This is second in a series of Blogs on how Bone was found in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Go here for the first one.
I watched regrettably as April and Lynn headed out. I would miss the inspiration. Soon, however, my mind was more than occupied with route finding. The trail had disappeared under the snow.
Tom pulled out his map and compass to establish our general direction. We searched for ancient tree blazes left behind by early foresters, cattlemen and sheepherders. We also watched for ducks where the snow had melted. I’m not talking about fowl that quack and taste good in orange sauce. Ducks, in trail finding terminology, are piles of stone set up to show the way. With a little imagination, they can look like their namesake. Caution is advisable. The people creating the ducks may have had a different destination in mind, or perhaps they were lost.
An hour later we found ourselves more or less where we were supposed to be, on the edge of the Rubicon River. A student of ancient Roman History undoubtedly named the stream. Like Julius Caesar, we were faced with crossing it. In a month or so it would be a tame creek inviting a refreshing dip but now it was a roaring river, filled with icy water from quickly melting snow fields.
I entered with trepidation and was almost washed off my feet. Facing up-stream, I used a walking stick to give myself a third leg. Water crept up to my knees and beyond. It was cold; I have short legs. The force was incredible. I set each foot carefully and moved crab-like, searching for solid ground between slippery rocks. I’d undone my pack belt so I could shuck the pack if I were knocked over. Swimming in freezing water with 50 pounds on your back is hazardous to your health. In a few minutes that stretched out forever I was across. Tom and Terry also made it without incident.
We plopped down on a convenient log to catch our breath and munch down on GORP (good old raisins and peanuts). It was a quick meal. A thick swarm of mosquitoes dive-bombed us with kamikaze abandon. Slap one and five more landed, gleefully licking off our bug repellent before plunging in their proboscises. We were driven to put on our packs and scurry up the trail. Fortunately, Rockbound Valley is relatively flat and we were able to escape. Stopping was not an option as we hoofed it for the next four miles, crossing the Rubicon two more times before we began our labored ascent up aptly named Mosquito Pass.
Life slowed down immediately as we began climbing. The blood sucking hoards caught up. Near the top, we were confronted with a different challenge, more snow. Eight hours of hot sun had turned it to mush. We spent as much time sliding as we did climbing. It was slow, hard, slogging work. And it was dangerous. Running water, partially exposed boulders and tree trunks melt snow from the ground up and create hidden cavities. More than once we plunged through up to our knees.
Ignoring the danger, Tom and I laughed our way down the other side, glissading in our boots. Control was minimal. Camp was in sight. Terri came along at a much more sedate and careful pace.
There was nothing about Lake Aloha that made me think Hawaii. It was a strange Dali-like creation with a convoluted shoreline and innumerable Rorschach type islands. What’s more, mini-icebergs decorated its surface. Bright white on top, they turned an icy blue under the water. All I could think was cold. Plowing through snow on our way around the lake to camp added freezing to my thoughts.
That night, we built a small campfire to fight off the chill. Terry wandered off to bed. Tom was slightly melancholy. He looked off into the distance over my shoulder.
“I was married on that peak,” he announced to the night. I turned around and stared across Lake Aloha at the towering Pyramid Peak, the centerpiece of the Crystal Range. It was bathed in moonlight. Several years earlier, Tom had met and fallen in love with Hilde, a slight, attractive blonde who shared his love of the wilderness. They decided to get married on the mountain. Mom, wedding party and friends were invited to share their 9983 feet “I do.”
The marriage didn’t last long and Tom was reluctant to talk about it. The fire burned down to glowing embers. We shared the silence in memory of lost love.
I was up early the next morning and eager to hit the trail. My body was starting to adjust and feel good. More importantly, the resort at Echo Lake was calling. A quick breakfast and we were off. I took the lead with Tom following and Terry trailing. Soon we had climbed out of Lake Aloha, hiked past Lake Margery and worked our way across Haypress Meadows where cattlemen once harvested grass for winter feed. As we began our descent into Echo Lake, I left my companions behind. The vision of cold beer and a hamburger drove me on. Short shorts may have been a factor as well. Lynn and April were supposed to rejoin us at the Echo Lake Resort.
There was a decision to make when I reached Echo Lake. I could continue to follow the Tahoe-Yosemite Trail around the upper and lower lakes or I could call the Lodge from a phone located at the end of Upper Lake. It would send a boat taxi to pick me up for five bucks. The trail was hot and filled with day hikers. I made the phone call. A half hour later, the throbbing of the motorboat’s engine caught my attention as it worked its way up the lake. Soon it arrived, coughing slightly. The boat slowed and bumped into the pier. My ‘taxi driver’ was a 16-year old plus teenager who had managed to snag a great summer job.
“Hop on,” he told me. An elderly couple was along for the ride. I nodded at them. I was halfway between the boat and the pier when I heard a commotion.
“Over here, Curt,” a familiar voice shouted. I looked up. A few yards away alders had hidden another pier. Two very attractive and very naked women were jumping up and down to get my attention. They succeeded. It was April and Lynn. They had come over on an earlier boat and were working in a little sunbathing while waiting for us. The young boatman and the old man were all eyes. The elderly woman looked thoroughly irritated and glared at all of us, especially her husband.
“Uh, I think I’ll stay here,” I told my driver.
“Can I stay too?” he asked and grinned at me. The elderly man wisely stayed silent.
I joined the girls as the boat coughed its way back toward the resort. Tom showed up soon afterwards. We were waiting for Terry and the women were dressed when the ranger showed up.
“There has been a complaint about naked women jumping up and down over here,” he told us.
“Boy, I wish I would have seen them,” Tom responded. I am not sure the ranger bought our story but he wandered off in search of other criminals.
The same boatman picked us up and told me that the first thing the elderly woman did when she got back was to complain loud and long about the perverted people across the lake. She even cornered a ranger. My new young friend speculated that the ranger came looking for us as an excuse to escape. “Or maybe he wanted to see the naked ladies,” I noted.
I happily downed a hamburger and a beer, or maybe it was two. But we still had a few miles to go before camp, so I didn’t want to eat or drink too much. Backpacking is hard enough as is—alcohol and a stuffed tummy makes it harder.
Be sure to check in next Wednesday and learn how Bone was found!
Three more photos from the journeys that Bone has been on since his discovery.
Friday: It’s back to Burning man with some very Burning Man-like murals and paintings.
Monday: A cave filled with sea lions on the Oregon coast and another beautiful lighthouse.
Wednesday: Bone is found! Hypothermia threatens! A rattlesnake tries to bite me on the butt!
21 thoughts on “Raging Rivers, Kamikaze Mosquitoes and Naked Ladies Jumping… How Bone Was Discovered: Part II”
Good to learn that ducks = directions. Yeah, some of them could be putting them up to backtrack perhaps…
Laughing. More than once I have followed my trail back in a whiteout snow storm, hoping to get back before the snow covered the tracks. And I have often marked my back trail with ducks! I always try to kick them over when done using them, Suan, so as not to confuse other people. I also had my rear guard knock over stones on Treks so we don’t confuse people out in the woods. –Curt
Fun! Not trekkers, we only have duck ducks.
I like duck ducks too, Ray. 🙂
Great stories! I could so easily picture the elderly woman complaining about the naked women. Some people ruin all the fun. 🙂 Also loved learning about “ducks.” I’m sure I’ve seen some but never knew what I was looking at. And, of course,. I loved the map. Seeing Aloha Lake next to Desolation Valley was so incongruous. Wonder who did that?
I feel a little bad about stereo-typing elderly women. (grin) Now I am up there myself, I know lots of elderly women, and most would laugh about seeing the ‘youngsters’ jumping up and down!
Your eyes become trained to see ducks, Juliann, believe me. And it is great fun when you are trying to follow a ducked trail. It’s like a treasure hunt!
Somewhere I have a book on Place Names of the Sierra’s, Juliann, and you inspired me to go looking for it. I’ll be darned if I could find it. How Lake Aloha got its name is a good question. –Curt
I doubt the Ranger believed you, but he had to ask to appease the old ranting woman or he wouldn’t be doing his job. I’m sure they weren’t the first naked women on that trail!!
It was the 70s, after all, G. May have been more surprising to find people with clothes on. Laughing. –Curt
haha – you’re right!!
Looking for “Ducks” to find the lost trail, dangerous hidden cavities under melting snowpack, crossing fast waters in extreme cold, and of course those naked women – you were keeping life interesting, even if a bit reckless. Ah, the adventures of our youth 🙂 Don’t you sometimes wonder how we survived to retirement age?
And life, Joanne. 🙂 I am planning on heading out backpacking this summer. There will be snow, rivers, and difficult trials to follow, but no jumping naked women. (grin) –Curt
Here in Australia, a collection of stones heaped together to give directions are called cairns. I believe it is Scottish in origin. Unlike ducks you can’t eat them.
They are hard on teeth. We have cairns here as well, Gerard, although you don’t see many. They are put up on major trails where the people putting them up expect them to be relatively permanent. Ducks come and go. 🙂 –Curt
A few years ago pranksters used to steal garden ornaments, gnomes, and then send the distressed owners postcards from all around the World from the missing chap. People thought that this was amusing!
Indeed!. Many a gnome has traveled the world, Andrew. Bone has lots of company. –Curt
Ah…so that’s what they’re called ‘ducks’! I follow these stone markers when out for long walks in Sweden, often going for miles across the rocks in unfamiliar territory – although nothing as dangerous and arduous at your Sierra Nevada trail. The ducks are a great idea and my son when little would race ahead from one to the other! Ah…I was smiling when I read about Tom’s wedding on the mountain but sad to see it ended…the sense of melancholy was palpable. A great post even sans Bone but glad he made an appearance on the photos – even dressed for one!😀
I’ve always found that Trekkers get excited about finding ducks. It’s like a treasure hunt. We’ve also introduced our grandkids to the sport. 🙂 I love a challenging trail, Annika, one where I have to combine map sense with ducks and tree blazes. Of course a degree of competence is required since getting lost in the wilderness has its downsides. And thanks. –Curt
We shared the silence in memory of lost love.
I feared for Bone at that iguana. Great Post. You are having too much fun! Thank you. – JoHanna
Laughing here, JoHanna. Bone totally exists to have fun! –Curt