This trip was planned months ago, and we had missed getting permits for the original weekend. This date was our backup, but it turned out to be better now, when the Arizona summer has transitioned to more fall-like.
It’s been a year since we last went backpacking, and the kids have been looking forward to this trip. They are growing up, and they can have more freedom on this trip. The night before our trip, I put all the kids to bed an hour early, since we have an early morning start to a long car ride and hike.
It’s a sunny Friday morning. We had driven up the day before and camped at Rock Creek Lake, a beautiful spot surrounded by pines and aspens that are just beginning to glimmer gold. The hike to Hilton Creek Lake #2 is five miles according to the map. We set out first, while Kendrick, Rakesh, Kara, Aaron, Noah, and Suri will join us later.
The first light of dawn peeks through the trees, nudging me awake from nine solid hours of sleep. There’s no rush, but we know we need to finish breakfast and hit the trail soon—Brad has a plane to catch. Breakfast is familiar but satisfying, with an extra treat of honey packets we saved from yesterday.
“The sun is up,” Brad’s voice jolts me.
I leap out of my sleeping bag, jump out of the tent, grab my wide-angle lens, and crank down the aperture. I race along the shores of Lake 11,400’, chasing the border where light meets shadow, trying to capture perfect sun stars. As I reach the southern shore, I snag a double star—one behind Mt. Tyndall, and the other mirrored in the lake below. The rising sun begins to burn off the morning dew, and wildflowers open up to embrace the warmth. I switch to my macro lens, capturing delicate details.
Breakfast is the same, yet somehow it gets better each morning—hearty oatmeal mixed with honey, pour-over coffee, and scones that hit the spot.
Sunbeams dance on the stream like shards of glass, casting shades of amber, emerald, and turquoise. The inlet at Golden Bear Lake flows stronger today, a subtle shift from yesterday’s calm. We know today’s going to be tough, so we pack up, soaking in the last views of this stunning basin.
The lake is still, like a mirror in the morning light. Around dawn, I poke around with my macro lens to find suitable subjects, looking for details that often go unnoticed. Then, we have a simple but satisfying breakfast: oatmeal with honey , scones with pour-over coffee. I had made the contraption to hold the filter paper, and grounds were pre-measured from home: 35 g of beans to 560 cc of water.
At last, Brad and I are standing at the Onion Valley trailhead on this very overdue trip. Way overdue. We had talked about doing such a trip off and on over the years—for nine years, to be exact. Only now has it materialized.
Anticipation Excitement builds. Daphney and Jayden can’t wait. Last year’s backpacking trip felt like a proud accomplishment. This will be a trip bigger than the last, and this will be Myles’s first such trip. It’s Friday evening of Labor Day weekend. Yan and I are doing some final packing. “We’re…
This is our final day! The lake is like a polished mirror, and the mountain range stand like a boundary between the water and the sky. The two almost look indistinguishable. The kids stir and wake up. I go out for a photography session and fish while Yan makes oatmeal breakfast.
The trail rises gently out of Mosquito Flat. In contrast to the scorching hot week in Loma Linda, the air, scented with pine needles and sagebrush, is cool. I tell the kids a story about hiking in Kings Canyon to distract them from the mild uphill. Just before the trail junction to Ruby Lake and Mono Pass, everyone takes a break by some shaded boulders.
The anticipation began more than six months ago. After seeing the kids hike the loop trail in Pinnacles National Park, and after having abandoned their double stroller in favor of shoes, we grew confident that they will be able to go backpacking.
Having successfully camped for two nights and hiked at high altitude, we figured it was safe to go backpacking. This will be Daphney’s first trip into the backcountry wilderness. We spend the first night at Gray’s Meadow to acclimatize. Situated just below Kearsarge Pass, the campground gives us perfect night…
We wake up to warm dry conditions on the last day. The clouds have completely left, and everything except for the ground cloth is bone dry. Mark discovers that his tent has fallen apart, the plastic window in the rainfly detached from the vestibule’s awning. He sticks his head out like a turtle. It’s time for a new tent.
It is sometime in the early morning when I awaken. Peering outside, I see bright stars. The clouds have rolled back, and I figure it is safe to open up the rain fly. My shoes are still wet, but everything else stayed dry through the night of rain. I would later find out that it was not so with Brad and Grant, whose tent leaked with the incessant drip, drip, drip that soaked much of what was inside their tent. The morning is beautiful, though, with bright warm sunlight drying up the shoreline. Here, we dry out our gear.
I wake up to condensation along the head of the tent. The foot is also damp. With our fly completely closed and the temperature dipping to dew point, beads had formed along parts of the tent. I reach for the towel and mop up most of it. Our clothes on the line are dry though.
Into the Woods. That’s what this first stretch of trail reminds me of, and it reminds Yan of that same movie we watched in the plane while on our honeymoon. Lee Ridge Trailhead begins as a small inconspicuous orange flag trail marker a half mile south of Canada. I would have missed it had it not for Ms. Ranger’s directions. Stepping off Chief Mountain Highway through the border of brush alongside the road, the trail emerges. Little did we know that this trail would transport us to a trip that will challenge our gear and push their limits.
Backpacking gear normally lasts for years—the same sleeping bag, clothes, stove, backpack, and all the little miscellaneous stuff. With much of the gear list the same, packing for this trip was relatively easy. I had pulled out my list, updated it with the new tent and cook set, and checked everything off. Yan just followed my list and added her gear. Except for the sleeping bag and backpack, she had pretty much everything from before, ready to go. Working with the list and a small kitchen scale, we had gotten each of our pack’s base weight to less than 20 lbs.
Hikers bidding for the summit trudge by our campsite. Even though it’s barely light outside, I see their headlamps and hear their voices. Then, I hear Mickey. He and Wayne are off early as well. They are going to hike down to Whitney Portal first, where they will unload and clean up, thus avoiding the second morning of wag bag use. Mark is also out of the tent. He’s gone for quite some time. I get myself out of the sleeping bag and do some preliminary packing.
It’s all about the luxury items. The scale is actually quite ruthless, and ever since Brad convinced me to try using it before our trip to Rainier, I’ve been letting the scale make most decisions. The pack weighs 1191 g, the sleeping bag 1038 g; and the second shirt 156 g. In total, my pack’s base weight, sans food and water, is 29 lbs. That’s including my luxury items—all the camera stuff, with the body, lens, tripod, and other accessories, making up the extra 7.5 lbs. But the scale can’t really decide our luxury items. I can’t part with my camera. Mark, third year orthopaedic resident, packs fishing tackle and extra fuel to make warm water for baths. I convince him to leave behind his pillow and the ugly pink emesis basin, which he wanted to use for doing dishes and taking warm baths.
September 5 We had gone to bed when it was 40 degrees outside, and this morning, our breaths had condensed and froze to the tent wall. I am scraping ice off the silnylon using my towel. Outside, everything is frozen: my water container, my shoes, the tent. The first thing…
September 4 This entire day will be all about climbing. It’s all uphill. After coffee and the usual breakfast, I take a few more pictures of the surrounding beauty. Then, we head up the trail toward Piute Pass. Brad and I are both glad that we had pushed a little…
September 3 We both slept very well. The night felt warmer, and we had very little tent condensation. Brad checks his thermometer, which reads 30 degrees Fahrenheit. It feels warmer. Anyways, I go on a private walk back along the creek, taking pictures along the way. I find an interesting…
September 2 This day would be the longest. I wake up to a beautiful morning. The air is crisp, the mosquitoes are gone, and my tent held up to the wind. I had guyed out Brad’s side of the tent to give more lateral headroom to the A-frame profile, and…
September 1 A dusting of frost covers nearly everything. I first notice this on the backpacks just outside the tent. My towel is frozen stiff. There is bad condensation inside the tent because it’s so cold outside. The cure, of course, is a nice helping of hot coffee. Starbucks Via.…
