Skip to main content

Sierra Reflections 2013

Brendan on Buick Rock
Ker-Plop! Was the dismal sound I heard surrounded by the rushing waters of the trout stream in the High Sierras, as my Coolpix digital camera sank to the bottom of the river. “Grab it quick, take the battery out, dry it off the best you can” shouted my fishing companion above the roaring waters. Immediately, I reached into the icy cold, crystal clear waters, grabbed the camera before it was washed away in the rushing current. The date, Friday, August 23, 2013. Our Sierra trips were as much about photography as they were about hiking, camping, and exploring. Now all I could think was, Damn! - So much for taking pictures on this trip. We had just arrived for our four day mountain adventure at Parchers Resort west of Bishop California at an elevation of 9,200 feet.

Undaunted, we made plans to hike to Bishop Lake (elevation 11,128 feet) and establish a base-camp. This adventure began at the trailhead access point near South Lake (9,750 feet). However, today, we needed to acclimate to the high altitude; our first night was spent in relative luxury. The cabin at Parchers was well equipped with comfortable beds and a shower, stove, and flush toilets. We were only one and a half mile from the wilderness trailhead access point. The fishing excursion (where I dunked the camera) had provided dinner - fresh rainbow trout that Brendan cooked up on our cabin stove. The next morning we enjoyed a hearty breakfast provided by the Resort, packed and by 9:30 a.m. began our trek up the mountain. Curiously, after breakfast, I noticed the lens had retracted into the camera body. Hmmm, maybe there was still life in this camera after all. With a flicker of hope, I tried turning it on - nothing, oh well - let’s move on.

The trail to Bishop Pass from South Lake rises in a series of granite benches. Nestled in the meadows were a succession of pristine mountain lakes (Hurd, Long, Saddlerock, and Timberlake Tarns). The placement of the tiered lakes which were connected by rushing water falls, was the result of a former glacier, natures dramatic landscape architect. Skies were deep blue and crystal clear. Initially, our backpacks felt heavy. However, months of training had paid off, my breathing was steady, no gasping for air in the high elevation. The peaceful sound of running water, the buffeting winds murmured through the trees, pause for a deep breath, and the crisp aroma of the pines. Ah, summer in the Sierras - nature was once again our companion. We were free from the bonds of civilization. Detached, independent, creatures like the wildlife that inhabited the meadows, streams, and lakes. Our ascent was steady and by 2:30 p.m. we had reached our base camp at the foot of Mount Goode. “That was surprising easy,” I commented to Brendan. We spent the afternoon establishing camp, a nap in the warm sun, and fishing. The trout fishing was superb, dinner yet again, with delicious fresh trout.

. . . “Water’s boiling - you awake, some hot tea?” It was our third day in the mountains, 6:30 am, the winds were howling. From our campsite, the view of the craggy ole’ peaks framing the lake was spectacular. We had discussed climbing to a granite outcropping, a huge vertical rock formation, that from our vantage point looked like a circa 1940s Buick hood ornament. We affectionately named it Buick Rock. This adventure would take us up-and-over Bishop Pass and along the dividing ridge between Inyo National Forest and Kings Canyon National Park, an elevation of over 12,000 feet.

 “Check your camera, is it working? And be sure to pack your Ten Essentials.” said Brendan. We had placed my Coolpix camera on a rock, in the sun, with hopes the high elevation, dry air, and heat from sun would completely dry it out.

“No such luck – this camera is dead,” I replied.

We made our way up the switchbacks to the pinnacle of Bishop Pass. With Brendan's camera we were able to photograph some scenes of the valley below, it was an absolutely breathtaking sight. 
My Sketch

 With a renewed respect my thoughts turned to John Muir, who had explored many ares of these very mountain passes. “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.” During Muir’s time (late 1800s) he would capture this beauty through sketches, so with some trepidation I include my "sketched" memory.

If you’re wondering whatever happened to that camera, well, our last night in camp we set out to photograph the the alpenglow of the peaks. With one last desperate attempt I hit the "on" switch and miraculously the camera came to life - the lens extended and the display lit-up, I could not believe it. Miracles do happen. We spent a quiet evening traversing Bishop Lake capturing the majesty of the peaks that cradled our valley.

Today, as I reflect on this Sierra adventure I’m reminded, once again, of what John Muir so eloquently stated, “Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.”

 Ker-Plop!
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Most Popular of All Time

A Mother’s Day Reflection

With Mother’s Day here and the world bustling with cards, brunches, and busy schedules, I find myself reflecting on something a bit simpler: taking a moment to remember the person who helped shape my earliest sense of home. Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom. We arrived in Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition whose enormity I only fully appreciate now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped into Midwestern life with remarkable courage. Her smile could warm the coldest Illinois morning, and her hugs lingered long after she let go—quiet reminders that you were deeply loved. Born February 16, 1934, the third of four children, she grew up in Nazi-occupied La Rochelle. As kids, we listened wide-eyed to stories of soldiers patrolling her streets and fear shadowing everyday life. Yet she carried none of that darkness forward. What endured was resilience and an unwavering devotion to family—qualities she carried across the Atlantic and planted firmly in C...
1 comment
Read more

That Fateful Four-Letter Word

In this episode, A Masterclass in Efficiency. For nearly four months, the western border of our property has stood as a living monument to determination, dubious planning, and forensic-level lumber acquisition. Since February, our neighbor Steve has been conducting what can only be described as a masterclass in deliberate calculation. This was never going to be one of those slick home-improvement shows where a cheerful pair of men installs a fence between commercial breaks, sipping lemonade. No. This was real life in retirement. We scaled the vertical wilderness of our hillside. We mixed concrete with the precision of medieval alchemists. We bled, we sweated, and we fought hand-to-hand with a buried tree stump that had the structural integrity of a Cold War bunker. By this week—May 16th, for those keeping score—the glorious end was finally within reach. The fence stood proudly, the line was straight, and victory practically hummed in the air. Only one major task remained: installing t...
Post a Comment
Read more

Truth for Sale

This episode is inspired  by Elton John & Bernie Taupin On Memorial Day, I took my first bike ride  since the accident , seeking proof that my legs, lungs, and nerves still remembered the road. The morning air carried that familiar Southern California mix of ocean haze, exhaust, eucalyptus, and sun-baked asphalt. My tires hummed across pavement I’ve ridden for years. Somewhere between the steady click of the chain and the rhythm of my breathing, Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s The Captain and the Kid found its way into my ears. There’s a strange kind of magic when the cadence of a ride syncs perfectly with a song you know by heart. Suddenly, the music and lyrics stop being background noise and become a lens. And through that lens, the road started talking. I've been cycling on this road some, Can't help feeling I've been showing my friends around. I've seen it grow from next to nothing, To a giant eatin’ up our town. Called up the tealeaves and the tarots, Asked the...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Giants We Chase

In this episode, The Gleam Within We grow up steeped in fairy tales and grand mythologies. From a young age, we are taught to scan the horizon for the hero—the knight, the savior, the titan who will arrive to make sense of the world. We marvel at the mountains' beauty and nature's majesty, yet, as the old wisdom goes, "we pass over the mystery of ourselves without a single thought." I remember being the little guy from a small town in rural Illinois, looking up at the world and seeing only Giants. I would listen to Earl Nightingale’s Our Changing World broadcasts, mesmerized by the towering figures of success and intellect he described. When you feel small, you naturally seek out those Giants for a glimpse of their light—hoping some of it might rub off on you, preferably without having to do whatever it was they did to earn it. In 1985, while I was earning my G.G. credential, I met Richard T. Liddicoat, the Patriarch of GIA. To everyone in the industry, he was the Fat...
Post a Comment
Read more