“Oh NO, not again!”
In this episode, Sierra Reflections 2024 . . .
This was my immediate and pressing thought as I squirmed in my camp chair at Trout Lake in the Eastern Sierra. A glance at my watch–4:45 a.m. on day three, Tuesday, October 1, 2024, of this year's Sierra adventure. There was no time to waste. Stumbling through the dark with my headlamp, “Hurry–gotta find that spot to dig yet another hole.” Without getting too graphic, it was day two of the “trots”– a colloquial expression for diarrhea. But let's start from the beginning . . .
Fall has arrived, bringing crisp, refreshing air carrying the scent of pine and fallen leaves. The lakes shimmer with a golden glow, reflecting the changing colors of the sky.
Though still imposing, the Sierra Mountains are softened by the warm colors of autumn. Once stark and forbidding, the granite slopes are now sprinkled with a mantle of golden leaves. The atmosphere is peaceful and tranquil as nature prepares for winter slumber. It was late Sunday afternoon, around 5:00 p.m., and the trailhead parking was nearly empty.
“This never happens. Let’s park here; we can stay at this campground, " said my hiking partner, Brendan.
That first night, we camped at Mosquito Flats, a walk-in campground at 10,100 feet. Although there was still some daylight, the shadows covered the campsite. We were the only campers in the entire camp, which had ten campsites. We pitched our tents near Rock Creek and enjoyed the sound of the mountain stream as we settled in for the night. Camping in late September tends to be colder at night than we are used to.
That night was not restful; it was cold, I was restless, and I experienced nothing approaching sleep. The following day, however, we fixed breakfast, broke camp, and hit the trail, our backpacks fully loaded.
“What a glorious day,” baby blue, crystal clear skies, a slight breeze, beautiful panoramic vistas. The hike was about four miles long and took approximately three hours, with an elevation gain of about 515 feet. We were convinced we had an advantage because we parked at the trailhead–10,000 feet–explaining why the Little Lakes Valley trail is popular among day hikers.
Brendan suggested, "Let's make our way to Long Lake and see if we can find a side trail to Treasure Lakes that’s not on the Topo Map.”
I’ll admit that during this adventure, I encountered challenges due to discomfort in my left knee. This forced me to move slower. I needed to focus on the irregular terrain to avoid damaging my knee further. Every footfall was a difficult one; I had difficulty breathing and low energy levels. But hey! We’re in the mountains, and once we acclimate to the elevation, we'll feel fine and ready for an adventure!
Despite this, I took frequent breaks, which allowed me to chat with other hikers and appreciate the beauty of the surroundings while letting my knee recover. I wondered, "Was this a reflection of age or a passing setback?"
After thinking about what might have been wrong, I researched Altitude Sickness, or Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS), to prepare this blog post. I discovered this condition occurs when the body is stressed and has difficulty adjusting to lower oxygen levels at high altitudes. Some symptoms of AMS include headaches, diarrhea, fatigue, loss of appetite, and difficulty sleeping. Anyway . . .
When we mercifully arrived at Long Lake, I was utterly worn out. Every step was excruciating, and I could not understand why I was so exhausted; this had never happened to me before. So, I had to admit to Brendan, "There is no way I’m going to make it to Treasure Lakes. Do you see any possible sites here at Long Lakes?”
We threw our packs to the ground, and Brendan went ahead to scout possible sites. When he returned, the look on his face said it all–nothing.
“Nothing this way, but according to the Topo map, if we return to the main trail– see these contour lines between those two peaks. There’s a lake not named on the map not far from here. The contour lines indicate an elevation drop, and this lake might be a good option.”
“Okay, let's do it," I said nervously.
By this time, putting the heavy backpack on was a mighty task.
Brendon once again took the initiative to scout potential campsites while I plodded behind.
We arrived at “Trout Lake”–as we named it—and found it completely deserted. This lake was surrounded by tall peaks and had a distinctive bowl-like shape. The weather was serene, with clear blue skies and no wind disturbing the lake's mirror-like surface. We pitched camp with an outstanding view of the lake, surrounded by beautiful pines, craggy old bare trees, and sheer cliffs behind us. It was magical.
Then it happened–Oh, no–I’ve gotta go, something fierce!
“You go ahead and fish. I’ll join you in a bit.”
. . . The evening sun cast a warm, golden glow across the serene lake as I stood at the tranquil water's edge. You could see the trout rising with a casual, unhurried confidence of fish who have it good, know it, and think they deserve it. With a graceful flick of the wrist, I cast my spinning reel, the line slicing through the air like a silver ribbon.
Across the water, I noticed Brendan capturing the picturesque scene through his camera lens. Suddenly, the peaceful scene was shattered as the line jammed, sending me into a frustrating battle with the tangled mess beneath the spool, which had become tightly wrapped around the spinning reel's axle. After a prolonged struggle, I reluctantly cut the line, resigning myself to the fact that I would have to start afresh with a new rig to resume fishing. I trudged back up to the campsite.
Then it happened again–Oh, no–“I’ve gotta go!”
“How many can you eat,” he asked.
“Just one. I’m not hungry.”
Now, here’s where Brendan's expertise shines. Once we set up tents, he analyzes the campsite and picks a perfect location for “the kitchen.” It's a spot away from the tents–flat–where we can cook meals and then sit back and explore the night sky without obstructions.
Those who have never experienced the High Elevation Sierras at night are in for a glorious sight. On a clear, moonless night at over 10,000 feet in the High Sierras, the sky is a sight to behold. The thin and crisp air allows for exceptional stargazing conditions. The sky looks vast and inky black, with countless stars twinkling brightly. The Milky Way galaxy stretches across the heavens from horizon to horizon like a luminous band of stardust, with its millions of stars seemingly within reach. Constellations like Orion and the Big Dipper are easily recognizable, with their familiar patterns standing out against the backdrop of countless stars. The sky is so dark that even the faintest celestial objects, such as distant galaxies and nebulae, are visible to the naked eye. It's an awe-inspiring experience that leaves you feeling small and connected to the vastness of the universe.
But once again, it got cold; it must have been in the thirties. We crawled into our tents again to warm up in our sleeping bags. The following day, our tents were frosty.
. . . It was 4:45 a.m., day three, Tuesday, October 1, 2024. One of the most satisfying experiences of being in the high Sierras is that early morning on a clear day, you will see darkness gradually change to light and witness the Alpenglow.
The towering peaks seem to rise from a sea of color, their jagged outlines etched against the vibrant sky. It's a sight that is both awe-inspiring and humbling, a testament to the beauty and power of nature.
To capture this phenomenon, I made my way around the lake's edges at about 6:00 a.m. from different vantage points, yet another unexpected benefit (among many) of camping in the High Sierra.
However, reality had set in. Once Brendan awoke, I had to confess my lack of sleep, prolonged knee pain, and energy drain from every activity.
“I hate to ask this, but I need to return to lower elevation while I still can. Everything I do is a struggle.”
“When do you want to leave,” he asked.
“Not until later this afternoon; I’m afraid it will take a while to pack my gear. You go on your day hike to scout out Treasure Lakes; while you're gone, I’ll pack my gear and be ready to go when you return.”
“Ok, sounds good. I should be back around Noon.”
Three hours later, almost precisely at noon, Brendan strolled back into camp just as I had completed the long, arduous task of packing my gear. This process usually takes 30 to 45 minutes. We had lunch, once again donned our packs, and headed towards the car.
At the time, I did not realize that altitude sickness was probably the cause of my inability to perform at a high level. In this post, I’ve tried to illustrate the importance of listening to your common sense to safely embark on any wilderness adventure and ensure you do not have to be air-lifted out by helicopter. If injured, you twist an ankle, pass out, or cannot walk—because there is no other way, my friends.
While trekking slowly down that mountain, I could not help but wonder how John Muir did it. Plus, he always documented the glorious nature of visiting the mountains.
With this trip, I’m again reminded of nature's potential: exquisite solitude, exhilarating experiences, a beautiful companion, and the delight of discovery, yet contrasted with the harsh reality of survival.
"Oh YES, I will go back again!"
But next time, spend the first night at a lower elevation to acclimate to the Eastern Sierra's high altitude.
I’m Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. I'll see you in the next episode.
Comments