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Category: Hiking

  • Backpacking Aravaipa Canyon

    Backpacking Aravaipa Canyon

    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.

    My backpacking buddy Brad, his dad Val, and sons Grant and Max are on this trip. I’m like the designated photographer.

    The parking lot and trailhead is very exposed, with the sun blasting down at us. But soon, we descend under the canopy of cottonwoods and onto the watery trail. It’s in and out of the water, taking a break along the banks, or simply feeling our way over rounded pebbles on the bottom of the stream. Butterflies and dragonflies dart about.

    Progress is slow, and at about two-thirds of the way to our destination, Brad and I decide to speed-hike to camp. We see a family with their campfire and a few other campers. Brad and I look at each other, trying to figure out the next step. Do I set camp, or do we just go back and rejoin the rest of the group?

    Nightfall approaches, and we speed back. We find that they made only a little progress, and by this time, it’s about dark. We quickly make camp, start a fire, and prepare dinner. The site is on a small sandbar, not ideal, but cozy.

    The stars emerge, and we take in the serene setting, quiet except for the rushing water next to our site.

    Brad makes oatmeal for breakfast, and both Grant and Max decide to go hungry than to eat it. They’d rather have eggs and sausage.

    Backtracking seems easy, except when Max marches ahead and manages to miss the turnoff to the parking lot. We arrive at the car to find him missing. Brad heads back down the trail, and soon, they both emerge, Max wiped out from bushwhacking to find his way out.

    I’ll remember this timeless place, a place to bring my kids, to one day hike to our destination.

  • Saddlebag Lake to Greenstone Lake Backpacking

    Saddlebag Lake to Greenstone Lake Backpacking

    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.

    Early Saturday morning, we leave home at 6:30 and head up the highway, stopping briefly at the Eastern Sierra Visitor Center in Lone Pine. From there, we shoot up to the Mono Basin Scenic Area Visitor Center to meet up with the Denhams and have a picnic lunch. Months prior, looking for hiking partners, Yan had mentioned this trip to her coworker, Laura; we’re so happy that she and her family can make this trip.

    The hike in is a flat stroll along the southwestern shore of Saddlebag Lake. Before long, we’re at the far end of the lake. It seems shorter than what Yan and I remember when we brought Daphney on her first backpacking trip. We stop for a snack break by trailside boulders.

    We cross Lee Vining Creek on some makeshift log bridges and find a lakefront campsite. Jeremy and I scout around but decide that the scenic value of our location is unsurpassed. Greenstone Lake is flanked by sheer granite walls, and North Peak stands regal, looking down from the opposite shore.

    Yan and I try to remember where we camped the last time we were here—we had to cross a marshy area with Mark and Sarah. Somehow, this lake feels different. Later, when comparing pictures, I’ll discover that the area where we are camping now was previously underwater and the rock outcroppings were little islands.

    I set up camp while letting the kids roam free. Daphney collects and knaps rocks into round coins and triangular arrowheads. The other kids skip rocks in the lake. After a quick bath, we make dinner. It’s egg flower soup and spinach noodles.

    Bright stars dot the clear inky blue sky as light fades away. Our orange tent gives a pop of contrast color to the evening. I take star trail pictures.

    Jayden is the first to wake up on Sunday morning. At 5:00, he needs to pee, and once outside, he exclaims that the Milky Way is super bright. Sure enough, it is vertical, like smoke rising up from the right side of North Peak. There are but a few minutes to capture this, however, since twilight is around the corner.

    The peaks reflect in Greenstone Lake’s polished mirror. As the sun comes up, golden light sets the cliffs aglow. Ducks make ripples in the calm water. We have breakfast burritos.

    This trip is about letting the kids have more say, since the adults dictate so much of their lives. I ask them if they want to move camp and backpack to another lake for a change of scene or just stay put. Daphney, Jayden, and Nathaniel hold a conference and decide to stay. “We love this place,” they say.

    With no rush to go anywhere, the morning is now a lazy one. With my three-weight rod in hand, I fly fish the pond created by the outlet of Greenstone Lake. Little brook trout are biting. Little Parachute Adams seem to work well. Jayden says he feels sorry for the fish, but he’ll eat one if I cook it. Daphney, however, says no. Since the kids are in charge, we catch and release.

    We encounter other wildlife on our hike towards Wasco Lake in the afternoon. A garter snake mesmerizes the kids as it swims along the shore and into the grass. Laura catches some native Sierra frogs.

    Back at camp, we make rice and Japanese curry with homegrown carrots. The kids devour that and then share a dessert: dried strawberries sprinkled over cheesecake pudding spread on crushed Oreo cookies. We watch the sun go down and the sky turn orange. The moon is just past first quarter.

    After oatmeal and more fishing, we make the long drive home.

    Myles says, “I love backpacking.” Next year, maybe he’ll actually hike, carry some of his stuff, and gain some trail freedom.

  • Kids’ Trip to Hilton Creek Lakes

    Kids’ Trip to Hilton Creek Lakes

     

    We’re always striving to give our kids opportunities to achieve something that feels bigger than they are. That’s what we did with two other families on this hike to Hilton Creek Lakes.

    *  *  *

    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 trail rises to a low ridge, offering sweeping views of the mountains to the east. Soon, we cross the John Muir Wilderness boundary and hop over a few creeks. At about a mile in, we wait, and after what seemed like a long time, the rest of the group catches up and shares lunch. The nearby stream provides refreshingly cool water, perfect for washing up.

    Then, we set off, climbing gradually toward the saddle north of Patricia Peak. To the kids, this stretch feels endless. To me, it too seems like we’ve been trudging up this slope forever. But as soon as we pass the flat section and start descending, the kids are off, flying down the trail. I quickly lose sight of them.

    At the junction, I find them waiting. I point them down the path to Lake #2, and they take off again.

    In less than a mile, the lake appears as if the pine trees parted like a curtain. The gray slopes of Patricia Peak and Mt. Huntington shimmer like silver on the surface. The kids are too  excited they forget to put down their backpacks.

    Quickly, we set up tents, make camp, and bathe.

    As the sun sinks below the horizon, the temperature drops quickly. We warm up with bowls of tofu miso soup and follow it up with a dinner of mild Japanese curry with carrots, onions, and white rice. After doing the first set of dishes, we have dessert of crumbled Oreo cookies and cheesecake pudding with strawberries. Then, it’s the chores of doing and hanging laundry. Soon, the stars take over the sky. The Milky Way glows brightly behind Mt. Huntington, giving the lake an eerie glow.

    I’m the first one up this next morning. A lone mosquito buzzes between the tent and the rain fly. Jayden confidently tells me it’s a male. As the first light touches the tallest peak, I step outside to capture the lake, its surface perfectly still, reflecting the world like a polished mirror. The little island in the lake, so close yet unreachable, feels almost magical in this quiet moment. On the opposite slopes, sunlight turns the trees and rock a golden hue. The kids also find this to be an enchanted place, running around, creating all sorts of games, exploring the natural world, making discoveries.

    After devotional thoughts for the Sabbath morning by Rakesh, we head up the trail, back to the junction, then higher to Lake #3. Today’s hike will be about a mile.

    The scenery shifts as we climb. We’re nearing the tree line, and the landscape feels both lush and stark. We find a sheltered campsite nestled between boulders and trees along the north shore, and once again, the kids dive into their world of make-believe.

    Dinner is simple but perfect for the cold: egg drop soup and ramen with dried vegetables and plant-based beef. In this weather, steaming hot soup is warming. I make camp style apple pie after experimenting with the recipe on previous trips to the Cottonwood Lakes and to Anvil Campground. The secret? Lots of cinnamon, extra brown sugar, and a bit of cornstarch to thicken everything. The kids love it.

    Later, I set my alarm for 10:25 pm, knowing the Milky Way will be perfectly vertical at 10:39. The lake is too choppy for a reflection, but with a long exposure, the water turns into a smooth, ice-like surface. I capture one of my favorite photos from the trip.

    The morning is rushed for some, lazy for others. I’m up early again, capturing the sunrise over our campsite. The first light streams through the pines, bathing Mt. Huntington and the valley below in gold. Breakfast is oatmeal, coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. The kids, as usual, have no concept of time, and that’s exactly how it should be. They’re zipping around, exploring, playing, and bonding.

    But soon, it’s time to leave. I suggest we traverse along the contour line rather than hike down to the junction and back up to the ridge. Everyone agrees. What I don’t anticipate is the difficulty of crossing the boulder field—especially with Myles strapped to my front, making it hard to see where I’m stepping. The kids wonder if we’re the first ones to walk through this part of the mountain. Some boulders are the sizes of cars. To everyone, this will be the best part of the adventure. To me, it’s scary. I’m reminded of how terrified I was while boulder-hopping with Daphney in the backpack on the way to Golden Trout Lake.

    When we finally rejoin the trail, I’m relieved. We pause for lunch by the creek we met on the first day. The slopes across the valley are even more vibrant now, the aspens glowing yellow in the afternoon sun.

    When the road emerges from the vantage point of the trail, the kids scream in excitement. Down they fly. Before long, we’re back at the trailhead.

    *  *  *

    What a sense of accomplishment! And as a bonus—they’ve spent the whole time running wild, carefree, exploring the natural world with a sense of wonder.

  • Shepherd Creek

    Shepherd Creek

    Kearsarge Pass | Center Basin | Forester Pass | Shepherd Pass | Shepherd Creek

    Part 5

    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. We finish making the coffee, and just then, the single fuel canister we used, which was about 7/8 full to start out with, sputters its last puff—how perfect. I would later weigh the can and figure that we used 206 grams of fuel for the entire trip.

    We set off at a sprint, gliding down the trail. The descent is easy, almost effortless, as the pine forest gives way to oak and manzanita, and eventually, to cacti. But the ease doesn’t last. We’re soon trudging up the final climb toward Symmes Saddle. From our vantage point, it is obvious why the trail must cross over into the next creek’s drainage.

    The last half mile is challenging. The car is so close yet so far away. We lose the trail more than once, its path erased by past storms. Symmes Creek becomes our guide as we cross it repeatedly, following the faint and shifting trail. Finally, we emerge from a deep canyon slot and step into an open area. After a turn and a few more steps, the parking lot emerges.

    The Tundra is still there, where I had parked it four days ago. It’s a relief to see the car. The portable shower and a fresh set of clothes are waiting.

    Muscles worked. Heart conditioned. Friendship strengthened. Memories made. What a glorious trip!

    It’s been years since our last backpacking adventure together—2015, Glacier National Park, with my newlywed wife, Mark, and Grant. So much has changed since then: Yan and I have three kids now, and Brad’s kids have grown up.

    What took so long for Brad and me to plan another trek? The next one shouldn’t be so overdue. Time marches on, crossroads emerge, and life takes unexpected turns here and there. But let’s nail down one thing. Let’s pencil in the next trip!

    « Part 4: Shepherd Pass

     

  • Shepherd Pass

    Shepherd Pass

    Kearsarge Pass | Center Basin | Forester Pass | Shepherd Pass | Shepherd Creek

    Part 4

    “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.

    Meanwhile, Brad is getting breakfast started. It’s the usual oatmeal, coffee, and scones, though later we’ll realize we forgot the honey. Since today is our easiest day, we linger over breakfast, soaking in the calm of the lake and the wide-open landscape before us.

    When we finally set out, we opt for a cross-country route heading east through the valley, which spares us the drop down onto the JMT. Being above the tree line, the route is straightforward. We make a direct line toward Mt. Tyndall. As we tiptoe across Tyndall Creek, I tell Brad that this really is a perfect place.

    We join the Shepherd Pass Trail directly across from Rockwell Pass and slowly wind our way up the gentle slopes. Compared to the grueling climb to Forester Pass, today’s hike feels almost leisurely. The elevation gain is mild, as we’re already on a high, treeless plateau, with a few small creeks braiding across the trail.

    But the wind is relentless. At the top of Shepherd Pass, it howls. I set up a low tripod to take our pictures, constantly worried that the wind might knock over the camera. The other side of the pass is a long scree slope, as dizzying as the south side of Forester Pass. With the wind whipping around us, I ask Brad to tuck away my hat so it doesn’t blow into my face during the scary descent.

    I brace against the fear of sliding down the steep incline, taking slow, deliberate steps. For a brief moment, I consider asking Brad to tell Yan, “I love you,” if something were to happen to me. Once we’re past the scariest part, I check my phone. There’s signal! I quickly send a few texts to Yan and even manage to call her. It’s so good to hear her voice.

    We descend rapidly, leisurely almost, leaving the scree field behind and passing The Pothole. The barren moonscape transitions into a pine forest, and we can hear Shepherd Creek’s soothing song. Before long, we arrive at Anvil Camp.

    It’s only 2:00 in the afternoon. We snack on leftover lunch and then scout for a better campsite. Across the right bank, nestled among foxtail pines and next to a small meadow, we find the perfect spot. Beyond the meadow, the dry slopes are dotted with boulders and more pines. I find a cozy place for a warm afternoon nap. In the meantime, Brad naps on the tent’s footprint.

    At 4:00, we start the afternoon routine. Set up camp, shampoo, and wash. Brad sees me shiver in the pool of snowmelt and decide against bathing. We make dinner. Tom Kha soup is ready in no time, and Brad shaves carrots for the Pad Thai. A squeeze of fresh lime gives the dish a bright, fresh kick.

    It’s our final night out. I get a flashback to our hike out on the last day in Rainier, when a light rain swept over us and brought on the feeling of accomplishment, of connectedness, of contentment, all wrapped into one. The blue and orange shirts I wore on that trip are still with me now. Fifteen years have passed since that trip, but the memories, though distant, feel vividly clear.

    After a camp-style apple pie, I drift off to sleep, lulled by the sound of Shepherd Creek rushing by, as scenes from backcountry trips of yesteryears play in my mind.

    « Part 3: Forester Pass
    Part 5: Shepherd Creek »

     

  • Forester Pass

    Forester Pass

    Kearsarge Pass | Center Basin | Forester Pass | Shepherd Pass | Shepherd Creek

    Part 3

    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.

    Back on the JMT, the trail wastes no time—its relentless ascent toward Forester Pass begins almost immediately. Along the way, we spot a family of Sierra grouse nestled in the brush. The path bends eastward, then curves south, quickly lifting us above the trees into a world of eroded granite and spartan pools.

    At 11,654 feet, we hop across an idyllic stream. A large flat boulder by the water is a clear favorite among hikers—a perfect spot to pause. Straight ahead, the notch of the pass comes into view, and the cascading waters seem to sing, their melody drowning out our labored breaths in the thin air. Brad turns to me and says, “If I die before you, I’d like you to scatter my ashes here. Bring my kids with you. Anyone who cares can hike in to visit.” He’s not trying to be morbid, he adds, just that these mountains are so magnificent, so spectacular, and from here, the view is unbeatable.

    We shift to happier thoughts as we tackle the switchbacks up to the final lake before the pass. It’s our last chance to snack and fill up on water. The last few hundred feet are grueling, each step demanding a deliberate breath. But soon enough, we make it.

    Forester Pass! At 13,200 feet, it is the highest point along the Pacific Crest Trail and lives up to its reputation as being one of the most difficult passes along the JMT.

    I peer down the southern side, and the view is dizzying. The trail clings to the granite face, a misstep away from a long fall. Carefully, I place one foot after another, hugging the cliffside as we descend. At the bottom of the steep section, we find a picturesque lake, the perfect spot to break for snacks and refill our water.

    The next section is a speedy hike down gentle slopes along the west side of Diamond Mesa. We make quick progress, dropping into the Tyndall Creek drainage basin. Knowing our camp is near the trail to Lake South America, we veer off-trail at 11,400 feet, following the contour lines, dodging boulders and downed pine trees. Before long, our destination—a nameless lake at the same altitude—comes into view.

    This lake, which I’ll call Lake 11,400’, is like an infinity pool. The opposite shore forms a low rim, hiding the meadow below. Beyond the rim, Polychrome Peak, Mount Tyndall, Tawny Point, and the surrounding skyline rise dramatically.

    We are exhausted, having covered about twelve miles and crossed the notorious pass. The rest of lunch has lost its appeal, so we ditch it and focus on dinner. Tonight’s menu: egg drop soup and beef-flavored ramen with vegetables. The brownies for dessert didn’t survive the trip intact, but they’re still delicious, even eaten with a spork.

    As the near-full moon rises behind the eastern peaks, I capture a few shots during the evening’s blue hour. It doesn’t take long before sleep pulls me under.

    « Part 2: Center Basin
    Part 4: Shepherd Pass »

     

  • Center Basin

    Center Basin

    Kearsarge Pass | Center Basin | Forester Pass | Shepherd Pass | Shepherd Creek

    Part 2

    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.

    We set out under another bright sky. The wind starts to pick up as we hike around Bullfrog Lake. After heading down the Vidette Switchbacks, we reach the John Muir Trail along Bubbs Creek. There are a few overused campsites, and we try fishing from one of them. The hope is to catch some and grill them here, before we ascend above 10,000 feet where fires are prohibited. The one and only ranger we encounter on the trip greets us here and checks my permit. After lunch, we hike on.

    Halfway between Vidette Meadow Junction and Center Basin Junction, we stumble upon an impressive waterfall. Pictures don’t capture its majesty, especially in the glare of the harsh noontime sun. To our delight, though, trout are dancing in the large pool below the waterfall. There are maybe two dozen fish darting around. Brad and I decide to cast, and in the fast-moving current, without the chance to examine the fly, the golden trout strike at the caddis again and again. This is Brad’s first forage into fly fishing, and he’s enjoying the game.

    The trail up to Center Basin is non-distinct, but luckily, we met a pair of hikers who described how to find it: directly across from the campsite with a large bear box. The climb is difficult in places, and being unmaintained, we lose the trail in a few places only to wander back onto it. Cresting the ridge, an expansive basin greets us, Center Peak standing sentinel to the right, and the Crags palisading on the left. A lush meadow and shallow lakes spread out before us like a hidden paradise.

    We push up into the next basin, reaching Golden Bear Lake. The solitude here is deafening, and I feel like the mountains and earth are all touching the sky. Brad and I scout out a nice campsite; I like it because it allows for open views of the sky for star photography. With map and compass, I orient myself, pinpointing where Polaris will make its appearance tonight —just over University Pass.

    Following our usual routine, we set up camp, wash off the trail dust, and do laundry. Our shirts, shorts, and towels fluttering against the towering peaks evoke images of Tibetan prayer flags. Tonight’s dinner menu features spinach and cheese tortellini with pine nuts, Parmesan, and olive oil, finished with fresh basil. Fresh herbs are light and add so much to a backcountry meal. For dessert, Brad whips up tiramisu for a sweet treat to end the day.

    As the sun is setting, alpenglow emerges and paints the peaks in rosy hues. I set up my wide-angle lens and frame the tent and where I figured the north star will be. After a few test shots, I turn in, setting my alarm for 21:17, when dark night begins.

    The stars emerge and turn the sky into a brilliant tapestry. The moon is so bright it makes my test shots look like daytime photographs. I set the intervalometer and tuck back in; after an hour, I take my camera into the tent and drift off to sleep.

    « Part 1: Kearsarge Pass
    Part 3: Forester Pass »

     

  • Kearsarge Pass

    Kearsarge Pass

    Kearsarge Pass | Center Basin | Forester Pass | Shepherd Pass | Shepherd Creek

    Part 1

    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.

    Dates were nailed down six months ago when I reserved permits, although for a different trailhead. Then, after grabbing reservations for this trailhead two weeks ago when they became available, a computer glitch in the reservation system caused us to lose our spots. Only from last-minute cancellations were we able to get new ones.

    It’s 9:47, and the morning sun is shining bright, blazing through a sky that seems too clear, a giant blue expanse that offers little protection. Sunscreen was slathered back at the Shepherd Pass Trailhead parking lot, where Symmes Creek breaks its downward plunge and fans out toward the plains. We had gotten up early this morning and both ordered the Iron Man Scramble with breakfast potatoes (not hash browns, as they were out) at the Alabama Hills Café and Bakery. As we waited for breakfast, first light kissed Mt. Whitney and the Needles. After cleaning up and packing and bypassing hitchhikers and bumping along the rutty dirt road, I backed the Toyota Tundra into a spot at the exit trailhead. Nearly on time, Lone Pine Kurt picked us up and shuttled us to Onion Valley, and now, here we are.

    Buckled up and checking all our gear, we hit the trail. Turning back isn’t an option—our car is waiting at the other end. Soon, we pass by the junction to Golden Trout Lake, triggering memories of those tough off-trail scrambles to get to our destination, especially with Daphney on my back and Yan six months pregnant with Jayden.

    The climb had been steady, but we’re not used to this altitude. Before long, we skirt by serene Gilbert Lake where we stop for lunch and get some water. Then, we bypass the spur to Heart Lake and instead, peer down on it from a rocky bluff above. The approach to Kearsarge Pass is relentless, with little shelter from the dwarf conifers clinging near the tree line. A handful of trail mix and a gulp of water push us through the final stretch.

    Kearsarge Pass! Cresting the rim and taking in the view on the other side is nothing short of breathtaking—meadows stretch out like a green tapestry, dotted with lakes that gleam like scattered gemstones. Peaks and pinnacles rise to meet the sky. Golden-mantled ground squirrels know this is a popular rest spot, and they scurry around looking for crumbs.

    We cruise down the trail and meander through the lakes, and we pick out a site overlooking the second Kearsarge Lake. Lunch is finished off, and we set up camp.

    Tent pitched, we take a moment to clean up and explore. I pull out my 3-weight fly rod and hit the water. The brook trout can’t resist the olive elk hair caddis fly. Nearby, a fellow camper chases away a curious black bear.

    Dinner is a warm and hearty red curry over white rice. Brad preps the red bell pepper and Brussels sprouts (tiny cabbages, as we like to think of them). We top it all off with peach cobbler for dessert. In this setting—golden light reflecting off Kearsarge Pinnacles, the air crisp with that unmistakable Sierra freshness—it feels perfect.

    The fish are jumping, and I show Brad how to cast. He quickly gets it, and we spend the evening in a rhythm of catch-and-release.

    As the night deepens, the waxing gibbous moon rises above the opposite shore. The sky fades from blue to purple, and stars start to sparkle against the darkening canvas.

    Part 2: Center Basin »

     

  • Backpacking to the Cottonwood Lakes

    Backpacking to the Cottonwood Lakes

    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 all about getting ready, both physically and mentally. Daphney and Jayden have been gearing up with backpacks loaded down with books, tackling hilly laps to build their endurance.

    Our journey begins with an easy drive up to Horseshoe Meadow, where we fuel up with a simple dinner in the car. The backpacker’s campground is just half full—perfect for a quick overnight before the big hike.

    Early in the morning, we hike up the trail, which starts out flat. It leads us into a verdant meadow near a wilderness school, and here, we try to fly fish. Kevin and Barry hook some golden trout, but I find them to be very picky.

    As we push past the meadow, the trail climbs steadily into the high basin. The first Cottonwood Lake reveals itself—a sparkling sheet of water rimmed by brilliant green. The sun backlights the meadow grass, turning it into a glowing, undulating wave. We take a breather, soaking it all in before trudging through the marsh toward the next lake.

    Daphney and Jayden are exhausted. This is the longest they have hiked in one day. We wait among some boulders as Kevin and Nico and Barry march ahead to scout for a campsite.

    We settle on a broad field of grass and scattered rocks, with Mount Langley towering over Cottonwood Lake #3. Dinner is farro lentil soup, perfect for warming up as the cold sets in.

    After dark, the Milky Way emerges, stretching diagonally across the southern sky like a band of jewels, its center clearly recognizable.

    We hang out around camp in the morning. After breakfast, we do laundry. The kids run around and play in the wide-open field. They discover the joy of wading in the stream, splashing around until lunchtime. Beef-flavored noodle soup fuels us for an afternoon trek to the higher Cottonwood Lakes, where we sightsee and fish. Old Army Pass looks daunting, but we meet a few groups descending that trail from Mt. Langley.

    Overnight, the incessant wind gives way to calm, leaving the lake as still as glass. In the early morning, Mt. Langley stands tall against a cloudless, brilliant blue sky.

    After a leisurely breakfast, the hike out is smooth and easy. All that prep and training—every mile, every climb—has paid off. The kids are already asking for the next adventure.

  • Backpacking from South Lake to Long Lake

    Backpacking from South Lake to Long Lake

    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 going to wake up at midnight to get ready,” they say. I have them set their alarms for 5:00 am so we can hit the road early.

    On Saturday morning, the kids wake up before me. They have waffles. For lunch at the trailhead, I heat two frozen baguettes I had made earlier and parbaked. The car is loaded, and we head out right on time.

    Menacing clouds follow us along the drive north on the 395. We arrive in Lone Pine and take a rest stop at the Eastern Sierra Interagency Visitor Center. The wind nearly rips off my car door as I dash out. The ranger, in monotone, says, “There’s a wind advisory throughout this area until tomorrow.”

    We make it to the South Lake parking lot in good time, half an hour before schedule. My friend Kevin is already there on the lookout for us, bundled up and braving the elements. I find one of the last remaining parking spots. Our picnic lunch takes place inside the car while it rains and hails. The kids don’t seem concerned; they love rain anyways.

    Bishop Pass Trail to Long Lake

    Kevin and his son Nico join us at the trailhead. Myles is in my front baby carrier, and everyone has their own backpack. The path heads south, taking us along a gentle uphill by the east bank of South Lake. Several switchbacks later, we reach the John Muir Wilderness boundary. Daphney and Jayden demand rest stops—a lot of them, such that the stops seem longer than the actual time spent hiking.

    The final uphill push brings us to a shallow notch, and beyond that, we glimpse a body of water. Long Lake at last! We emerge through the trees, walk past a large grassy area, and crest a pile of boulders. Here, we pause to take in the expansive view of Long Lake and Mt. Goode. This scene looks vaguely familiar, from the last time I was here twelve years ago. The winds continue to howl; we quickly cross the stream and wander up the trail to find sheltered sites.

    Near the waist of the lake, a large granite outcrop provides windbreak. We set up on two small sites that are tucked between the rocks and trees. I crack fresh eggs for the egg drop soup. The spinach noodles with home-pickled Napa cabbage cook in the other pot. This is the perfect meal for such a cold and windy evening.

    We watch the clouds race along like shape-shifting horses galloping across the gray expanse. Soon, some of the clouds glow bright red as the sun fleetingly peeks at them.

    The evening routine is the same: wash dishes, have dessert (mango sticky rice), brush teeth, and tuck in. It’s 8 o’clock, and we’re all in bed. At 2:30, I wake up and see shadows of tree branches on our tent; I figure that the sky must have cleared enough for the moon to shine through. The winds continue to rattle our tent and branches around us. Through the night, Myles requires constant feeding from Yan.

    Rest Day at Long Lake

    The pre-dawn sky is decorated with puffs of orange and golden fleece. Mt. Goode stands sentinel, guarding the far end of the lake, and along the Inconsolable Range, Picture Puzzle with its forked peak pierces the sky. The fleecy clouds turn pale as they tumble across the brightening sky.

    We have burritos filled with hash brown potatoes and vegetarian taco meat. Kevin and Nico pack up to leave. After goodbyes, we backtrack the trail and lazily explore the north end of Long Lake. Back at the large grassy area, the kids find a burrow—probably from a marmot or other rodent. They build a canopy of branches cemented with mud from the nearby pond. It’s a shelter for “MitMot.”

    Overlooking the large field and under the shade of some pine trees, I find a large flat area for a tent. I decide to move campsites. I retrace my steps back to the large outcrop and roll up the tent, with all the bags and pads still inside. The entire package goes on my head and I haul it down the trail, back across the stream, and up to the new site. It’s beautiful, and the view is panoramic. The family returns with me to retrieve the remaining things we had left at the other campsite.

    We have dried apricots, nuts, crackers, and cheese for lunch. I bring the kids to the trailside inlet pond and kite a #16 elk hair caddis fly at the end of my line. The fish are watching. In the blink when the fly hit the surface, I get a strike. The kids brim with excitement. We have three brook trout to add to lunch. I gut them, and Jayden helps me with the salt and pepper. From my herb pack, I slice garlic and stuff the fish with fresh thyme and minced chives. The butter sizzles. Soon, we’re picking at crispy-skin trout with our chopsticks.

    In the afternoon, the winds die down and the sky clears. We hike in to explore the headwaters of Long Lake. The kids find a little snow field to play in. After snacking along the lakeshore, we return to make dinner: broccoli cheese soup and spinach tortellini with extra-virgin olive oil and grated Parmesan cheese. Then, we have cinnamon apple with crunchy granola crumble for dessert.

    By 7 o’clock, we’re tucked in. Knowing that our tent is facing south and that the moon will rise later tonight, I set my alarm for 8:50, as that’s when astronomical dark night begins. Feeling anticipation, I wake up a few minutes before that and step outside. The landscape around me is illuminated by starlight, and the Milky Way glows brightly above Mt. Goode. I had forgotten to bring the ball-head attachment, so I rig a makeshift tripod setup and take several shots.

    Final Day in the Wilderness

    The rest of the family wakes up after sleeping for eleven hours, likely off and on. I am the first to emerge from the tent. The sky is calm and clear. Evening dew had crystalized, and each footstep makes a light crunch in the frost. Long Lake is a mirror, reflecting the first light on Mt. Goode and Hurd Peak.

    For breakfast, we have brown sugar-topped oatmeal enriched with dried coconut, blueberries, slivered almonds, and flaxseed. Afterwards, we stand by the lake, watching the sunlight slowly creep down the steep face of Hurd Peak and hit the lake. Then, in less than a minute, the entire lake and grassy field glow bright. The frost vanishes in the next instant. As the kids stare at the pine branch and mud canopy, MitMot emerges from the burrow. It turns out to be a ground squirrel.

    We pack up and bid farewell to the mountain peaks, Long Lake, the trout, MitMot, and our beautiful campsite. One the way back, we only stop once. We have a pre-lunch snack at the junction to Treasure Lakes. Soon, we pass the John Muir Wilderness boundary, retrace our steps along South Lake, and emerge from the aspen thicket to arrive at the parking lot.

    Making Memories

    This trip will no doubt turn into those big mileposts that mark the passing of time. At first, I wasn’t sure how momentous these trips are, but two days ago, as we arrived at Long Lake, Jayden asks me, “Are you going to filter water using the red pump you used last year?” Hearing that, I knew that for the kids, this trip will be at least as memorable as the last, another early waypoint in their journey of life.

  • Hiking in Katmai

    Hiking in Katmai

    Seattle  |  The Grand Princess  |  Katmai  |  Kenai Peninsula  |  Wrangell-St. Elias  |  The Interior  |  Denali  |  Anchorage and Home

    Saturday: Whittier to Brooks Camp

    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.

    The shuttle bus arrives and takes us to the edge of Naknek Lake. Getting off the bus, we are greeted by a swarm of bugs.

    “Are those mosquitoes?”

    “No, they are white socks.”

    I think to myself, “Oh good, they aren’t mosquitoes.” It turns out that the white socks are far worse, first numbing the skin, then biting off a chunk of flesh, leaving drops of blood oozing out of the small hole.

    The water taxi takes us across the vast lake and drops us off by the Brooks Camp ranger station. We watch a bear safety video and receive training from the ranger. Then, we backpack into camp, set up, and head to a buffet dinner at Brooks Lodge.

    After dinner, we are treated to amazing bear sightings along the elevated platform near camp. We shower before turning in at camp.

    Sunday: Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes and Brooks Falls

    We enjoy a breakfast buffet at Brooks Lodge and join the tour to the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes. The ranger recounts the eruption of Novarupta and explains how the landscape was shaped. We stop by the Kettle Ponds Overlook before arriving at the final destination.

    The tour operator provides us with roasted vegetable sandwiches at the visitor center. After that, we join the group on a four-mile hike down to the valley floor to see how the Ukak River carved slots in the volcanic ash. The kids are exhausted.

    Back on the bus, we ask to get dropped off at the trail to Brooks Falls. We hike to the falls to see bears feasting on salmon. Back in Skagway, we were told that the salmon were late this year, only returning a few days ago, and that we timed it perfectly. We are mesmerized by the rhythm of fish leaping upstream.

    The bears, we observe, only eat the heads, belly, and skin of the fish. The rest, they throw to the gulls to clean up.

    We hike back to camp along the road, make our way back to Brooks Lodge for dinner. Then, we hike to our campsite to gather fresh clothes for the shower after a long day. After the shower, Jayden, while acting silly, falls into the puddle next to the urinal and needs to shower again.

    « The Grand Princess
    Kenai Peninsula »
  • Long Lake to Mosquito Flat

    Long Lake to Mosquito Flat

    Anticipation  |  To Marsh Lake  |  To Long Lake  |  To Mosquito Flat

    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.

    We clean up, pack up our tents and packs, and head down the trail. The progress is much faster today, being mostly flat or downhill. We quickly pass my favorite spot by Box Lake and make it to Marsh Lake. Here, we stop for an extended snack break.

    Daphney and Jayden run down the trail. It is hard to stay ahead of them. They race to see who will spot our car first.

    Soon, we see picnic tables.

    From across Rock Creek: “Dr. Wongworawat!”

    It’s Allen. They did make it to camp and stayed two nights, at the outlet of Heart Lake. We exchange stories. It seems unbelievable that we were a few hundred yards from each other, yet not knowing if the other party had made it as planned. He and his family had a wonderful time. He wants to do this again.

    Picnic tables, the toilets, the parking lot, and our car! The kids run there. We wash up and load the car. It’s time to go home.

    Our kids had a spectacular time out in the wilderness. “We love backpacking! We want to go again!”

    The anticipation for the next trip begins.

    « Marsh Lake to Long Lake

     

     
     
  • Marsh Lake to Long Lake

    Marsh Lake to Long Lake

    Anticipation  |  To Marsh Lake  |  To Long Lake  |  To Mosquito Flat

    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.

    Breakfast this morning is hash browns with scrambled eggs. Daphney helps getting the food ready. We cast for fish again, but like last night, they remain spooked. The kids enjoy climbing for the boulders, proud of themselves that they crossed the stream on a fallen tree and made it to the other side.

    We pack up and head up the trail and have lunch at Heart Lake. The kids find it hard to make the uphill climb, but soon, we’re walking along a flat section flanking Box Lake. This would turn out to be one of my favorite sections of the trail. The path is high and wide open. Below to the left is Box Lake. In front, the mountain range frames the horizon. The kids run ahead.

    Soon, we’re at Long Lake, our destination for the day. We arrive very early, around 2:00 in the afternoon. Everyone soaks their feet in the refreshing water. The northern shore, around the lake’s outlet, is packed with campers, so Tyler and I go scouting again. There is a small meadow where the lake drains. There are also a few dirt patches. None of these are acceptable; but high above, on a private bluff, there is a small, picturesque area for two small tents with a nearby flowing creek for easy water access. This is the spot!

    The routine is the same again, but before dinner, we head down the banks to fish.

    I hear my name: “Dr. Wongworawat!”

    It’s Damien and his party. So, they did make it on the trail and ended up here. We shared trail stories, and I learn that Allen did backpack in as well, and he is supposedly camped near Heart Lake.

    We catch some brook trout. Daphney is only allowing catch-and-release, so that is what I do.

    The routine continues. We have egg drop soup and spinach noodles for dinner. Afterwards, we watch the moon rise and cast silvery reflections on Long Lake while colorful clouds, first white then pink then purple, lazily drift by.

    « Mosquito Flat to Marsh Lake
    Long Lake to Mosquito Flat »
     
     
  • Mosquito Flat to Marsh Lake

    Mosquito Flat to Marsh Lake

    Anticipation  |  To Marsh Lake  |  To Long Lake  |  To Mosquito Flat

    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.

    We arrive at beautiful Mack Lake. It sits a little below the main trail. There isn’t an obvious route to this lake, so we push on ahead. The spur trail to Marsh Lake takes off at a right angle to the left, and we follow it along the lake’s northern shoreline. Prior to the trip, we had agreed to meet in this general area.

    There’s a green tent with a lakefront view, among the trees, just beyond the large rocky hillock. A young couple emerges from around the bend. No, they haven’t seen anyone else here, not Damien and his party. I ask them to keep a lookout for anyone else that might be looking for us, particularly if they have baby carriers.

    Tyler and I scout for a campsite. We follow a use trail along Rock Creek, the outlet of Marsh Lake. The patch of brush opens up. The creek tumbles down a small rockfall and into a deep clear pool, then it meanders along a meadow. This is perfect. There are spaces for a few tents, and we decide to settle here.

    The routine is pretty much the same as that of other backpacking evenings. Set up the tent. Unroll the sleeping pads and inflate them. Fluff up the sleeping bags. Pump water. Bathe.

    Bathe. This time, because of the kids, I bring extra gas canisters, which a hiking buddy Mark calls “comfort fuel.” Everyone washes up, the kids with comfort fuel, and Yan and I directly with stream water. Biodegradable soap for bathing is used away from the stream, then there is soapless bathing directly in the flowing water.

    The routine continues. Laundry. String a line. Thread the wet clothes through. Make dinner.

    Tonight, it’s broccoli cheese soup with orecchiette pasta, dried vegetables, and freshly grated Parmesan. We try to catch fish but there were no strikes; there were several women who fished earlier, standing right by the bank with beer in hand, spooking all the fish in the deep pool. Even without freshly caught trout, dinner hit the spot.

    Dishes. Post-dinner stroll. Pictures. Heat water. Make cider. We enjoy a hot spicy cider with double chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Then, the kids play inside the tent under a solar lantern while Yan and I take in the moment: comfortable rock for a seat, the babbling creek, the sound of kids giggling, and a deep blue sky lit by millions of lanterns so far away.

    « Preparations for Little Lakes Valley
    Marsh Lake to Long Lake »
  • Preparations for Little Lakes Valley

    Preparations for Little Lakes Valley

    Anticipation  |  To Marsh Lake  |  To Long Lake  |  To Mosquito Flat

    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.

    Inyo National Forest permits become available six months before entry date, so for a September 3 date, we had set our calendar alerts for March 3, 7:00 am, Pacific Time. And to be sure that we could get a permit, we had another alert set for March 2, so that we could snag a Friday entry if we were outcompeted the next day.

    March 2 came. At 7:01, we scored a permit for four spots on September 2. The next day, we got another four spots.

    In the weeks leading up to the trip, I invited others who were able to share our extra permit: first Damien, second year orthopedic surgery resident; then Tyler, attending joint replacement surgeon; and finally Allen, senior orthopedic surgery resident. We revised our gear list. We weighed and catalogued every item down to the gram. We planned our menu. We packed.

    It’s now the day of the trip, pre-dawn Saturday of Labor Day weekend. The car had been loaded the night before. The tank is full. It’s 5:40 am, and we’re ready.

    The parking lot at Mosquito Flat is completely full, cars spilling out onto the road, down the mountain, and clogging up the lot below. I get out of the car and was able to negotiate with hikers coming down the trail. We unload and have soba noodles with cold dipping sauce and all the traditional toppings.

    Tyler, whom I had suggested this trip to during our photoshoot on the hospital helipad, and his family arrive in the full parking lot. I spot them and get their attention.

    Meanwhile, a man with a baby carrier backpack sees my grocery bag of trash and says, “Oh, Loma Linda Market!”

    “Yeah, Loma Linda. Have you been there?”

    “We’re actually waiting here, meeting some people coming up from Loma Linda.”

    “The Nedleys!”

    Soon, we see Allen. Everyone finds parking spaces. Allen gets his spot because someone got kicked out of the wilderness for lack of a permit. Damien would have arrived last night and should now be at Marsh Lake. Allen decides to finish lunch first, and Tyler and his family join us with their packs.

    The anticipation is over; we’re hitting the trail!

     
    Mosquito Flat to Marsh Lake »
  • Joshua Tree Picnic

    Joshua Tree Picnic

  • Ferrying then Backpacking into Scorpion Canyon

    Ferrying then Backpacking into Scorpion Canyon

  • Backpacking to Golden Trout Lake

    Backpacking to Golden Trout Lake

  • Backpacking to Greenstone Lake

    Backpacking to Greenstone Lake

  • Daphney’s First Backpacking Trip

    Daphney’s First Backpacking Trip

    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 sky to view the Perseid meteor shower. I wake up just after midnight. Yan barely arouses. I try again at 4:30, and this time, through the top of our mesh tent, we lose count of how many fireballs pass across the starlit sky.

    The next morning, we head out from the Saddlebag Lake boat launch and dam. On the other side of the lake on a grassy knoll, baby Audrey and baby Daphney get to know each other better. Beyond, we circle around the wrong side of Greenstone Lake but eventually make it to the highest valley; this is part of Twenty Lakes Basin.

    The group decides to set camp by Mill Lake. This picturesque lake is overshadowed by North Peak. We set up and wash. Daphney gets a chilly dip into the small waterfall from Cascade Lake. She’s not happy, but I warm her up and put on fresh clothes. Yan and I get ourselves warm with egg drop soup, rice, and red curry.

    As night falls, we turn in. The baby is fussy, and I’m worried again. Soon, though, Yan is able to console her to sleep. I’m outside orchestrating a tent lighting experiment. Some people’s lights are brighter than others’, so I have to call out when to shut off each one. After several tries, the lighting turns out evenly. My favorite shot from this trip would turn out to be the star trails over our lit tents.

    The first rays of sun first fire up North Peak. Soon, the pools of water turn aglow with orange reflection as the valley comes to life. Daphney did fine, and she seems happy this morning. Yan and I have some hot drinks with oatmeal.

    The hike out seems longer. Maybe it’s because the baby feels heavier as the trail wears on. We get to take a nice long break at Shamrock Lake—this turns out to be one of my favorite spots.

    Before long, we’re back at the trailhead. A little hike along pavement brings us back to our cars. Daphney is still smiling, having gone on her first backpacking trip without ever wearing a backpack.

  • San Jacinto

    San Jacinto

    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 have little time to do the Desert View Trail. We find a nice spot to warm up some smoked gouda roasted red pepper soup to savor the moment.

  • Etiwanda Falls Hike

    Etiwanda Falls Hike

    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 start the hike. This trail is more exposed than we thought, as we are used to hiking in many forested trails in the San Bernardino Forest. This one is lined only with scrub brush. It’s hot, and finally, toward the end of the trail, we duck beneath some trees and hop around braids of the river. As it turned out, this trail was more about the destination than the journey, as the destination brought us the relief: shade and cool streams.

  • North Cascades

    North Cascades

    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 one I chose.

    Driving up from Seattle takes a few hours. I get the parking permit from the ranger station, and from there, I drive further up into the mountains and down a dirt road flanking the Nooksack River’s North Fork. The trailhead is full, and I park a quarter-mile down the road.

    The climb up the trail is scenic, where there are areas of fall color painting the Nooksack Range. It takes me longer than I think to actually reach the Pass. From there, I turn right and head up the knob called Hannegan Peak. The views from here are truly spectacular. Mt. Baker rises to the south. Many hikers linger here and take in the views.

    Then, I head back down the trail, wash up at a trailside waterfall, and continue to the car. My shirt is dry by the time I reach the parking lot.

    Further up the road, there’s a beautiful area called Heather Meadows. Scenic highlights include Picture Lake and Artist Point. I visit both. Then, I wait for the sun to set and cast alpenglow on Mt. Shuksan.

  • To Many Glacier

    To Many Glacier

    Getting Ready | Over Gable Pass | Into Belly River Basin | Over Redgap Pass | To Many Glacier

    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.

    Like the previous morning, breakfast today is designed for a fast clean-up. We have oatmeal and granola with dried berries, and all it took was some rinsing after the meal. Our goal was to leave by 8:00, but now, it’s quarter till nine, and we’re just heading out. My pack, now only half full because the food is eaten up, now fits Yan’s puffy jackets. We hustle to get out, since Yan has a flight to catch this afternoon; the rest of us still need to get to Coeur d’Alene.

    Luckily, there’s only a short stretch of uphill. Brad’s and Grant’s gear have now completely dried, and my shoes are finally dry as well. As we round the ridge, we find beautiful Swiftcurrent Ridge Lake. Just beyond, the valley opens up to Lake Sherburne and Many Glacier. We weave between meadows and forest patches. Before long, we reach our car in the exact spot where we left it days ago. But unlike that first day, the sky is a calm blue, and a few scattered clouds hover over the glaciated mountains.

    When we started, we had no idea that these 38 miles through wild terrain and haphazard weather would make this a gear testing trip. For Mark, it’ll be a new tent without a hole in the fly and a new cup. For Grant, it’ll be trekking poles. Brad will be looking into getting new gear that can withstand rain. For Yan, it’ll be a more compressible puffy jacket. As for me, I’ll upgrade my shorts, rain pants, and trekking poles. We both will get pack rain covers too.

    Gear testing is over, and next time, we all will be able to laugh at the rain.

    « Over Redgap Pass
  • Over Redgap Pass

    Over Redgap Pass

    Getting Ready | Over Gable Pass | Into Belly River Basin | Over Redgap Pass | To Many Glacier

    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.

    For this longest hiking day, we have Yan’s oatmeal cookies, dried apricots and mangos, and hot drinks. This meal takes very little cleanup, and soon, we’re on our way.

    The first part requires a ford at Cosley Lake’s outlet. This proves to be cold, but according to Yan, it’s easier than the crossing we did in Kauai to get to Secret Falls. From here, the trail covers flat terrain to end up at Elizabeth Lake. We make good time and have our first lunch here: beef summer sausage and smoked Gouda cheese on crackers along with mixed nuts. This lake is windy. It’s a clear day and the sun is out; I take off my wet socks and rinse off the mud. Both pairs drape over warm rocks to partly dry. In the distance, we watch the clouds roll across the jagged peaks. Just to the left, we spot Redgap Pass.

    The rest of the way to the Pass is all uphill. Brad and Grant share their one pair of trekking poles. Soon after leaving treeline, we hike along fields of wildflowers. Higher up, small drainage creeks flow out of the mountainside and tumble into the valley below. We fill up at one of these streams. As we near the top, the winds pick up. The clouds scrape against the peaks around us. We feel like we’re soaring through the sky. At Redgap Pass, we take in the panoramic view of Many Glacier. My still-wet shoes feel even colder now. We choose not to linger here, as the cold winds are sapping body heat from all of us.

    After having gone eight miles to this highest point, we have more than six miles to go. Quickly, we descend quite a ways before deciding to have our second lunch. I switch out my socks again. Today’s downhill is much more gradual than what we experienced yesterday, and before long, we level off onto the flat plains, where the vegetation is much drier. We must be in a rain shadow, since the storm seems to linger near the peaks, tethered to the ridge, never making it through to our side of the valley.

    Our campsite turns out to be on the far side of Poia Lake, across the footbridge beyond its drainage. We are here much earlier than expected and set up everything so that the dampness can dry out. There is enough time for everyone to clean up this time. Even though the sun is out, the clouds along the western ridge line roll in and out, obscuring the warmth but allowing it to shine through occasionally.

    Dinner starts with boiling hot Tom Kha soup with mushrooms and tofu, which is perfect for such a cold day of climbing, peak exposure, and bathing. Then, there are Pad Thai noodles with fresh carrots, crushed peanuts, and fresh lime. The second pot of soup warms all of us from the inside. For dessert, the two batches of dark chocolate cheesecake fit in one pan. Hot chocolate washes away the remaining chill.

    « Into Belly River Basin
    To Many Glacier »