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.
The kids are getting more and more trail time. Two years ago, we did one uphill mile each day, with two miles hiking out. Last year, we did two miles with a lot of elevation gain. Now, we’re going to tackle more than five miles. The last week has been…
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…
We disembark onto a private bus. There are a few others with us. Making our way through the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel, we soon arrive at the Anchorage airport. I check the car seats and bags for city travel at the storage facility, then board our flight to King Salmon. There is no reception in King Salmon, but I was able to find the number for the Katmai Water Taxi and call them using a wall phone that allows free local calls. We wait in the adjacent visitor center where we watch a film about the Katmai area.
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.
Rock Creek is still singing when I get up. The clothes on the line are mostly dry. Soon, the kids stir. I climb the hillock nearby and shoot pictures of clear reflections in the lake as it stretches like a polished slab of glass dotted with marsh grass.
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…
Yan and I have been enjoying taking pregnancy pictures, and with our love for the outdoors, San Jacinto seemed fitting. We drive out to Palm Springs, get tramway tickets, and have lunch there while waiting for our turn. This time, it’s homemade flatbread with vegetables. Once at the top, we…
It’s New Year’s Day, and we want to start off the year by being active. We decide to do this popular hike to Etiwanda Falls. From the reviews, this trail has great ratings. We arrive at the trailhead parking early, and parking lot nearly full. We park, pack up, and…
It’s early Sabbath morning, and I take off early for the mountains. The destination will be the North Cascades. The day before, I had researched the area, and it looks like one of the most accessible trails with the best views is the Hannegan Pass trail. So, this is the…
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.
