A part of me would like to be more punctual about writing on past events, but the side of me that prefers to sit back and reflect about an adventure months ago and bask in its foggy demeanor tends to prevail. I haven't been well the past couple of weeks due to a nasty head cold. I've only shown up to work twice in the past nine days and was not able to kick the illness until ingesting a dosage (or three) of old-fashioned cough syrup, which seems to have given my body the jolt to get back to normal. But I more desire a particular routine, that being a morning and evening jog to and from work. Experience has taught me to take it easy just a bit longer than I deem necessary, and my natural faculties will return soon enough. I look forward to a habitual run, but for today I settled for a longer, and more contemplative walk home. I tend to stare at the peaks beyond Cache Valley, noticing varied intricacies in the skyline which I hadn't before. My mind will tarry off to places I've been and am in wanting to visit as well, surmising a perfect storm of present, past, and future. I cannot help but consider how I might frame some of these mindful wanderings, and I suppose I may start with something literal, some setting I have had the pleasure to leave my tracks in. So now, I sit with a glass of homemade cider, cold and snow-covered mountains just beyond my doorway, and think back to a warmer time.
In reconsideration, I do not agree with myself that it is ever very warm at 9000 feet, and that's where Melody and I started out, at the trailhead in China Meadows, at the north-central end of the Uinta Mountains. We had unresolved business with a certain peak that had kept us from topping its boulder laden slopes, business instigated 11 months prior. Truly, though, it was our commitment to showing up to work on a following Monday morning that found us turning back from our first attempt to climb Kings Peak. Goodness, this time around, we weren't necessarily here to summit at all! Our boundaries were extended (by a pair of days, to be precise), to bask in the glory of this very unique wilderness. Leave me, expectations, this is escape, this is vacation!
And 5 days we had: 1 to drive, 4 to walk, and 4 nights to rest. Contrary to my typical nature, I had sufficiently planned a more than doable backpacking excursion. Average mileage per day: 10, enough to 'sleep in' (at least until 7AM, quite generous by serious hiking standards) and enjoy enough daylight to cook a fine meal and spend an hour or two trying to nab some cutthroat trout on my spinning reel. So good planning aside, on arrival, we did end up camping in a dirt parking lot just beyond the trailhead our first night. Not the most luxurious of beginnings, but we avoided campground fees on the edge of the wilderness boundary.
The trail is my happy place. I'll pipe up with intermittent statements of present giddiness and my hiking partner often catches me grinning in silence. I don't hesitate to express my affection for Melody in daily life, so you can expect that on the trail, nothing is held back. I'll take a moment and convey how much I love my girlfriend, turned fiance (yes, yes!). I feel as if true 'mountain women' are a rarity, though I do not mean to convey her as solely that. She is hearty and robust-- her attitude and vigor have more than once gotten me through a difficult period on a trail (and in an office or supermarket, to be thorough). But she is not a mountain woman. She is a lady at its fullest of the word, able to build a roaring fire and catch a 20-inch trout, or put on a fancy dress and carry on a conversation over a glass of wine. The adjective I would use is adaptable and I couldn't be more grateful for that. So I have a backpacking partner for life, one that pitches the tent and sets up sleeping pads while I hang a bear-bag and start dinner.
I was more than a little titillated to wake up that chilly morning and set out on the trail. Our first day would take us just over 13 miles to the base of Red Castle, a steep, 12,338 foot, craggy monument of red rock jutting out from green-yellow hillsides and clusters of evergreens. Red Castle is surrounded by no less than 5 named lakes, and the landscape holds its share of lesser bodies of water and murky ponds. Our destination is East Red Castle Lake, elevation 11,190 feet, 58 feet at its deepest, and teeming with cutthroat trout. More than 3/4 of the approach hike is through thick pine forest next to Smiths and East Forks. They are good-sized streams which I would guess have a fair amount of aquatic life, especially further down the mountains toward our beginnings. We joke around about how we could not bring Dave, Melody's dad, along on a trip like this because he'd want to stop at every stream crossing and fish.
A negative distinction the mountains outside our home bear is their lack of water; plan ahead, because you will likely not be seeing much. The Uintas, on the other hand, assuage any fear of lack of supply, as lakes and creeks are numerous. And apparently, so are livestock. I'm usually happy to find excrement on the trail- who's been here? What made this? How long ago? Cow pies are less exciting, and they're even less appealing smeared on my ultra-breathable running shoes. Stupid cows. We would encounter more than a few on the trail and off in the bush, staring skeptically at the pair of bipeds, fellow intruders to this wilderness. I don't know whose great idea it was to grandfather grazing rights into this particular area of the Uintas, but I find it personally obnoxious. Melody likes it. Cows are cute, apparently, and sheep are even better. At least cows blow off only an occasional moo. Sheep "baaaa"all day long. I would more than a few times stop and listen for speculative wildlife, only to see Shaun the sheep off in the distance with his siblings, ma, pa, cousins, and housekeeper belting out a chorus of "Over here" and "Eat me! eat me!" to the resident predators. The only time I wish to see a sheep in wilderness like this is when it's being successfully run down by a pack of coyotes. Perhaps, I shouldn't be so hard on our trail companions. I have their coats to thank for my furry socks and helpings of free-range meat. Come to think of it, this is probably some of the highest quality meat one would be able to get. I'd feel less vindictive if I knew the livestock wasn't eating away the summer flower bloom and contributing to soil degradation, not to mention the likely contamination of water currents so close to their sources. (Upon return to the civilized world, I wrote a quick note to the Forest Service voicing my sentiments.. haven't heard back.)
One thing I have really enjoyed about these trips to the Uintas is coming in at night-- we don't get to see the mountains on the drive in. That means that the payoff is huge. Seeing Red Castle's spires poking out from sun and trees, that first glimpse.. no words. Maybe just 'love' is best to describe that feeling. The weather trades off between clear and gray. Even with the sun, there is a slight glare which casts the mountain in a bright haze, faux-fog, as if I am groggily viewing Red Castle after waking up from an afternoon nap. The detail and definition of the mountain will become more apparent the closer we get. Between breaks, we trade lead spots on the trail with a father-son duo a number of times. They had climbed Kings Peak a couple of years prior and had no intention of summiting on this trip. Our paths diverge as they head up the west flank of Red Castle while we bear east. "Happy fishing!"
Perpendicular to the east face of Red Castle, we bushwack up a small hill overlooking East Red Castle Lake. Below us, toward the valley we have come from, we see little blips of white moving in the distance: "Baaaaa!!!" The sheep are mostly far enough away to ignore their noise-making. Thunder storms are a near daily occurrence in these mountains during the summer, so we choose a camp-site nestled in a stand of conifers. Bear-bag hung, I put together a daypack and we head down to the lake. There is a small peninsula which juts out into the water, and judging by the wind, it is the perfect spot. When I make my way through the tall brush, I surprise a fly-fisherman. I inquire on his day.
"Pretty slow," kind of grim, but happy. "Only caught a few."
"Well, if there's a place on earth to have a slow fishing day.." We agree.
Melody and I make our way over to a not-fished part of the lake. The cutthroats are visible in the clear, snow-melt. They inspect my spinners as they turn through the water and seem no more interested in the bait as I would be in eating a chair. I don't really mind. It would be tough to ruin a day like this. Besides, we have jerky. Melody fishes for the rest of the time. I like to watch her. She has great technique and I snap a few photos from a distance. It is quiet, save for the sound of the spinner breaking the water surface, and this helps create a meditative rhythm. Splunk! Reel spins, spinner knocks fish in head, line returns, spinner taps line guide, rod bends back, cast, repeat.
Dinner is freeze-dried goodness, teriyaki chicken, veggies, and rice. Costs for backpacker meals can add up, but we've learned that cheaper meals from the grocery store are more costly in preparation time and lacking in flavor. I have broken more than a few bamboo spoons stirring mediocre chili for a half-an-hour. Mountain House meals are quick and the packages picture Mt. Hood. Sold. Goodnight partner, goodnight moon, goodnight sheep.
-Grasshopper
In reconsideration, I do not agree with myself that it is ever very warm at 9000 feet, and that's where Melody and I started out, at the trailhead in China Meadows, at the north-central end of the Uinta Mountains. We had unresolved business with a certain peak that had kept us from topping its boulder laden slopes, business instigated 11 months prior. Truly, though, it was our commitment to showing up to work on a following Monday morning that found us turning back from our first attempt to climb Kings Peak. Goodness, this time around, we weren't necessarily here to summit at all! Our boundaries were extended (by a pair of days, to be precise), to bask in the glory of this very unique wilderness. Leave me, expectations, this is escape, this is vacation!
The trail is my happy place. I'll pipe up with intermittent statements of present giddiness and my hiking partner often catches me grinning in silence. I don't hesitate to express my affection for Melody in daily life, so you can expect that on the trail, nothing is held back. I'll take a moment and convey how much I love my girlfriend, turned fiance (yes, yes!). I feel as if true 'mountain women' are a rarity, though I do not mean to convey her as solely that. She is hearty and robust-- her attitude and vigor have more than once gotten me through a difficult period on a trail (and in an office or supermarket, to be thorough). But she is not a mountain woman. She is a lady at its fullest of the word, able to build a roaring fire and catch a 20-inch trout, or put on a fancy dress and carry on a conversation over a glass of wine. The adjective I would use is adaptable and I couldn't be more grateful for that. So I have a backpacking partner for life, one that pitches the tent and sets up sleeping pads while I hang a bear-bag and start dinner.
I was more than a little titillated to wake up that chilly morning and set out on the trail. Our first day would take us just over 13 miles to the base of Red Castle, a steep, 12,338 foot, craggy monument of red rock jutting out from green-yellow hillsides and clusters of evergreens. Red Castle is surrounded by no less than 5 named lakes, and the landscape holds its share of lesser bodies of water and murky ponds. Our destination is East Red Castle Lake, elevation 11,190 feet, 58 feet at its deepest, and teeming with cutthroat trout. More than 3/4 of the approach hike is through thick pine forest next to Smiths and East Forks. They are good-sized streams which I would guess have a fair amount of aquatic life, especially further down the mountains toward our beginnings. We joke around about how we could not bring Dave, Melody's dad, along on a trip like this because he'd want to stop at every stream crossing and fish.
One thing I have really enjoyed about these trips to the Uintas is coming in at night-- we don't get to see the mountains on the drive in. That means that the payoff is huge. Seeing Red Castle's spires poking out from sun and trees, that first glimpse.. no words. Maybe just 'love' is best to describe that feeling. The weather trades off between clear and gray. Even with the sun, there is a slight glare which casts the mountain in a bright haze, faux-fog, as if I am groggily viewing Red Castle after waking up from an afternoon nap. The detail and definition of the mountain will become more apparent the closer we get. Between breaks, we trade lead spots on the trail with a father-son duo a number of times. They had climbed Kings Peak a couple of years prior and had no intention of summiting on this trip. Our paths diverge as they head up the west flank of Red Castle while we bear east. "Happy fishing!"
"Pretty slow," kind of grim, but happy. "Only caught a few."
"Well, if there's a place on earth to have a slow fishing day.." We agree.
Melody and I make our way over to a not-fished part of the lake. The cutthroats are visible in the clear, snow-melt. They inspect my spinners as they turn through the water and seem no more interested in the bait as I would be in eating a chair. I don't really mind. It would be tough to ruin a day like this. Besides, we have jerky. Melody fishes for the rest of the time. I like to watch her. She has great technique and I snap a few photos from a distance. It is quiet, save for the sound of the spinner breaking the water surface, and this helps create a meditative rhythm. Splunk! Reel spins, spinner knocks fish in head, line returns, spinner taps line guide, rod bends back, cast, repeat.
-Grasshopper
No comments:
Post a Comment