At Five Lakes Basin’s/ Biggest little lake /after all day scrambling on the peaks/ a naked bug /with a white body and brown hair/ dives in the water/ Splash! — Gary Snyder
As I think about backpacking 500 miles this summer, my mind wanders back in time to the first major backpacking trip I ever made: a nine-day, 100 mile trek across the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range. The trip in itself would have been a bit crazy considering my lack of experience. But I ended up leading 60 people aged 11 to 70, most with less experience than I had. It was a new definition of insanity. I was lucky the participants didn’t leave me hanging in a tree somewhere along the trail. It came close.
It’s a good story, one that I’ve been planning to tell for a long time. My Wednesday blog will be devoted to it over the next couple of months. So grab whatever you like to drink, sit back, and join me on the first Sierra Trek.
During the early summer of 1974 my life took a dramatic shift. My first wife Jo Ann, friend Steve Crowle, and I used a long summer weekend to go backpacking into one of my all-time favorite backcountry destinations, the Five Lakes Basin north of Interstate 80 in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It’s a beautiful area with towering granite cliffs and jewel-like lakes that had been carved out by glaciers some 20,000 years ago. It’s also a favorite area of the Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Gary Snyder, whose haiku poem on the area is featured at the top of this post.
My first backpacking trip ever had taken me into the region in 1969 and I had returned again and again, sometime with Jo, sometimes with friends, and occasionally by myself. On one of the latter trips, I had taken my Basset Hound Socrates and camped out on a small lake that is somewhat hidden from the other lakes. I’ve blogged about the Socrates trip. Here’s what I wrote:
Sharing the lake with Soc was close to being totally alone. His concept of a quality wilderness experience was disappearing into the woods and seeing how many holes he could dig. He never seemed to catch anything, so I am not sure of his motivation. I’d get up in the morning and cover his handiwork. I almost felt like I needed to file an environmental impact report. He always limped home on sore feet.
On this particular journey, I packed the Carlos Castaneda book that features things that go bump in the night. Don Juan takes Carlos out into the middle of the Sonoran Desert on a pitch-black night and abandons him. Not long afterwards, the monsters come hunting. It wasn’t the best book for a solo night in the woods. As I read into the evening, I found myself paying more attention than usual to wilderness sounds.
I ingested a little medicinal herb to lighten things up. It was the 70s, after all. Bad idea; instant paranoia set in. Soon I could hear the wind stalking me through the treetops. An old snag turned into a ghoul. Off in the distance something big and ugly was digging and snorting. Socrates, I hoped.
“Here Soc,” I called. “Come here boy.”
The digging continued and grew more desperate.
“Come here!” I yelled. Still no response but now I could hear large claws scratching at granite.
“Does someone want a Milk Bone?” I added in a quiet, conversational voice.
The digging stopped. ‘Someone’ started coming through the brush toward me. Whatever it was, it was apparently interested in Milk Bones. Soc’s head, long body and wagging tail made their way into the firelight. He might love digging, but he loved food more. There was the reason why our low-slung pooch weighed 70 pounds.
“Good boy,” I said while digging out a Milk Bone. I knew I was buying companionship but it seemed like a good idea on this strange, dark night. Meanwhile, Socrates had started to drool in expectation. Soon he was shaking his head and shooting dog slobber off in a dozen directions. I ducked to avoid being slimed.
Unfortunately, my supply of Milk Bones was limited. I tied Soc up to assure his faithfulness. It was time for bed. I put the fire out and was greeted by a moonless, dark night. But hey, who needed the moon when I had my faithful companion and a million stars. I invited Socrates to snuggle up on my sleeping bag and laid my head down on the coat I was using for a pillow.
CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH!
“Damn! What’s that?” I sat up straight and grabbed for my flashlight. Socrates joined in by barking at my sleeping bag.
“No, Soc, out there,” I urged and pointed the flashlight off into the woods. Soc glanced up at me with a curious ‘what are you talking about’ look and started barking at my pillow.
“Look Socrates,” I pleaded, “just pretend there is a garbage man out in the woods.”
Soc had never met a garbage man he could resist barking at and I wanted his teeth pointed in the right direction. What Soc did with my advice was make three dog circles and plop down on my bag. I gave up and reluctantly laid my head back down on my pillow.
CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH!
I sat straight up again. Soc growled at me for disturbing his rest and started barking at my sleeping bag again.
“Fine watch dog you are,” I growled right back at him while straining my ears for the smallest of sounds. When Soc shut up, I was rewarded with a faint ‘crunch, crunch, crunch.’ It was coming from under the sleeping bag. I had a proverbial monster under my bed! Gradually it dawned on me that what I was hearing was a gopher tunneling his way through the ground, innocently on his way to some succulent root. I put my head down on my pillow. Sure enough, the ‘crunch’ became a ‘CRUNCH.’
The ground and the mystic weed were magnifying the sound. Soc had been right all along. I was lucky that he only barked at my sleeping bag and hadn’t started digging.
Don Juan would have appreciated how I had been tricked. Reality isn’t always what it seems.
Jo Ann, Steve and I had ended up camping on the same lake. Steve had replaced me as Executive Director of Sacramento’s Ecology Information Center when I had become Assistant Director of the American Lung Association of Sacramento. In addition to his boundless energy and intelligence, he was more than a little on the wild side. He had hobbies like jumping off high bridges into shallow water and experimenting with various mind-altering drugs. But mainly he loved life and had a vast appetite for new experiences.
One such experience was backpacking. We were lazing around our campfire on the last night bemoaning the fact that we had to return to civilization and jobs the next day.
“God, wouldn’t it be great if we could make money doing this,” Steve sighed.
Suddenly my mind took one of its intuitive leaps where the lights come on, the bells go off and four and twenty blackbirds sing the Hallelujah Chorus.
“We can, Steve!” I managed to get out as my thoughts played hopscotch. “Look, as Executive Director one of my main responsibilities is fund-raising.” (That spring, I had become Executive Director of the Lung Association.)
I was painfully aware my money-raising responsibilities. TB/Lung Associations had spent 70 happy years sending out Christmas Seals and waiting for the money to roll in. While the Golden Goose wasn’t dead, it was ailing. We had conquered TB and selling lungs wasn’t nearly as easy. Easter Seals had kids, the Heart Association the most appealing organ in the body, and the Cancer Society the scariest word in the dictionary. We had emphysema, bronchitis, asthma, the remnants of TB and diseases with unpronounceable names such as coccidioidomycosis. Adding injury to insult, dozens of non-profit organizations had added seals to their fund-raising arsenals. Competition for bucks to do-good was tough and the well was running dry.
“What if,” I pondered out loud, “we ran a backpack trip through the mountains as a type of multi-day walk-a-thon with people raising money for each mile they hiked?” I liked walk-a-thons. They involved people in healthy activities as well as raising money. They gave something back to the participants.
Steve’s attention jumped from low watt to high intensity. “When? Where? For how many miles and days? How can I be involved?” The questions tumbled out.
“I don’t know, I don’t know and I don’t know,” I responded, laughing at his enthusiasm although mine was hardly less. “But,” I added, throwing out some crazy figures, “what if we made it for nine days and 100 miles?”
That quieted us down. Neither of us had ever backpacked for nine days straight, much less 100 miles. A long trip for me had been six days and 30 miles. I threw out the nine days because it included a full week with both weekends and the 100 miles because it sounded impressive.
“Why not,” Steve had finally said with more than a little awe in his voice as a new national fund-raising program was born. It was a program that would occupy much of my time over the next 30 years, involve thousands of people, and raise substantial funds for the American Lung Association. But all of that was in the future; Steve and I just wanted an excuse to go backpacking.
Here are a few photos from the Five Lakes Basin:
FRIDAY’S BLOG: A photographic essay on the Glass Forge in Grants Pass, Oregon and its beautiful glass creations.
MONDAY’S BLOG: We will return to the Oregon Coast and visit the scenic Sunset Bay.
WEDNESDAY’S BLOG: Part 2 of my Sierra Trek series. I have to persuade a reluctant Board of Directors (“You want to do what?”), decide on a name, hire Steve, and determine our route.
32 thoughts on “A Far Out Excuse for Escaping to the Woods… The Sierra Trek Series: Part 1”
Wow, medicinal herbs huh? It was indeed the 70s!
Right, and I went to college in the Bay Area. (grin) Now that I live in Oregon and its legal, shops are advertised on billboards! 🙂 –Curt
Luckily, I’m not a mind that requires altering, so I save a lot of money!
The gopher incident reminded me instantly of that moment in Bill Bryson’s “A Walk in the Woods” where he is paralyzed with fear in his tent by the sound of something outside in the dark…and all he has is nail clippers.
Oh, and when you do the PCT, bring nail clippers.
Nail clippers are good when backpacking. Toes have little sense humor for long nails when hiking, especially on steep downhills. I always advised my Trekkers to trim their nails before leaving home! Cracking branches outside your tent in the middle of the night guarantee an adrenaline rush. Waking up at 4 am with a bear standing on top of you, even more so. –Curt
Too bad we don’t have a ‘way-back machine’ to return to those days, eh? Those pictures are living proof of how beautiful this country is!
Well, at least I can still return to the country, an it has the same beauty now than it did then. I’ve promised my grandkids I will take them in there this summer. 🙂 –Curt
A gopher under the pillow? What were you thinking? The bogey man! Beautiful photos. What a magnificent country.
It sure seemed like the bogey man, Girard. And the country is gorgeous. You can see why I fell in love with Backpacking. –Curt
OMG, your pictures! Once again just wonderful. Every single one of them. Thank you so much! Greetings!
Thanks, Cecilia. Much appreciated. 🙂 -Curt
The photo you’ve captioned “Both live and dead trees decorate the landscape”? The dead trees could be you and Peggy — she, shading her eyes with her hand, and you with your mighty sword raised to slay… well, whatever. Maybe the gopher!
Thanks, hikeminded. I jumped over to your blog and checked out your Berlin walk. Beautiful but it sure looked cold. 🙂 –Curt
Oh, those photos! I love everything about this post. I’ll be looking forward to more about this adventure.
Thanks! The first Trek was pretty hairy, Sylvia. 🙂 They got a lot better afterward. –Curt
I understand why, but it still amazes me that that part of the Sierra has no wilderness protection! Beyers and Baltimore Lakes were my first Sierra Nevada backpacking trips not in Yosemite when I was a kid. It holds a special place in my heart too!
I participated with the Sierra Club in having the area declared vehicle free in the 70s, which was a least something. Fun to hear that the area is a favorite of yours as well. I’ve hiked up from Eagle Lakes a number of times to Byers and also cut back and forth over and around the Buttes in various ways combining trips with the Five Lakes Basin. Thanks. –Curt
Glorious pictures. We were fortunate to hike in that area.
Always enjoy your Sierra Trekking adventures especially knowing that your Sierra Trek idea changed for the better many people and a nonprofit. Jane
It was quite an adventure, wasn’t it Jane. And you were always such a trooper. As was Jim. –Curt
That was a genius idea, Curt! It speaks of the adage I always like to remember, “Do what you love and the money will follow.”
When I worked for the Juvenile Diabetes Researcher Foundation, our Executive Director did something similar. She and her husband and two of the board members were avid cyclists, so they created a fundraising Century Ride in Death Valley, CA. The inaugural riding group was fairly small, but it took off from there and has continued to be an annual event.
Having ridden my bike through Death Valley, I can see the appeal— at the right time of the year of course. 🙂 When the temps start climbing over a 100, I go somewhere else to play.
I’ve always loved that particular adage, Juliann, and it has served me well, not so much in creating a fortune but in allowing me to do things I love to do and pay the bills. Really can’t ask for much more. –Curt
Hi, I’m new to this blog and I just want to say that this adventure with all the beautiful photos are compelling reading. This is also my first time following a blog, and I am very grateful that it is so fascinating!
Thanks for following! And welcome to the world of blogging. –Curt
Pingback: A Far Out Excuse for Escaping to the Woods… The Sierra Trek Series: Part 1 – Wandering through Time and Place – Nomad Advocate
Fascinated by photo contrasts of sweet floral images and then dried up branches and decaying wood. This Sierra Trek is in pretty territory!
Among the prettiest in the world. One of the most important reasons I became addicted to trekking. John Muir was right! –Curt
Reblogged this on Journal Edge and commented:
Article Source: wandering-through-time-and-place.me
Thanks Vikas. Much appreciated! –Curt
In no particular order:
First I love this line: “Suddenly my mind took one of its intuitive leaps where the lights come on, the bells go off and four and twenty blackbirds sing the Hallelujah Chorus.” Brilliant! Chuckle.
Second: I too read Castaneda in my youth though never alone in the wilderness night time. Scary! But I am familiar with paranoia setting it 🙂 (reading “We are not alone” I think it was called, or something like that, alone (theoretically) at night)
Third: Your time with Soc and the gopher reminded me of camping alone in the Australian bush. You’ve no idea how much grazing kangaroos sound like men thumping slowly through the bush, all around your tent. Scary!
On to the next installment.
I am always amazed how the night magnifies sounds when you are out in the woods alone. Cracking branches get to me. So I have no difficulty imagining kangaroos hopping around, scaring the heck out of you. The Socrates night was weird, to say the least. Hearing the wind move through the area like it was stalking you (Casteneda), and having a great ‘ghost’ tree didn’t help. Actually, once Soc settled down, I was damn glad to have him sleeping next to me. 🙂 Glad you liked my brainstorm analogy. –Curt