I wanted to get outside one last time before 2010 ends, and settled on Joshua Tree for it's proximity to my parent's house, lack of snow, and absolutely stunning scenery. My best plans were nearly compromised when Southern California got dumped on with several weeks of pouring rain. What was originally going to be 3 days in the high desert was downgraded to a single day. My brother joined me overnight, and our folks came out during the day and early evening for a hike up Ryan Mountain and beers around the campfire.
Bryan and I got to camp early and found a nice spot that was backed by a massive boulder pile, ensuring that were there an earthquake, we would be completely squashed under the weight of a million tons of stone. We did a little bouldering and scrambling around the rock piles, which consisted of Bryan smoothly scaling sheer stone faces while I kept falling off.
When our parents got there, we headed to the Ryan Mountain trail-head for a sunset hike. The temperature dropped quickly on the shaded side of the mountain, but the scenery was more than worth it. The Ryan Mountain trail is a pretty easy 1.5 miles, going from around 4K feet elevation to around 5.5K. As you crest over the spine, you have views in every direction. I love high desert. It looks like you are on some foreign planet, completely devoid of life.
After getting back to camp, we shared a few beers, and then Mom and Dad headed home. Bryan and I stayed up, discussing plans and New Year's Resolutions (or their lack), the benefits of the Falcon Punch * and appropriate recipients of it, and we drank more beer. Or I did, rather. Bryan was drinking like a pansy. This is why his Falcon Punch will always suck.
Eventually we stumbled off to bed. I don't think it froze that night, but it was cold enough, surely in the mid 30's, but three layers of clothing proved sufficient for comfort. Upon waking the next morning, a fire was surely in order, followed by coffee/hot chocolate, and some more boulder hopping. It was Christmas Eve day, and we headed back to Palm Desert early. A brief but very enjoyable trip.
* Falcon Punch, N. The act of jumping off from your f-zero vehicle, charging and engulfing your arm with flames so that punching an unexpecting person to his/her mortal doom would cause the breaking of a hole in the space-time continuum and creating a beam of light so great the goddamn galaxy doesnt have the balls to show anyone....
Salman and I woke early, powered up with coffee that looked like the black gold spewing from the Gulf, and hit the road by 3am. Destination: Bishop, California. Another battle we await with blood and victory in mind.
Breakfast consisted of the finest of fast food restaurants alongside the 395 freeway. The soundtrack a mix of heavy metal, reggae and angry rap.
Wilderness permits and bear canisters were obtained, as doing it the legal way can have its benefits. With hours to kill before the rest of our band of marauding vikings and ninjas joined us, we set off for the Bristle Cone Pine Forest. The wilderness area houses the oldest living things on the planet, with some of the denizens having existed 2,000 years before a wandering Jew named Jesus decided he was the son of God. They look it. Gnarled, weather-beaten and scarred, these trees have borne witness to more than we can comprehend.
Here below, I sit next to one of the kings
Suitably daunted from our brush with immortality, we headed back to Bishop to buy a topographical map, snickers bars, beer, and other necessities. I took a long nap. My brother Bryan and his much more cheerful girlfriend, Britney joined us at the Motel 6 that night, while Kalvin stumbled in around 2am. Joined by Dan, Nate, Squire and his dog the next morning, we were more or less ready to stake a claim on the rugged back-country of Kings Canyon. First though, there was the urgent need for coffee. We stopped at the Schats Bakery, where we uniformly ordered a "schat in the dark," or a coffee with espresso shot if you want to be boring about it.
Finding the South Lake trail-head without any major injuries or a single death, we yawned, stretched and slapped at mosquitoes before taking a "before" shot with everybody fresh-faced and excited.
I sincerely wish that it was possible to get to the top of a mountain without going uphill, but it never seems to work out that way. Uphill. Always uphill.
Dan demonstrates
Of course, if you could get here without effort, then everyone would do it, and it would probably end up looking like the 405 freeway or some similar atrocity. I suppose views like this make a little sweat, effort, grit, desire, and drive worth it.
Going from sea-level to a 12,000 foot pass has its issues, and after a break to deal with elevation headaches, we conquered Bishop Pass, took advantage of her and promised to call some time.
While the pass clocks in at 11,970 feet, those of us who had never been above 12,000 quickly scrambled up a nearby ridgeline to notch the milestone. Not much air up there. Bishop Pass was the highest point of the trail, and we hiked another 6 miles through Dusy Basin and into the stunning Laconte Canyon. Our campsite stared deep into the dark chasm of the valley and up towards some of the most imposing peaks that I have seen in person. Storm clouds gathered and settled over us, soaking us down with random thunder and rain storms. When the sun did prevail, we were treated to incredible views over the jewel of Kings Canyon. Dark red sunsets settled over the peaks, making it look like the mountain of fire in Tolkien's Mordor.
We stayed here for two days, absorbing record levels of mosquito bites, honing our poker skills to world-class levels, lying on our back and staring at the swirling clouds, and of course, drinking whiskey and discussing immortality. While Kalvin was proactive and explored the depths of the canyon, the rest of us waited and the heavy rains would make the crossing impassable on our later attempt. Reason enough to do shit when the opportunity presents itself, and not after.
In order to get a bigger bite out of the higher elevation that the Dusy Basin would provide, we broke camp Saturday morning, and waved good-bye to the formidable scenery that we had been provided.
Dusy Basin is bowl-shaped terrain surrounded by dozens of 12,000-14,000 mountains, some of the highest and least accessible in the lower 48. I say this unequivocally; I have never seen such beauty. We set up camp alongside one of the nameless lakes in the area, surrounded by granite and territorial marmots, snakes, and a yellow-legged toad.
Kalvin with a garter snake
Nate in man vs. marmot
The rest of the day was spent exploring the many ridgelines, having snowball fights, jumping into lakes made of snow-melt, skipping rocks, and avoiding any thought of responsibility.
As the sun fell, we smoked Dominican cigarillos and watched falling stars and bright planets, while Kal pointed out different constellations. One would be hard-put to find a better way to spend 24 hours.
All things must end though, and we broke camp the next morning. A few miles back to the Pass, and another 6 up the South Lake trail. Negra had sore paws, and Dan generously let her perch in his backpack for a first-class ride down. And that's it. We returned to the car, searched desperately for any somewhat-less-dirty clothes under the seats and returned to Bishop. We ate Mexican food, and enjoyed indoor plumbing. I was pleased to note that the old adage is true, and beards do grow longer whilst in the mountains. We said our good-byes, and we went our separate ways.
Thanks to Dan, Bryan, Britt, Kalvin, Salman, Nate, Squire and Negra for an incredible trip, and "cheers" to Will and Clara, who were there in spirit.
As Linda mentioned a few minutes ago on G-Chat, my posts lately have been a bit "somber." I think she meant "depressing," but she is too polite to say so. I guess she has a point, so it is with some pleasure that I announce that I have an adventure a'brewing. Two days hence, I and my outlaw brigade will set out from the urban streets of Los Angeles to wage bloody war on the mountain crags and dark forests of Kings Canyon National Park.
We will leave the noise, stress and chaos of the city for the sweet silence of the California high country. We are well-equipped with flasks filled to the brim with medium-grade whiskey, obnoxiously large knives that we will have no use for, hearts full of grit, and motivated (strangely) by the soundtrack of Rihanna's "Hey Mr. DJ."
I don't want to go too much in detail, as I am sure that I will be writing a trip recap afterward, but suffice to say, there is one 12,000 foot pass on the first day, and plenty of 13,000 and 14,000 foot peaks in the vicinity of our base camp. We will almost assuredly see a few marmots, and I am really hoping for a bear-free trip. Bears scare me. Fortunately, I am armed with Ally's "I love bears" good-luck t-shirt. I believe this will keep me safe. Sadly, she has not made an "I love Mountain Lions" shirt, and this worries me.
In any case, I need to pack all of this stuff from my living room floor to my backpack, but I has a procrastination. Besides, I'm not leaving for another whole day or two. I will get in touch upon our safe return.
"...the 21st Century American man spends an estimated 90% of his time sealed off from nature - in an office, at a desk, in his house, behind the wheel, on the couch watching TV, or in bed sleeping in air that's often artificially cooled and dehumidified. ...we need to get out more."
When I was growing up, my parents insisted that we were outside for as long as the sun was up. This rule was to be adhered to, even during vacation, summer breaks, and weekends.
At the time, my Dad was working construction, repairing re-po houses in order for the banks to put them back up for sale. His hours were heavily dependent on factors outside of his control, including the availability of materials, distance of the site from home, and the complexity of the job itself. As such, Bryan and I never knew when he would getting home on any given day. Woe to he who was caught in the house when he got home if the sun was still up.
We got pretty creative at finding things to do. Bryan dug and built dirt jumps to take his BMX bike on while I played a lot of basketball in our driveway. We also had epic wars involving acorns as projectiles, and the battles would span our entire neighborhood. Long sticks stuck in our belt scabbards were our swords, used primarily for settling duels and maintaining justice and order in our kingdom. This was considered a good idea until our friend Scott fell off his horse (a bike) with the stick stuck in his belt loop, nearly impaling himself on it. By decree of all the neighborhood parents, we were instantly demoted from cavalry down to infantry over the incident.
Now an adult (in age if not maturity-level), I spend most of my time indoors. I suppose a lot of it is unavoidable when one considers what a "job" looks like in this day and age. Don't get me wrong, I am not idealizing the pre-internet days as some golden era, but if our generation spends a lot of time inside, it makes you wonder for the next one. Thanks to my parent's insistence, I had this great head-start on an appreciation for the outdoors, and still, I spend most of my day in front of a computer screen. For kids who grew up with the internet from day 1, I wonder if they will even realize that something is missing.
"On a deep, atavistic level, we know where we belong. And it's not at a desk."
Eight days from now, I will set out with some close friends for Kings National Park in the Eastern Sierras. We will start in the town of Bishop, picking up the South Lake trail, and cross over Bishop Pass (11,960 feet) into the isolated Dusy Basin. We will set up a base camp at one of the many nameless lakes in the area, and set out on day hikes and adventures from there for a few days.
I can't emphasize enough how badly I need this break from noise, computers, traffic and city. While it doesn't happen immediately, you slow way down within a few days on backwoods trails. There are no electronic beeps or reminders, you get back to a natural cycle of sleeping and waking with the rising and falling of the sun, and have more time to think and consider, as opposed to responding and reacting.
Maybe we'll bring back a pet marmot.
* Note - all quotes are from this month's Men's Health article "Wild Side."
How about you? Any favorite backpacking routes or trails that I should add to the list?
