Mountains for Meteors

Multiple posts on Facebook about the upcoming Perseid meteor shower proved to be the push I needed to finally get out to the mountains.  I'd been wanting to go for some time, but was nervous about going solo.  After weeks (well, at least one) of scanning maps, I settled on a loop in the Emigrant Wilderness.  It incorporated several segments I had done previously as day-hikes based out of Pinecrest, greatly upping the perceived security.  As the 2013 Perseids were expected to peak Monday pre-dawn, the plan was to leave Sunday morning, stop at the Summit Ranger Station to pick up my wilderness permit, park at Crabtree Trailhead, and hike up to Y-Meadows dam.



For various (mostly mental) reasons, I wasn't prepared to leave on Sunday, so postponed departure until Monday.  Traffic wasn't bad, and I made it in good time, though ruing my failure to first fix my air conditioner.  Didn't hit the trail until 4:30 or so, and suffered more than expected under the weight of my pack (32lbs, according to my bathroom scale), so stopped early at Chewing Gum Lake.  On the way up I met a few groups, the first consisting of four firefighters returning from putting out a rogue campfire
at Y-Meadows.  As I write this, slightly to the South the Rim Fire burns 80% uncontained, it's hard to understand what possesses someone to ignore the fire bans currently in effect.

Chewing Gum Lake, volume much reduced by recent years of drought:


Dropped my pack and let Allie swim for a bit while setting up a cook area, then searching for a campsite.



Fumbled through my camp chores, made dinner, discovered that I forgotten to pack a spoon.  Nevermind, dinner was soup.  Drank it out of the cookpot, and wiped clean with a chunk of flatbread brought for the next day's lunch.  Eventually got comfortable and sat back to wait for the stars to come out.

Surprisingly, I didn't sleep that night.  Or perhaps it shouldn't be, between the strangeness of being out, the prospect of missing meteors, and the hassle of shoving Allie off my sleeping mat and onto her own.  In any case, I didn't nod off until there were faint hints of dawn, and woke to mid-morning heat and full sun.  Breakfast was oatmeal and coffee for me, kibble and bread for Allie.  She tried a little oatmeal as well, but didn't seem impressed.  Load slightly reduced and rearranged, we made much better time.  I decided to skip Y-meadows altogether, and considered turning down towards Toejam Lake (who names these things anyways?!) with a cross-country shortcut, but by the time I hit Whitesides Meadow, I was feeling pretty good.



We encountered a small herd of free-range cattle, miles from any sort of road, but they moseyed off the trail after a good hard look at Allie (the "cattle" dog).  Started to become a little concerned about water.  Refilled one bottle at an extremely scummy pond around Salt Lick Meadow





but started to come across numerous pleasant ponds and lake-lets soon thereafter.



In fact, the whole stretch from Spring Meadow to Deer Lake was very lush.  We stopped frequently to let Allie dabble her feet.  In fact, I kept thinking we had hit Deer Lake when in fact it was just another unnamed pool.

But finally we made it!


It was quite lovely.


and extensive.


I almost wished we had planned to stay there for the night, until I realized just how many people were already settled in.  So onward we marched.





Jewelry Lake was our next stopover.  Also quite lovely, albeit perhaps a little boggy around the edges.



The views opened up,



the cliffs became more impressive



then there we were, Gem Lake!



A short ways off the trail we spotted what appeared to be an ideal campsite, complete with a "no camping, lakeside restoration" sign.  A bit further on, past several illegal fire rings and beautifully glaciated granite



we found an adequate spot and set up shop.  We had some company, but it wasn't too noisy.



It had been a warm and mostly dry, dusty day, so after exploring the shoreline a little



I decided to take a quick dip (no pictures, unless by campers on the opposite side of the lake, who I hadn't noticed until hearing yelling).  Allie was very perturbed, having never seen me swim before.  She ran back and forth along the edge, shaking off in disbelief.  I also startled a small, striped snake.

After drying off, Allie headed into the tent for a power nap, while I prepared dinner.  Caught a glimpse of alpenglow and grabbed the camera, but it had mostly faded by the time I reached an open space.



Headed back to the campsite, pulled on my warm puffy, and once again waited for the stars to shine.  This time, Allie was content to lounge in the tent by herself until I was ready to shoo her off my sleeping bag and turn in for the night.

Next morning,























we took some time to admire the lake, take pictures, and linger over breakfast.



The route down to Buck Meadow Creek felt eerily barren to my Eastern-raised eyes,



steep at times,



and dry, dry, dry.

There were some deep but mostly inaccessible pools of water,


but most of the creek was dried up.  Cherry Creek's West Fork was especially disappointing.



I foolishly passed up on some scummy dark brown ponds in hopes of something better later on, and then was forced to replenish at a pool about the size of a kiddie wading pool, full of mosquito larvae and mule poop.  About a mile later, we came across some bogs though,



and then actual ponds near Groundhog Meadow.  Grouse Lake was a huge relief.



Allie decided to take a nap



while I  collected water.  She looked too peaceful to disturb, so I succumbed to the temptation of a quick dip in the lake.



She once again declined to join me, and I lounged on her scorned blue pad to work on my sunburn.

Heading out we encountered evidence of fire a few years past.





At this point, I noticed Allie lagging behind, so I removed her pack and strapped it on to mine.  A short while later, it seemed that she was limping, though I couldn't find anything wrong with her legs or feet.  So she got to wear her booties that she had hauled all the way in.  Must have had sore feet, because that seemed to help.  I should have made her wear them earlier, whenever we crossed gravel.  After that, it was just chivying her along - it's just three miles to the car, you can do that in your sleep - good girl, you can do it, just two more miles, etc.  Even so, there was quite a bit of stopping in meager shade along the steep and volcanic slope.  Once we hit the junction for the trail between Crabtree and Camp Lake, it was a different story.  Suddenly she surged ahead, and didn't stop until we reached the creek just shy of the trailhead.  I let her drink her fill, though I was eager to get my pack off and get some water of my own.  Back at the parking lot I passed a couple getting ready to head out.  The girl asked how it had been.  I could only answer, "great!"

Point Reyes

Monday and Tuesday, October 15th and 16th, I played hooky and went out for my first solo backpacking trip at Point Reyes National Seashore.  It was a long time coming: last time I actually went backpacking was with my college's outdoors club, about 10 years ago.  I'd planned various trips over the past two years, only to get cancelled for one reason or another (time, work, dog sitter, hiking partner injury...) so I was determined to make this one work.

There are quite a few options for backpacking within an hour or two from home, even some of the regional parks I frequently hike with my dog allow camping.  However, they don't allow dogs to stay overnight, nor was I able to find any sites allowing dogs within three hours drive.  So I settled on a place that I hadn't explored thoroughly precisely because I couldn't take Allie.

Weather forecasts were good for the days that campsites were available: partly sunny, low 70s in the day, 50's at night for Bear Valley, and a few degrees lower at Drakes Beach (high 50s at the lighthouse though, so I dressed more warmly than I needed to, just in case).


First Day, Bear Valley Visitor Center to Wildcat Camp, via Bear Valley and Coast Trails, with detour to Arch Rock.  8.17 miles, 1477' gain, 1518' lost.


Had to stop in the visitor center to pick up my permit (which can be reserved, but not received, in advance). Three teenaged boys were picking up theirs at the same time, which worried me a little, but once I hit the trail I did not see or hear from them again.  Right out of the parking lot spotted a coyote:



Bear Valley trail was pretty much a service road, and in fact I did pass a Park truck, and an employee working on the culverts (signs indicated an improvements project on the culverts and banks).  Made good time as the forest, though pretty, didn't lend itself easily to photography.  (sample unimpressive shot of gnarly tree:


Past the intersection with Baldy and Glen trails, Bear Valley Trail narrowed.  As bikes were prohibited further on, a bike rack was provided shortly before the intersection.  At this point the vegetation opened up a bit, leaving grass, shrubbery and occasional glimpses of water.  Got buzzed by a hummingbird, and narrowly avoided stepping on the tiniest lizard I have ever seen.


First break was at Arch Rock.  There was a pair of hikers checking out the lower section, so I went out on the bluff.



Reviews stated that this is a popular picnic spot, and the reason is obvious: superb seating:


I left my bag under the supervision of the seagull, and headed down to see the actual arch.  Tide had apparently risen (and I stupidly had forgotten to print out tide tables, so I didn't risk the beach itself, but watched the water swirling under the tunnel.


Coast trail is varied in vegetation, from grassy hillsides to chaparral to pine forests,

even a feral Christmas tree colony.  It's also the steepest portion yet encountered, so I was pretty sore and tired by the time I reached Stewart trail.  The camp was a welcome sight, with the prospect of taking off pack and shoes.



Rolled into Wildcat rather earlier than expected, so took a brief rest, stretched, ate some trail mix, set up camp, then took the short trip to Almere Falls:



Like Bear Valley, Ocean Lake Loop trail was well maintained, and in fact had been recently weed-wacked. Up until the turnoff for Almere Falls:

For the first time, there was a real danger of contacting poison oak. And then there was this:


But it didn't take long to reach the plateau and a pleasant trickle of creek, adorned with pretty yellow flowers.


  The upper portion of the falls, about 10' high:


A couple was picnicking on the edge of the cliff, but they headed back up the trail by the time I finished photographing the creek.  I wasn't sure If I'd be able to proceed, but there were a few people walking around on the beach, who eventually climbed up and indicated not only the narrow track down, but that it was only a mile back to Wildcat Camp along the beach.  That sounded considerably more appealing than backtracking.
The descent:

achieved!


There were a few other people admiring the falls, and I decided to wander a bit farther down the beach to admire the rock formations.  There were stripes,


blocks,


splinters,


ripples,


bubbles,


and my favourite, sort of cartoonish-looking one:


The cliffs were a potent reminder that Point Reyes lies on a fault line:


According to the map, the above is probably Stormy Stack.  At this point headed back towards the falls.



Took my time getting back, snapping pictures of the waves,


foam,


and cliffs,


puzzling over the odd water seepages from the rock,


racoon and deer tracks,


and eventually the deer themselves.  Best guess that the deer were seeking salt.



Went up to camp to make use of the facilities and rearrange the assemblage of stuff I would carry (food, tent and sleeping gear had already been deposited, but as I was only going a short distance I decided to ditch the pack as well, and only carry my camera, a sweater, and a bottle of water).  Then back to the beach to find a comfy spot to wait for sunset.


I somewhat regretted declining a beach campfire permit.


Made my way back to camp as the colours faded, and prepared dinner: Mountain House freeze-dried beef stew.  Though I'd read some negative reviews of it lately, it was still plenty appealing at that point, as was the idea of not having to carry its weight out on my back the next day.  Took only three matches to light my MSR Pocket Rocket (it's windy that close to the ocean!).  Used the boiling and rehydrating time to stretch, then watched the stars come out while I ate.  After stew and some chocolate, resumed stretching and watching the stars until I was ready for bed.  The sky was fantastic; the Milky Way visible, and a few meteors streaked across.  An owl screeched.  Even after lying down, I didn't want to give up my view of the sky, so tied the rainfly back.  Good thing, as the Solitaire would have felt claustrophobic with it.


Woke later than intended, but still had time for a leisurely breakfast on the beach



It was the rising tide more than than the late hour that impelled me to finally pack up and get moving.  I was initially planning on taking Stewart Trail to Rift Zone:
Path: 10.73 miles long; 2188 ft gained; 2185 ft lost.

But Stewart was another service road (on the way in I saw a truck and worker weedwhacking), so I opted for a set of smaller trails not indicated on the free online maps I reviewed before hand: Old Out Road, Alamea, and Greenpicker. 



Eventually Stewart became inevitable.  It runs into the Five Brooks Trailhead and Stewart Horsecamp before meeting Rift Zone trail, which runs all the way back to the visitor center. 

The horse camp has more extensive facilities than the backpacking camp: the toilets have actual plumbing and electricity.  I couldn't resist peeking into a grocery bag left on a shelf.  It contained an electric toothbrush and a waterpik.  Definitely a different culture from the ultralight backpacking sites I've been researching.  

The camp was one of only two places I ran into a question of navigation; because there was a large open space with numerous narrow tracks leading off of it, it took a little while to locate the actual trail.  An older gent relaxing at his picnic table pointed me in the right direction, and offered a cold beer to take with me.  

Unlike in my usual hiking spots, the horses I encountered here were unaccustomed to meeting hikers.  For the first time, I was glad to not have Allie along.  If a backpack spooked them, I can only imagine what a "dingo" would have done.  

(it's my blog; I can add a random picture of my dog if I want to).

Rift Zone, as you might guess, runs along the San Andreas Fault.  According to the brochure, the geology better matches the Tehachapi Mountains 310 miles to the South than the adjacent portion of the coast range, and during the 1906 San Francisco quake, the peninsula jumped 20 feet northwards.  This was evidently a problem for cattle ranchers at the time, whose fences got torn apart.



Due to the geology, only the Eastern-most reaches of the park support redwoods. 


Though most of this day's hike was not in fact under park jurisdiction, but privately owned:


I'd brought a little less water than the previous day as quite a bit of this trail was alongside a creek/wetland.

However Vedanta (which I kept mistakenly referring to as Vendetta) policy forbade leaving the trail, which was inconvenient for another reason, also resulting in fewer pictures as I hustled along to return to the trailhead.

Made it back to the visitor center around 4:30, poked around there until closing time, then sat at the bus stop watching quail run around.

 (Bus stop, Marin Stagecoach Route 68)

note: nearly all pictures from this trip deemed worthy of posting to Flickr are also included here.  The handful which are not can be found here.