My, my, hey, hey
Rock and roll is here to stay
It's better to burn out
Than to fade away
My, my, hey, hey
~Out of the Blue, Neil Young (Rust Never Sleeps)
I'd been thinking about the Sierra and how I hadn't gotten a trip in this summer. And it was bumming me out. The southern Sierra is a relatively easy weekend, but somehow I'd allowed summer to slip into fall while my overnight gear sat unused in the closet. Now, Pacific Standard Time with its short days, cold nights, and long hours of darkness was on the horizon. Opportunity was fading away. It was time to act.
So last Friday afternoon, I stole away from the office early and started for Lone Pine with plans to explore the lakes of the North Fork of Big Pine Creek. This drainage holds the Palisades Glacier, the largest in the Sierra Nevada. Glacial powder from this melting icy giant is reputed to turn the Big Pine Lakes a striking turquoise. I needed to see that.
But of course, the world conspired against me first and did it best to prevent that from happening. October is fire season in Southern California and as if on cue, a wind-whipped conflagration broke out in the hills above Santa Clarita promptly closing down the 14 freeway to both north and southbound traffic. But, as Donkey said in Shrek, "Never fear! Where there's a will, there's a way. And I have a way." That way involved traveling north on the 5 and then east on the 138 to the ultimate junction with the 14 in Lancaster. Then it was business as usual along the lonely desert highway all the way into Lone Pine.
When camping in the Alabama Hills, I'm always immediately drawn to Tuttle Creek. Candidly, it's not that spectacular of a place, but it has everything I want and need. And for some reason the place just seems to embrace me. I'm at peace there and always sleep really well when I camp there.
We pulled in as the last light faded from the horizon and were a bit surprised to see the place packed to the gills. Who knew that late October was high season in the southern Sierra? We grabbed one of the few remaining spots, set up camp in the dark, and then started a fire. The night was clear, cool, and pleasant. A million stars twinkled and the Milky Way splashed across the ink black sky.
The next morning we headed north fueled by large cups of caffeine courtesy of McDonald's. Say what you will about the ubiquitous fast food giant, but their coffee is always hot, tasty, and inexpensive. 40 minutes or so later, we turned west on Crocker Avenue (which becomes Glacier Lodge Road) in Big Pine and awhile thereafter arrived at the trailhead adjacent to Glacier Lodge. Along the road, we scared up a couple of handsome deer out for breakfast who viewed us suspiciously before bounding off into the underbrush.
We were now in the midst of the dying. All around us the end of season and the imminence of winter was on full display. From the floor of the Owens Valley, you only catch a glimpse of the colors of death. But here, up canyon at 8,200', you're enveloped in the vibrant reds, warm oranges, brilliant yellows, and muted browns of the changing seasons. There's no escaping it. Here, you can literally smell the vegetation as it decays. Here, you can feel life slipping away. It's a full-body sensory experience.
As we climbed into the drainage, the scenery gradually returned to the familiar stone gray and ever green of the Sierra. The path into the basin parallels the North Fork of Big Pine Creek that was still coursing strongly late into the season. At about the 10,000' contour, we crested a rocky prominence and were gobsmacked by the stunning emerald beauty of Lake 1. Further up-trail, Lake 2 did the same thing to us. We thought about stopping to just absorb what we were already seeing, but the drugs had taken hold. We were now Big Pine lake junkies in need of more. So we pushed on toward Lakes 4 and 5.
That decision proved worth the effort. Lake 5, set as it is against the backdrop of towering Two Eagle Peak, was an idyllic and scenic spot to have a snack and rejuvenate in the warm, late-season sunshine. Physically and spiritually fulfilled, we then retraced our steps back to the the golden trailhead as the shadows got long and the light began to dim. In the car again, we drove down canyon out of the blue and into the black as the final sputterings of day disappeared with the sun behind the darkened Sierra crest.
My, my, hey, hey.
When camping in the Alabama Hills, I'm always immediately drawn to Tuttle Creek. Candidly, it's not that spectacular of a place, but it has everything I want and need. And for some reason the place just seems to embrace me. I'm at peace there and always sleep really well when I camp there.
We pulled in as the last light faded from the horizon and were a bit surprised to see the place packed to the gills. Who knew that late October was high season in the southern Sierra? We grabbed one of the few remaining spots, set up camp in the dark, and then started a fire. The night was clear, cool, and pleasant. A million stars twinkled and the Milky Way splashed across the ink black sky.
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We were now in the midst of the dying. All around us the end of season and the imminence of winter was on full display. From the floor of the Owens Valley, you only catch a glimpse of the colors of death. But here, up canyon at 8,200', you're enveloped in the vibrant reds, warm oranges, brilliant yellows, and muted browns of the changing seasons. There's no escaping it. Here, you can literally smell the vegetation as it decays. Here, you can feel life slipping away. It's a full-body sensory experience.
For we humans, death and dying is generally an ugly, morose, and sad affair. We don't know how to do it with style. Not so the Aspen, Alder, Maple, Oak, Birch, Willow, and Cottonwood. They do not go gentle into the good night. They rage against the dying of the light as Dylan Thomas taught. Summoning all they have left, they go out in one final and exuberant explosion of glory and beauty. Oh to be like them.
As we climbed into the drainage, the scenery gradually returned to the familiar stone gray and ever green of the Sierra. The path into the basin parallels the North Fork of Big Pine Creek that was still coursing strongly late into the season. At about the 10,000' contour, we crested a rocky prominence and were gobsmacked by the stunning emerald beauty of Lake 1. Further up-trail, Lake 2 did the same thing to us. We thought about stopping to just absorb what we were already seeing, but the drugs had taken hold. We were now Big Pine lake junkies in need of more. So we pushed on toward Lakes 4 and 5.
That decision proved worth the effort. Lake 5, set as it is against the backdrop of towering Two Eagle Peak, was an idyllic and scenic spot to have a snack and rejuvenate in the warm, late-season sunshine. Physically and spiritually fulfilled, we then retraced our steps back to the the golden trailhead as the shadows got long and the light began to dim. In the car again, we drove down canyon out of the blue and into the black as the final sputterings of day disappeared with the sun behind the darkened Sierra crest.
My, my, hey, hey.
