Category Archives: Travel

My 70th birthday trip over Mono Pass and down Mono Creek: part 3

California, Camping, Sierras, Travel

(For part1, go here; for part 2, go here)

Tuesday morning, everybody slept in. Except for me, that is. I got up when I woke up at about 7 and watched the sun light up the bright granite faces across the valley from our camp and down into the valley that we would be hiking through in the next couple of days.

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As the sun got higher, it started coming through the trees, highlighting and backlighting patches of flowers and grasses. I wandered around like a kid in a candy shop.

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Our original plan had been to move our camp down valley the first day and then explore from there. But we had an excellent camp and, as we talked about it, explored a little, and looked at our maps alot; staying right where we were became a better idea. We were above 10,000 feet which meant we couldn't have a fire, but the campsite had lots of flat places to sleep, few mosquitoes, and no dreaded deer flies which we were told we would find further down canyon.

The plan became to stay here, take it easy, and wander down to the Fourth Recess Lake – about 1/2 mile away and down 500 feet – for a mid-day lunch.

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After hanging out for a while and exploring a little – very little – around the Fourth Recess, it was time to go back to camp. This was our second day we ended it by doing a little laundry. 

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My 70th birthday trip over Mono Pass and down Mono Creek: part 2

California, Camping, Photography, Travel

(For part 1, go here)

I have not hiked extensively anywhere but the Sierras – I have hiked a little in the Andes (Peru), the Atlas Mountains (Morocco), The Alps (Switzerland), and the Canadian Rockies – but I am still convinced nothing compares to the Range of Light as John Muir called the Sierra Nevadas.

Most mountain ranges, including all of the ones above except the Sierras, are sedimentary rock, layers of brown or reddish- brown rock, lifted up and then eroded by glaciers or water. The Sierras are different, at least, the core of the Sierras; they are bright, almost white, granite. Gleaming towers of pure granite; meadows lined with glacial polished granite; with giant erratics left behind by the retreated glaciers. All in what is essentially a very high desert. It is intoxicating.

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And, as we went over Mono Pass, we were all pretty much intoxicated. The rock was almost white and the sky was dark blue; we had miles to go to get down into the valley, but lots of time.

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Time to look at the wildflowers that were blooming in the high spring, time to take a dip in Trail Lake, or just relax.

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But, with all the intoxication and all the time, we didn't get camp setup until late and finished cooking dinner in the dark. Tired and happy campers.

   

My 70th birthday trip over Mono Pass and down Mono Creek: part 1

California, Camping, Mono Pass, Photography, Sierras, Travel

Sometime during the last year, I decided to celebrate my 70th birthday with a trans-Sierra hike. I am not sure how, or why, I came up with this scheme, but I did. Now we are back and I am whooped, but I am still glad I came up with the idea. It did turn out to be more logistically difficult and a harder hike, for me, than I originally expected.

Part of the difficulty was that the leaving and arriving trailheads are six to seven hours apart and part of it was that, after going over the pass, the runout on the westside – for me – was still a three day walk. I am still pretty stiff and sore. But, and it is a huge BUT, the trip was very worth it.

When we Googled the fastest way from ,the west trailhead to the east trailhead, Google took us through Yosemite Valley. That just didn't seem right. Through Yosemite Valley on a Saturday, on a free weekend – that just couldn't be the fastest way. When we finally got past the denial stage to the grief stage, we knew we were in trouble. But, when we got to the tunnel view at sunset, we pretty much felt we had lucked out. 

This was the place, after all, immortalized by Ansel Adams.

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When we got there, the other lucky tourists were all, in the perfect light, taking pictures.

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When, Ansel took his picture, he must have waited hours for the right light. Standing there with a huge 8×10 camera on a sturdy tripod, a light-proof cloth over his head. We just blew through. Drove up, walked to the edge, stuck the camera in roughly the right direction, and then got back into the car and drove away. It seems both slightly cheap in the ease and liberating at the same time. The digital age is a whole new photographic ballgame. So to speak.

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*     *     *     *     *     *     *

 There were five of us on the trip and I started early, Monday, morning, walking the first part of the trial with a friend and, then, alone.

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The trail is gorgeous, leaving Mosquito Flat and slowly working up towards the pass. As we walked, we spread out along the trial and then gathered for lunch just before the final push towards the pass.

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To get an idea of the scale of the area, double click on the pic below. The small dots are members of our group.

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I say final push, I think for everybody else it was a stroll and , for me, it was slow but not that hard. After the pass, we started down – duh! – and met up again at the very high, very barren,  Summit Lake.

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From there we dropped into the Mono Creek drainage. The canyon, or valley – certainly not a canyón – opened up below us. Continued here.  


Happy 4th….redux

Americana, Current Affairs, Photography, Travel

On the 4th I went to what seemed like my first, small town, 4th Of July parade. But, upon reflection, it was really my second 4th of July parade: my first was a parade in Downieville, California in 1957. I don't remember much about that parade except that, afterwards, I was eliminated – in the second heat – in the town footraces.

My second, small town, parade was in Sonoma. It was very small town. It was much fun, and, I hope, it will be as long before I go to my third, small town, parade. I don't know what I expected, certainly not the Rose Parade, but something more than what we got. Maybe not more, different. I don't mean to knock the parade, but I do want to say that it was more charming looking back at it than standing in the hot sun looking at it.

I kept thinking how the parade reflected California and, more specifically, Northern California, and how much different – and the same – it would be if we were watching an Iowa small town parade.

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What I didn't expect, but should have, is that most of the floats were by service groups, promoting their causes. This one, by a mentoring group, was typical.
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What I did expect was that lots of groups used somebody's car to promote their group.

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I was a little surprised that there were so few Mexican entries. Maybe not Sonoma proper, but the Sonoma area must be primarily Mexican – it is a farming community after all, even if the farming is mostly grapes for wine.

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A couple of great looking draft horses turned into riding horses.

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It wouldn't be a California parade without atleast one dragon.

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This grandfather and his two grandkids representing nothing more than their family, charmed me.

 

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I am not sure what the deal was with these zombies and their dollar truck – and if anyone has an idea, I would love to hear it – but I did think they were great fun. 

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And they were a contrast to the fuzzy puppy (Bichon) entry.

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Of course, I expected veterans, but is still a shock when the veterans turn out to be young kids from a war we are still fighting and not some old guys from WWII. This particular vet, I think the only one in the parade, was almost a parody. 

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I had come to get a picture of a fire-engine with flags, but we had to wait until the end of the parade.

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Maybe they are at the end because – in small towns all over America – everybody has come to see the
fire-engines with flags.

 

Running late to the Smoke Creek and beyond and back – really

Americana, Photography, Travel

The plan was to high-tail back to Mike and Linda's. Mike had said that the big mine, that we had visited in the morning, was about 2 1/2 hours away from their place. But we were a little further afield, going back the long way, and would probably stop more; so I was estimating about 3 1/2 hours. It took us more than four hours. But there was lots to see on the way: clumps of rye grass and mallows, Indian paintbrush with some very delicate pink flowers, morning glories, more antelopes, vistas, more road.

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We stopped for a late lunch along Applegate Trail – where Michele made sandwiches which we ate, hiding from the wind, on the lee side of the truck.

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An aside. The Applegate is the southern route of the Oregon Trail where the first wagon train came through in 1846. It  became a busy road with 3500 settlers passing through in 1853. Sixteen years later, it was mote. The country was connected by railroad the continent could be crossed in five or six days – sitting down. Twenty nine years later, my grandparents came to the United States from Europe, and kept going until they got to San Francisco.

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End aside. 

Finally we came to the Blackrock Desert, the biggest playa of all, and
we knew we were getting close to having a beer in Mike and Linda's
backyard with a great view of the Smoke Creek playa.

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We had alot of road to travel, so we said our goodbyes and drove south through the darkening desert complaining about the lousy light. At the very souther end of the Smoke Creek, as we were going over the pass, the sun finally came out to give us a farewell display. (Like all wide formate shots, double clickable.)

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