Trip Date: September 11, 2015
Find this Spot
This was one of those trips I just wasn’t paying too much attention to. Our anniversary was a couple weekends ago, my niece was getting married the next weekend, we had another trip up the coast I was very much looking forward to, and then a week-long trip up into Bigfoot country that I was super looking forward to. In addition, my mom takes up a lot of my brain space, and we are still plugging away on our house, so the trip was just another date on the calendar. Oh yea, and I had Diverticulitis all the prior week, so I was in a fair amount of pain up to the middle of the week, so I was somewhat considering not going at all.
All of a sudden, we were coming home from work Wednesday night and I hadn’t done anything to prepare for the trip. I had my sleeping pad, two bags with barf on them still stuffed in the bags and in the back seat of the truck left over from a trip to Tahoe a couple weeks back, and my pillow. I had disgraced myself yet again when I went to see some of my old high school friends who had rented a cabin at Chamber’s Landing, near Tahoma and Homewood on the Lake’s west shore.
I had three beers on the way up, but had eaten a big sandwich from Bel Air, so I was feeling great when I got there about 4:00. I had another beer and then a good friend Dave started making some concoction that put me on my ass – and fast. I am told that by about 7:30, I was passed out standing up on the deck, unable to move or speak. At some point, I poured some water from my bottle in a small puddle and stood in it. I do recall stumbling through the kitchen like I was on the deck of a fishing trawler in a North Atlantic storm – being tossed from port to starboard, stem to stern. I made it through the kitchen to get out to the deck on the other side of the house near where I had my cot and intended to sleep. I have some recollection of slowly melting onto the railing, then bent over the railing, then on my knees hanging onto the railing, then heaving between the rails onto the ground below; an alcoholics version of the Yosemite Firefalls.
My far too kind friends got me to my cot and hosed off the deck, only to have me blow again from the cot. Oh well, I have always been an excitable boy. I love my friends too much to be able to contain myself. Needless to say, the cot, sleeping bags, blanket and pillow had more residues than I hoped, cared to admit, or cleaned off. They awaited the next trip to be unfurled from their stuff sack and mixed with the oxygen hat would again bring them to life. Oh how life reminds you of the errors of your way time and time again.
Fortunately, I have the best wife ever and she offered (yet again) to shop and get gas for me so I could round up some clothes and the stuff I needed. Then Thursday night I packed most of my stuff and was ready when Mike came by the house Friday morning. We picked up Vinnie and were on our way out of Dodge by about 10:00. I wanted to look for a cedar log for a project, so we went the long way to the camp site, heading up Mormon Emigrant Road. Driving slowly and keeping an eye out, it wasn’t long before we spotted a likely candidate. We parked on the other side of the road to keep a low profile and headed over to investigate.
It was in a clump of Cedars, all growing out of a common stump, this one about 10” DBH, but dead, and a real mild taper that would make for a perfect post. Because the fire danger was so extreme, no chain saws could be used in the woods, so I brought along an old hand saw, a real “misery whip” as they were called in the days before chain saws. Two wooden handles on either side of about 6’ of 2” teeth – not sharp, but very jagged. My oldest brother Mike is addicted to flea markets and garage sales and such and often buys me camping, forestry, or mining type odds and ends. He bought this old saw for me and now it actually was coming in handy and would prove to be quite useful. Mike and I started sawing at about chest height (DBH = diameter at breast height) and it actually cut fairly well. I assume you can sharpen the teeth somehow, which I am sure hadn’t been done in decades, but I think it was the rust that caused he most friction. Nonetheless, we made decent progress, and not for gasping for breath from being so out of shape, we had a front cut of 3” or so and a back cut of about 5” before we were out of gas.
I used the hand ax as a wedge and pounded it in with the splitting ax. Mike had to take over after a few swings and had it broken through after several mighty blows. Vince threw a rope around the base, but it was still a bit green and heavy with water weight (don’t we all know how that feels) so we were only making the rope stretch and contract as opposed to moving the bole off the stump. Mike put the ax-wedge back between bole and stump, pounded it in, and then continued striking the wedge moving the bole off the stump with each strike. Vinny was able to guide the fall somewhat with the rope and soon she was on the ground and the crew was alive and well. Mike and Vince bucked the log into a 12’ length and we celebrated with a beverage.
We left the log where it lay to retrieve it on our way home, and headed up the hill to meet the boys. We were headed back to a camp that had a great view North to Pyramid Peak at the southern tip of Desolation Wilderness. It was a large flat area, with few trees, except for 3 massive Ponderosa Pine that framed the view of the Crystals. We were expecting four rigs and 8 guys and this area could handle that size a group. My understanding was that Bob would lead a scouting party to Cody Lake to see if there was a camp spot nearer the lake. Cody Lake was the site of an old Boy Scout camp, and within an easy walk of the parking lot, so it was worth exploring to see if we could camp somewhere nearby. Otherwise, we would meet at the old spot and stay there, or head to the new spot.
Somehow, I was also under the impression that we would meet, not exactly at the old spot, but at the turnoff from Packsaddle road, saving a mile or so drive down that road to the camp spot. This made sense because of the possibility we wouldn’t stay at that spot but rather be nearer the lake some two or three miles down the road. As we came to that intersection, the tunes were too outstanding to interrupt for idle chatter, so, seeing no vehicles at the intersection, I just took the turn and kept driving to the spot. Lo and behold, the boys had miraculously, through certain divine guidance, arrived at the same spot, even though it was not supposed to be this way. Shine thy light; it will be done.
Much rejoicing ensued; and of course, multiple versions of what each thought was what was supposed to happen, where to meet, who was coming, who was driving, who was scouting, so on and etc. Oh the insanity of it all. We learned that the 8th of the group would not be driving the fourth vehicle up to meet us, so we were who we thought we were. We also learned that no scouting had been done, so we all clambered back into the rigs and headed out towards Cody Lake. The formerly paved road was rough with huge potholes and ledges of asphalt clinging to the ground. Tom meandered here and there with Bob as his co-pilot searching for camping options. Bill and I headed to the end of the road; the parking lot for the lake. Ken scouted a very nice camp spot about 100’ up a trail about 30’ above the parking lot. It was a good spot, but probably not worth the effort of hauling the gear up there nor worth the risk of driving over the “no motor vehicles” sign.
Bob and Tom called and were well above the lake at the end of their road and advised us to go ahead on down to the lake. No need to ask twice. We grabbed the appropriate swim wear and beverages and headed down the trail. Somehow I got on the wrong trail and also ended up well above the lake only to have to boonie-crash through the low lying Manzanita back to the trail and the lake below. Unbeknownst to me, a better beach with a fantastic view of Pyramid and the Crystal range was a bit further down the trail, near the Boy Scout cabins. I stopped at what appeared to me to be a good beach with a couple cool boulders just below the surface. Mike and Vince followed and together we frolicked in the water and swam about, pleased as punch to be in a great mountain lake. It is very very rare for us to be anywhere near water on these trips, and this lake was fantastic. With the exception of a couple with their dog, we had it to ourselves.
After being exposed to an inordinate amount of thrashing about in the bushes further down the path, Bill came swimming around the bend, having spent a significant amount of “alone-time” with Ken. I did not realize they had continued down the path and were enjoying themselves at that end of the lake. We had yet to make a connection with Bob and Tom, but learned later we probably could not have seen them because they were lying down. This too seemed to raise many questions and quickly surpassed the capacity of my processor. I had to move on to other things. Our beers were empty and we had enjoyed the swim immensely, but we needed to get back to deciding where to camp and getting there.
Back at the parking lot we decided to head back to Packsaddle and so it was; and a good decision it proved to be. The weather was warm and clear, so I decided to sleep in the back of my truck, instead of setting up a tent. This saved me a lot of time and foolishness setting up the tent, so I kicked back in my cot and played my Brandon Flowers music – this was definitely a highlight for me.
The boys were gathering back at camp having set up their tents and bedding – some inordinately close to each other. Vinnie got the kitchen set up; we couldn’t have a fire because of fire restrictions, but we really didn’t miss it. We soon had beverages, followed by a round of Manhattan’s. Tents were spread far and wide around the crushed granite expanse and soon appetizers were passed around and the evening was under way. Bob passed around watermelon; Bill passed around chunks of BBQ’d chicken; Vinnie went to work on pasta, marinated veggies, and salad. There was much rejoicing.
I had been taking antibiotics for my Diverticulitis the past ten days; in fact the last pills were to be taken today and tomorrow. But also, alcohol would take precedent and antibiotics would have to wait. I did take it easy though, only a few beers thus far, a round of Manhattans’ (perhaps 2); but I was feeling pretty good after dinner. I decide to stroll away from the camp and wander down the road a piece. My mellow was suddenly thrashed by lights coming up the hill. They appeared to be headlights of a rig, but then they were bopping at different times. I slowly retreated backwards to camp to be closer to the boys, like the picket seeing the enemy advance right in front of him.
The lights followed right into our camp which by now was most distressing. However, it turned out to be three kids that had driven past us some time ago and set up their camp on the other side of a rock outcrop – out of sight – out of mind for me, but it definitely was a new experience to have people near us and actually enter our camp. The lasse asked if they could buy some of our beers. Of course we were far too dull to barter, so we were feeding them boys for several hours thereafter. They were real nice kids – two in the military, all of them into bouldering and rock climbing. It made me feel young and old at the same time.
I melted into my chair with the last bourbon and coke, less and less aware of my surroundings. One by one, the boys disappeared, until only Tom, Vinnie and I remained. I was transported into the back of my truck only a few feet away from the nonsensical musings and the ever softer and mellower tunes as the energy slowly drained into a neutral pause – the nighttime replenishing of body and sweet dreams for the soul.
The sleep was off and on, the air warm and smoky, the zipping and unzipping reaching a feverish pitch. My god what was happening out there. I shuddered to think, maximizing my efforts to prevent the awful images that were threatening every cell of my being. I awoke before dawn and said mother, I want to kill you; wow – too much Morrison. Actually, I saw a foggy image approach that eventually became Ken. We decided to walk up the road to stretch our legs. We returned to all but Vinnie sitting around having coffee, scones, pie, strudel, and such. I had my usual chocolate milk in my coffee and all was right with the world.
We were getting worried about Vinnie who had yet to emerge from his shelter. Ken checked on him and all was fine. After a bit more time, he emerged from his dwelling, and quickly began cooking up a bacon and egg and toast breakfast- he was bacon to cook that boy, following up a dinner for 7 with a grand breakfast for all. There was a hint at a hike, and a thought of going back to the lake for a swim, but the only idea that was acted on was a breakfast round of Manhattan’s. The boys lounged and sipped and chatted and much frivolity ensued. It was great to just hang and doze, or listen or tell a story and tall tale. Activity and motion was minimal, Vince played a wide variety of great tunes reaching way back to the theme song for the “Courtship of Eddie’s Father” and other classics of our childhood.
By the time we were getting a little antsy, the smoke was also getting thicker and stinging eyes and throats. It was definitely time to go. I was stoked to have dropped the Cedar snag and now we could swing by and pick it up. As we headed down from Packsaddle Pass we suddenly came upon a CHP on one of the dozens of switch backs. It was far more unsettling than it was comforting to see him way out here in the middle of nowhere,– what on earth was he doing out here? What was he looking for – whom was he after? Very strange.
As we descended Mormon Emigrant Road, we were swallowed up by the tan haze that reduced visibility to about half a mile. You couldn’t see the other side of the drainage; you could see all the way down the straight sections of the road; you couldn’t see the ridges on either side of us. It was fairly stunning. We came to our log and stretched our legs and loaded her up without incident. We couldn’t see a hundred yards across Jenkinson Lake at Sly Park in Pollock Pines. The extremely low level of the lake made it even harder to discern land from smoky air as a great deal of tan/reddish shoreline was now exposed, blending seamlessly with the very visible air.
The humidity mixed with the smoke to create quite an overcast sky which helped tremendously to keep the temperatures down. Before long, we dropped Vince off, then Mike, then home. It is strange to me that we live so close to each other, yet we rarely see each other outside of work, except for these trips. Strange as it seems, it works quite well.
Packsaddle Pass 2015 Photo Gallery
