuvering through enemy territory but remaining undetected. We followed the depression like we were water droplets – coursing through the meadow; didn’t get absorbed by roots; didn’t get absorbed by the soil, ran across the surface until gravity pulled us into the ravine, and followed the slope to the edge of the meadow before trickling down the embankment into the main river channel. Back down to criss-crossing the main stream, I was reminded of Jordan and I doing the same thing in Stanton/Kilpepper creek above Indian Valley Reservoir when we collected rocks for the front yard. This was such a cool strange wonderful place, we enjoyed every second of the reality of being here and the fantasies that it spawned. Whether we were wild Indians, water droplets, or old white guys, we were lucky to be in this place.
As we got closer to the origin of our day, we came across 3 women out in the bush. They had taken off the top layer of their clothes and were wading in knee deep water looking for something in the river. A third was sitting on the embankment in the shade watching the other two. These could very well have been USC cheerleaders in their primes, and now had adjourned to their respite of the West Walker River on the East side of Sonora Pass along Leavitt Meadow. Not a bad choice.
A little further ahead we came to another group of women, possibly local women. Two matriarchs, and 2 youngsters, possibly both of them were the mothers of the 4 young children playing in the river. Their nice friendly greeting, the scantily clad girls, the children all in lifejackets was contrasted by the growling pit bull, the size of the matriarchs, the tattoos and the lack of full dental work. It was a complete slice of Americana, and it plainly portrayed our return to more populated parts of the picturesque parkway.
The truck was partially in the shade and cooled off quickly as we changed our shoes, had a beverage, and generally relaxed for a moment before heading back up the hill. Although I had carried my water sandals for the entire trip, and even had re attached them to the back of my pack a couple times, I never actually wore them, remaining instead in my hiking shoes. I will regret that decision as the stitching of at least one side of one shoe opened up from the constant drenching and twisting and turning of the river crossings. I may be able to have it patched but it may be yet another poor decision that will cost me some money.
It was time to turn our attention to the possibility of Reinhard and Bob joining us this afternoon. Our timing was good thus far, having taken a good portion of the day for our hike, but returning in plenty of time to help with a potential arrival. Highway 108 is very steep and very windy and there were quite a few people and/or vehicles along the road, so it took us a fair amount of time to climb back up the mountain to our road. It was pretty close to the way I described it to the boys in the event they could join us, so I felt pretty solid that if they did venture out, they would find us. As this effort has sometimes not been successful in the past, I was a bit worried about making the connection, but no sooner than we were clambering out of the rig, over the crest appeared Reino – he having seen us come off 108 and basically followed us in. There was much rejoicing. He was pleased with the location, and the view, and to have joined us. Now, it was up to Bob.
We barely settled down from celebrating Reinhard’s appearance when the Subaru known as Bob’s Subaru crested the hill. Once we had unloaded the riff raff from our day on the river, I had parked the rig out on the top of the hill to be visible from the road. This was said to be a helpful maneuver as Bob recognized the rig and confidently rode into our camp. There was much rejoicing. We had a ball celebrating the arrivals and the enlarged crew of camping collaborators. This would be a good night.
I do believe, from what I can recall, Bob reintroduced the Manhattan’s, Steve got to cooking a bushel of sweet green peppers he grew in his garden, I warmed up a delicious squash, onion, bell pepper, sausage brew, and we set about consuming mass quantities. We had a multiplicity of beverages, French bread (NOT Sourdough), and as dusk set on, and the stars came out, we had one of the best starry nights and meteor showers in recent memory. The Milky Way was screamin and in between shooting stars, we had a multitude of satellites to entertain us. Everyone was satisfied, even the mosquitoes who had quite a meal themselves.
This night was cooler than the previous and the wind never quite completely calmed down as before. With a strong showing from the native insect population, it did make one rather reminiscent of the bygone days of having camp fires. Totally get the reasoning, but the rules shouldn’t apply to experienced outdoorsy professional camper types like us. It certainly did simplify things, it reduced the need to haul and fool around with wood; it eliminated the need to constantly stoke and tinker with the fire; it eliminated the worry and concern about flying embers and wind gusts; it eliminated the concern about the last semi-conscious human being taking some small simple steps to reduce the risk of conflagration.
The stars were again outstanding-impressing even the most ardent and informed star gazers. It seemed to me the meteors were slower to the stage this eve, or maybe they were gathering for a strong showing later that night. As usual, the main event was supposed to occur in the wee hours prior to dawn, which is just dumb. We need to lobby the stars to get on with it earlier – pre midnight for us old geezers. I was not in any shape to stay up, nor was I feeling super special, nor was I that interested, nor was there a fire to play with, so off I went.
Perhaps I missed my wife so much it made me physically weak. Perhaps not having my heartburn medication made breathing difficult. Perhaps my excitement at being up so high in the Sierra’s on such a sweet night after such a sweet day with such sweet fellas kept me excited all night. Perhaps I just didn’t sleep well, unable to regulate heat, comfort, hydration, bladder function, but this was to be the second night of poor sleep. Getting old is not ideal, and it has some rough spots, but it is better than the alternative.
This was the first camping trip since my mom passed away in June. I thought of her often as so many things in the outdoors remind me of her. We shared a very strong affection for the outdoors and camping and nature and it often brought me great pleasure to still be experiencing things that she first shared with me and that we enjoyed together. This was a great trip for diversity; high elevation, great stars, river, mountains, snow, wildflowers, lots of birdies. This trip shared a lot with us and I in turn shared it with my mom. She will always be on these trips with me.
Being high in the mountains and having a very exposed Eastern flank, the morning comes early. I wasn’t hung, but again the sleep was poor, even though Bob claimed he heard strange noises emanating from my region, I do not think I slept long or deeply enough to snore. God bless Bob for having the coffee ready. My usual chocolate milk made a fantastic morning beverage, but we had so many beers that I felt obligated to get one while they were still cold. The beverage must have hit the spot as I was soon finding the motivation to begin organizing and separating, and folding and starching.
Bob and Reinhard viewed the maps and planned their day’s biking activities. Bob, Steve, and I were packed by 10ish and ready to head back home. We retraced our path coming here, got gas in Walker, and had a great sandwich out on the deck at the deli/sandwich shop in Markleeville. Those girls were the nicest, most polite, attentive workers anywhere. We had fuel to get up the hill and finish our journey at a very reasonable time. Another excellent adventure in the books. ?????????????
PROLOGUE: While leaving Bob unattended for less than 12 hours of his anticipated 8 day Sierra adventure, he managed to light his hand on fire forcing him to return home for medical attention. The boys strike again.
Find this Spot
Sonora Pass 2016 Photo Gallery
