Content

In the midst of the social and civil unrest, and despite my complete agreement with both #BlackLivesMatter and #FreeCalifornia, I set off for a Kit Essential Mental Break; hitting the road with Beagle for four nights to the one place I always feel completely free, the mountains.

And so we returned to the Eastern Sierra’s; a rare Springtime trip as we usually visit in the Fall.  This time it is Opus and I alone, River having grown too old to hike or handle weather over 75 degrees--both of which we had in spades.  But first we had to get here.

No easy task in the courage department as many campgrounds are still closed (as of this writing—many are due to open next week); I figured at the worst I could camp on BLM land and knew this area has plenty of it.   However, lack of a campground is really my second fear, the first, and I am sure many of my readers who tow trailers will agree, is backing up.  Combining the fear of finding a locked gate after pulling down an unknown road with having to back up that unknown road, it is a wonder I managed to leave Morro Bay at all.

On the drive up I needed a lunch break and was cruising up the beautiful Highway 178, glancing over at Kern River, trying to find a parking lot that I could circle through.  I believed I spotted one about halfway, I slowed down until I could determine that there was a way to pull through the parking lot via a narrow circle, and so turned into the lot.  What I failed to notice were the trees hanging down over one side of the narrow turnaround; there was no way Beagle would fit under those branches.  (Like a lot of our county, city, state, and national parks, this area was long overdue for some TLC—something likely to only get worse the longer we stay shut down—you think we had budget problems before.  Whoops, drifted back into #FreeCalifornia.) 

So there I was, nose first into a single lane of parked cars with no way to pull through and around.  Jumped right to Fear #1, although worse, as I contemplated having to back out of the parking lot and onto Highway 178.

But then, glory be, two cars pulled out allowing me enough space to attempt a 5,000 point turnaround.  I couldn’t get it to happen, was practically jack-knifed while impatient cars were piling up behind me (it was slightly over 100 degrees outside; everyone wanted a piece of that river.)  Eventually I had to face the fact that, if I was to ever leave this parking lot, I would have to drive Wurzig over a curb.

Ahh, memories of Bass Lake returned, backing up, hitting a rock, flat tire.  But having no choice, I slowly pushed Wurzig up and over the curb, Beagle following closely behind.  We made it out.  Eventually I did manage to park near the river, get out and enjoy Luciano’s Duck a l’Orange at the water’s edge.

You may be able to imagine my trepidation as, hours later, I turned down unknown road after unknown road to find Tuttle Creek Campground.  I didn’t know for sure it was open; would the gate be locked?  Would I be forced to back up?

Delightfully, the gate was unlocked and the campground mostly empty; I reviewed it on Campendium if you want more information.  I liked my pitch so much I immediately decided to stay all four nights and settled in knowing I didn’t have to worry about where I was camping for the rest of this trip.

It had been a long, hot day and it was still over ninety degrees at the campground, Opus and I were wilting.  So after a short walk, a short shower and cold dinners, we settled under the shade of our tree (rare in the campground), me with my Pelegrino and camp chair, Opus with his dreams and the dirt.

And we were content. 

But you know me well enough by now to know that I couldn’t leave it at that:  I had to think about what it took to be content; it was a feeling I had been lacking for so long it felt like a new discovery.  I Googled the definition and enjoyed musing over the philosophical/logical option: “…the sum of the attributes or notions comprised in a given conception; the substance or matter of cognition.” 

Because, you know, there is content as in, “I feel content” and then there is content as in, “This blog is full of circumspect content.”

After playing with this notion for a few long hikes, I decided that, for me, being content means that all my senses are satisfied (taste of dinner, feel of the breeze, sound of the frog, site of the mountains, touch of Opus’ nose) and my being is safe; take away the ability to feel physically safe and contentment disappears.  And now we are back to #BlackLivesMatter.  Imagine not being able to feel safe around those who are supposed to save you.

***

I haven’t spent time this far south on Highway 395 in about a decade so the opportunity to explore new trails had me up and packing early for two days.  (The third day, today, finds me weary from hiking above 10,000’ feet and wanting shelter from the fierce wind that has set it.)

Friday’s hike was intended to be to Golden Trout Lakes but, after talking it over with a fellow hiker on the way up, I veered off to the left towards Kearsarge Pass.  It was a mostly cloudy day although the scenery was still inspiring.  Most notable were the sounds on the way up:  The trail wound over hills between two valleys both of which had their own waterfall.  As you hike, you hear one waterfall behind you, then a few minutes of quiet as you round the hill before the waterfall in front of you sends over its pillow of sound.  I thought to myself, “Christo would have figured out how to make that sound visible.”  Earth will miss that man who made us see things by covering them up.

The snow began falling at 3.5 miles—never made to the pass, we were about 1.5 miles short of it.  I sheltered under a tree to see if the squall would blow through and allow us to continue, but the look Opus shot at me quelled any thought of waiting it out.  We headed down.  A little over seven miles total since, as is the case with “hiking with Kit”, there was a point at which I lost my way.  But not as badly as Saturday.

For Saturday’s hike I drove up to Bishop and headed out to Treasure Lakes in the John Muir Wilderness.  It was 80 degrees in Bishop, 45 at the trailhead and felt like 20 below at the lake.  But what a gorgeous place!  I think I wrote of Lamarck Lakes last year that it was my favorite but this set a new bar.  (It is the picture at the top of the blog.)  Unfortunately, despite the sunshine, we did not last long at the top; the wind was too biting.  Just long enough to eat while huddled in every bit of clothing I brought.  I forgot how cold it can get that far up.

It is a great hike, lots of up, obviously, but a little up and down which is nice on the legs.  During the return, I was just cruising along the trail when I came to a dead end:  I was on top of a giant mound of boulders looking down, down, down at South Lake.  Clearly no longer on the trail.  There was no way I was scampering down through the boulders with a pack and a terrier, although I felt quite sure the trail was below me.  Then it dawned on me that I could look at my Garmin (hello?).  While fishing it out, I was joined by two other hikers, equally lost.  So at least I knew it wasn’t just me.  Garmin indicated that the trail was actually above us, not below us, by about 500’.  So the three of us turned around and clambered our way back up.  Sure enough, there it was, plain as day.  We laughed and wondered just where we went wrong.

What should have been a five-mile hike turned into just over six. 

On the drive back to Lone Pine, I stopped at Copper Top BBQ, purchased a half rack of ribs, only ¾ of which made it back to Beagle.  That, my friends, is why God created rest areas.

-K