Showing posts with label Alabama Hills. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alabama Hills. Show all posts

Friday, September 30, 2022

Coffee and Kearsarge

View West from Kearsarge Pass

 Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry.
~Jack Kerouac

It is the experiences, the great triumphant joy of living to the fullest extent
 in which real meaning is found. God it's great to be alive!
~Alexander Supertramp aka Christopher McCandless

I tended to the campfire as the sun dipped behind Owens Peak and the shadows moved cat-like across the valley floor. The only fragments of day were the pink and purple that stained the Inyo Mountains to the east. It really wasn't quite campfire weather yet. The night was warm and the hour still early, but fire is obligatory on outings like this. The radiating warmth, the alluring scent of burning pine, the snap-crackle-pop of combustion, the hypnotizing dance of the flame. There's something primal and ancient and ritualistic about it all. A vestigial connection to ancestors and the past. 

Late September is high season in the Sierra so we'd driven up earlier in the day to ensure that we'd have a decent camp spot. Up the El Camino Sierra and across the high desert, through Pearsonville, Coso, Dunmovin, Grant, Olancha, Cartago, and all the other bleak little outposts littered with sun-bleached single-wides, dilapidated buildings, and junky automobiles slowly disintegrating in the scorching heat. This is the land of stolen water and murdered dreams. What Marc Reisner called the "Cadillac Desert."

Our weekend objective was Kearsarge Pass out of Onion Valley. If we were feeling frisky, we might give Mt. Gould a go once at the pass. Kearsarge Pass and its namesake peak were named after the Union battleship USS Kearsarge. In June of 1864, the Kearsarge destroyed the CSS Alabama, a Confederate cruiser that sunk 64 American merchant ships in the Atlantic. The nearby Alabama Hills were named by Confederate sympathizers after the Alabama. Local Unionists then named the pass and peak after the Kearsarge as a kind of "fuck you!" in response. 


Owens Valley

Sierra Alpenglow


We got a bit of a late start Saturday morning because we lollygagged around camp too long. The start then got delayed further when we made a mandatory stop for caffeine. Lone Pine has a cute independent coffee house called the Lone Star Bistro, but we didn't go there. The last time I visited, the older guy behind the counter (who I surmise was the owner) was kind of a surly wiener. When he asked me what I wanted, I jokingly told him in my worst Anglo-Spanish that I wanted coffee - enormous, gigante, grande! He got triggered by the word "grande" and barked back at me "this isn't Starbucks!" before begrudgingly getting me a "large." So on this trip we went to McDonald's where the dick factor is much lower and the coffee better. 

It's a curious thing. Lone Pine is a small, rural place. It really isn't self-sustaining. It relies on "big city" tourists for survival. Or at least to bolster the local economy. And yet, several establishments there appear to revile the tourist hand that feeds them. Jake's Saloon is such a place. Right next to the Lone Star Bistro, Jake's recently had a sign posted over the bar warning "No Hipsters! Don't be coming in here with your hairy faces, your vegan diet, your tiny feet & your sawdust bedding." Maybe they were kidding. Maybe they weren't. I don't really care. I don't patronize Jake's. Not because I consider myself a hipster. At my age, literally no one would make that mistake. I don't patronize Jake's because the last time I went there it was unbearably hot and the bartender reminded me of the pawn shop keeper in Pulp Fiction. And then there was the large Confederate flag hanging prominently over the bar. 150 plus years and counting and the scourge of the Confederacy is still with us. So, local rednecks only at Jake's I guess. 

Leaving Lone Pine, we drove north to Independence where the road to Onion Valley leads west following a gash in the mountains where Independence Creek spills out onto the arid plain. Along the way, we passed the Manzanar National Historic Site where the United States forcibly relocated and then detained Japanese-Americans during World War II. With the stunning backdrop of the Sierra crest, Manzanar is austere and starkly beautiful. We could have done Americans of Japanese descent worse. But it is a prison nonetheless. The old guard towers sitting along 395 attest to that.   

Onion Valley Road, which begins in Independence as Market Street, is an impressive bit of engineering and road-building. As you climb away from town and begin to gain elevation, you can't help but wonder who it was that first ascended the canyon and established the route that thousands now follow. That same thought pops into my mind whenever I drive up to Horseshoe Meadows, the Whitney Portal, Glacier Lodge, and all the other roads that breach the mountainous bulwark that protects the inner sanctum of the range. In the case of Kearsarge, the first ascent up Independence Creek was probably by natives following game trails. But apparently the first documented crossing of Kearsarge Pass was accomplished in 1864 by eleven prospectors looking to strike it rich.  

Kearsarge Pass Trail

Flower Lake

Kearsarge Pass Trail

At the trailhead, we found the parking lot jammed to capacity. The Kearsarge Pass Trail has always been a popular route, but not this popular. A sign of the times I suppose. So we parked along the road and started up, following a conga-line of about 18 hikers on a group outing. Over the course of the day, we would play leap-frog with this group as we passed them and then they passed us until we all finally arrived at the pass 5 miles later at about the same time. 

It's been a dry few years in the Sierra, but Independence Creek was coursing, presumably still being fed by what remains of the glacier that sits beneath impressive University Peak. That glacier, along with snow-melt, also nourishes the chain of stunning lakes that stud the basin. The trail climbs right out of the parking lot to the first of these lakes, Little Pothole, where you get a very brief respite before the climb resumes. Comparatively speaking, Little Pothole is the ugly step-sister of the other lakes. It is diminutive and decidedly unpretentious. But it is also infused with minerals from glacial melt that makes it gleam a brilliant aquamarine.  

Further up trail, after a number of switch-backs and past the rock garden, is pretty Gilbert Lake. There's a big, flat granite boulder on the west side of the lake immediately trailside that I'm pretty certain is a mandatory stop for everyone hiking the trail. The boulder sits above blue Gilbert and affords a perfect Instagramable photo-op. Being the social media influencers that we are (or at least, imagine ourselves to be), we stopped briefly for some pictures that would instantly make everyone covet our perfect, adventurous life and hate there own. Then it was a short stroll to languid Flower Lake where nice campsites dot the eastern shore. This is the jumping off point if you plan on visiting the Matlock Lakes to the south. 

We, of course, continued up the main trail that proceeds to climb to tree-line with additional urgency. Along the way, we passed sapphire-hued Heart Lake and Big Pothole Lake, both of which sit well below the trail at this point. Despite that, both of these lakes are reachable. And I spied a couple of perfect tent sites on Heart's eastern shore. Further reconnaissance required. Big Pothole on the other hand, sits in a barren, exposed depression surrounded by nothing but boulders and scree. Pitching a tent here really doesn't look feasible or enjoyable.

Heart Lake

Kearsarge Lakes Basin

Approaching Kearsarge Pass

We were in the home stretch now. Right at tree-line. 11,200 feet. We could now plainly see the pass ahead, but stopped briefly on a big old slab of granite for water and snacks before the final push. It's easy to forget to eat at altitude. At least it is for me. I have no appetite when I'm up high. Even foods that I normally love are unappealing. So I too often don't eat enough while I'm in the Sierra. Same with hydration. With all the lakes, gurgling streams, trees, and peaks, it's easy to get lulled into the false sense that you're not actually traipsing through what amounts to a humongous food dehydrator. The environment here is harsh. If you don't take in enough water, the intense aridity, solar radiation, and wind will punish you without remorse.

Moving again, we followed the final segment of trail as it made a couple of big, lazy switchbacks across the scree slope of Mt. Gould's south face before topping out at the pass at 11,760 feet. From this aerie, you have panoramic views of the ragged Kearsarge Pinnacles and the cerulean Kearsarge Lakes, both of which sit in Kings Canyon National Park.

We found an available spot on a rocky prominence that afforded grand views of both sides of the divide and sat amongst the crowd to take it all in. In any other circumstance, I'd probably be annoyed. I'm a bit of a misanthrope and don't appreciate other impinging on "my" space and solitude. I come to the mountains to get away from folks, not to be with them. But the mountains change people. It infects them with what Kim Stanley Robinson described in a recent Backpacker Magazine article as "crazy love." It's the mystical feeling of pure freedom and boundless joy one has when in the mountains or on the trail. Anyone who hasn't experienced it probably won't understand, but it's almost religious in nature. I realize that sounds hyperbolic, but you see it manifest in people you encounter on the trail. Everyone you come across is happy, friendly, engaging, and helpful. Like you, they are all elated to be out. Nature has unbridled them. It has stripped away the heavy encumbrances put upon them by the rules, regulations, expectations, and responsibilities of the culture. So you get to see folks in their pure, original, blissful state. You can't get that at the local shopping mall.

View West from Kearsarge Pass

Big Pothole Lake


From the pass, the route to Mt. Gould takes you immediately north up a steep Class 2 scree field to the summit. We briefly considered making an attempt, but decided against it as the hour was later than we had anticipated. So we retraced our steps to Onion Valley where the madding crowds in the parking area had dissipated somewhat. It was then a relatively quick drive back to our camp in the Alabama Hills for one more precious night of crackling fire, black skies, and brilliant stars.

Gilbert Lake

Kearsarge Pass Trail

Alabama Hills Camp


Saturday, July 9, 2016

Cottonwood Lakes: Everyone Knows This is Nowhere

Cottonwood Lakes Basin
Maybe I don’t really wanna know
How your garden grows cos I just want to fly
Lately, did you ever feel the pain?
In the morning as its soaks you to the bone

Maybe I just want to fly
I want to live, I don’t want to die
Maybe I just want to breathe
Maybe I just don’t believe
Maybe you’re the same as me
We see things they’ll never see

You and I we’re gonna live forever.
-Live Forever, Oasis

The long weekend was on and the call of the wild was loud so what else could I do? The Cottonwood Lakes area has always had a magnetism to it that I could not resist, so on Saturday afternoon my daughter, a friend, and I all dutifully obeyed the Law of Attraction and made the three hour drive to Lone Pine in search of a high altitude fix. The plan was...well, we didn't really have a plan per se other than to hike into the Cottonwood Lakes. We figured we'd figure out the rest as we went. That lack of planning had always worked out in the past for these types of trips and this one proved to be no exception, despite the fact that it was a holiday weekend.

The temps were uncommonly comfortable and the road surprisingly empty as we made our way north across the barren desertscape. As we passed through the assemblage of odd little roadstops that dot the 395, places like Pearsonville, Coso Junction, Dunmovin, and Cartago all bleached and withering away in the blast furnace heat and wind of the Mojave Desert, we speculated about their origins and laughed out loud about the stories we conjured up, particularly those about Dunmovin. Somewhere Neil Young was singing Everyone Knows This is Nowhere.

In no time it seemed, we arrived on the outskirts of Lone Pine. We hadn't really taken notice of the miles as they passed because we were too engaged in solving the world's problems. With that small task accomplished, we turned our attention to finding accommodations for the night and headed for Tuttle Creek. If that failed us, we'd just find a blank spot to hunker down on somewhere within the sandstone labyrinth that is the the Alabama Hills. Fortunately, there was an open spot at the Tuttle Creek inn, so we grabbed it and set up for the night. There's nothing fancy about Tuttle Creek--a gravelly spot for a tent, a concrete picnic table, a fire ring, and bathroom, all set out under the blistering sun of the Owens River Valley--but it suited our limited purposes. And we were beggars anyway.

After we got situated, we made the short drive to Lone Pine in search of the fabled Los Hermanos taco truck. We found it parked on the north end of town in a dusty lot adjacent to Carl's Jr. and directly across the street from the only other taco truck for miles. As I waited for our order, Chris disappeared across the street to the gas station-cum-convenience store and then returned with a brown bag brimming with brown bottles. Back at Tuttle Creek, we enjoyed tacos and craft beer under an inky black sky splattered with a billion blinking stars and the spilled-milk of the Milky Way.

Alabama Hills
Tuttle Creek Tent Site
Afternoon Clouds
Inyo Mountains
Last Light Along the Eastern Sierra
Under a Blood Red Sky
The next morning, we arose to brilliant alpenglow painting the eastern escarpment of the Sierra. The site is such a commonplace occurrence in these parts that its beauty was almost boring. Deciding that we should probably put some energy into the main purpose of our trip, we quickly tore down camp before the heat index rose too high, and then made our way back to Lone Pine for caffeine and morning vitals to see us through the start of our planned hike.

We ended up at the Lone Star Bistro located along Main Street. I'd been to this place before and vowed never to return because the guy behind the counter was such a horse's ass on my last visit. But time was of the essence (which meant the Alabama Hills Cafe was not on the menu) so I put aside my convictions and gave the place another shot.

A collection of locals, mostly gray-haired and bearded men, was assembled at table chatting and drinking coffee as we entered. The Lone Pine coffee-klatch. Down the street where we parked, a Confederate Flag fluttered in the slight breeze. A friendly chap that I perceived to be the owner greeted us as we entered. Good start. We stood there for a moment looking at the ample offerings displayed out on a chalk-board over the counter and then stepped up to order. There, a stoney-faced woman awaited us oozing rudeness and negativity.

We wanted coffee. And we wanted breakfast sandwiches. But the Medusa behind the counter wouldn't allow us to order them at the same time. She insisted that we order our breakfast sandwiches first, and then our coffee. Ostensibly, this was a time-management thing intended to allow the other poor girl behind the counter to start our order while Ms. Grumpy Gills got our coffee. But getting our coffee consisted of simply handing us a cup so that we could pour our own. Yeah, big time saver that.

Alpenglow
Morning on the Eastside
Light and Shadows
Some Might Say...
Maddie Capturing the Moment
Back on the road, we retraced our drive past Tuttle Creek and began the steep zig-zag up to Horeshoe Meadows and the Cottonwood Lakes trailhead. This is one of the more dramatic mountain roads to pierce the eastern flanks of the Sierra ascending approximately 5,000 feet from the valley floor to an elevation of 10,040 feet at its terminus. Given the fact it was a holiday weekend, the parking area was predictably and completely packed with backpackers and hikers save for one spot right up front that was awaiting us. We obligingly took that one remaining spot, put the cooler in the bear box, and off we went.

The trail here is easy and beautiful and there were a bunch of folks coming out as we went in.
Green, gold, and shade dominate as the path wends its way through a forest of Jeffrey Pine and high altitude meadows. Both South Fork Creek and Cottonwood Creek were flowing nicely and Chris was compelled to stop and get water. Not because he necessarily needed it, but because of the novelty of it all. Living in a state of perpetual drought, we weren't accustomed to seeing running water and felt the need to just drink it all in. Near the water's edge, a few enterprising mosquitoes followed our lead and had a drink of their own.  

Past Golden Trout Camp, where I imagine folks don't sleep on closed-cell foam pads or dine on dehydrated meals, the trail splits. Here, we veered left, crossed Cottonwood Creek, and made the slow climb to the basin. This is the only part of the trail where there is really any gain to speak of, unless of course you continue past the basin to the top of New Army Pass. Wildflowers were still popping and water spilled down the rocky canyon from Lake #1 above.

Golden Trout Wilderness Boundary
South Fork Creek
Chris Tanking Up Along South Fork Creek
Mountain Gargoyle
Maddie Crossing Cottonwood Creek
Cottonwood Creek Spilling Out of Lake 1
Padres Shooting Stars
A short distance later, the trail crests a low rise and Bam!, you're in the basin. I'm always taken by this sudden and arresting change in scenery which compelled us to stop again to admire the stark, mountain tableau which is dominated by 14,000' Mt. Langley.

The blueprint for the day had us exploring all six Cottonwood Lakes. Once in the basin,, however, we decided to investigate Long Lake instead which sits in a shallow bowl just below New Army Pass at an elevation of  11,143 feet. To get there, we stayed on the south side of Lake #1 and followed the well-worn and level path that angles in the direction of Cirque Peak. Along the way, we stopped at scenic Lake #2 where California Golden Trout were literally leaping from the sapphire surface. Just beyond that, the path took us through a massive, treeless rock-pile before re-entering the thin forest. At a lush meadow fed by Long Lake, we followed the main trail which veered left (an obvious use path to the right goes to the north shore of Long Lake) and then crests a small bump. And suddenly we were there.

As a destination to just hang out and absorb the high country, the south side of Long Lake is not optimal. It's a bit marshy and spongy and is better suited for fishing (which a couple of anglers were doing). The north side of the lake it turns out appears superior for those types of lazy activities. But that didn't deter us. We'd come too far to be stymied. So we lolly-gagged along the shore for a spell in the bright Sierra sun and ate our lunches. We had pretty much talked ourselves out on the way in, so we sat in silence now, each of us lost for awhile in our own thoughts and world.

A far too short of a time later, it was time to go. But we were reluctant. We wanted to stay because, well we wanted to be in this place, this moment, forever. And besides, we were feeling the sluggish effects of a lunch-induced food coma. But it was time to go so we went. On the way out, we stopped again along the shore of lovely Lake #2 so I could play Golden Trout in the icy waters in my skivvies to the great embarrassment of my trail companions, I'm sure. Suitably refreshed, it was then just an easy, but long walk back to the trailhead so that we could make the hard and long drive back to reality.

Cottonwood Lakes Basin with Mt. Langley in Rearground
Cottonwood Lake #2
Cottonwood Lake #2
Rock Field at 11,000'
Chris Ascending to Long Lake
Beautiful Wood
Meadow Below Long Lake
Maddie at Long Lake
Long Lake