test post :) 

 

                Northguard Peak, Mt. Brewer and Southguard Peak from Lake 11,200 feet (Arnot Lake)

Sequoia National Park:  Pear Lake to Tableland’s Lake 11,200

 

In search of off-trail solitude, open space and second-to-none views?  This jaunt in the Southern Sierra fits the bill.  The goal is Lake 11,200, a tiny lake (or massive tarn?) embedded in a ridge overlooking Upper Big Bird Lakes, with sweeping views (North to South, or left to right) of Mt. Francis Farquhar, Northguard Peak, Mt. Brewer, Southguard Peak, Thunder Mountain, Table Mountain, Midway Mountain, Milestone Mountain, Triple Divide Peak, and the amiable but semi-brooding Kaweah Peaks.

Foregrounding the aforementioned peaks is Glacier Ridge, possibly the least visited place in the Sierra Nevada.  Phil Arnot, author of “High Sierra – John Muir’s Range of Light”, the bible for backpackers who avoid online backpacker forums – unless, of course, one needs to know the optimal tortilla circumference for bear canisters -- describes Glacier Ridge as “untrailed, untraveled and almost entirely unadulterated.”  (When I look at Glacier Ridge I’m reminded of my father’s famous “I like people.  I just don’t like being around them!”). 

Lake 11,200 affords campsites with views of the Great Western Divide (in its entirety!).  Take your pick on the east side.  The water is clean, swimmable and algae free.  There are numerous natural shelters in the rocks, though a thunder storm may forge a smidge of consternation. (Thunder and Lightning? Leave now!).   The lake (heretofore designated “Arnot Lake”) is an ideal multi-night spot, allowing day-trip exploration of Big Bird Lake, Moose Lake and all of the Tablelands. 

Accessing Arnot Lake from Wolverton can be done in one day, but only if you are stupid. I suggest 2 days to cover the 10 miles and 3,700 foot gain, from Wolverton.  On day 1, get yourself to Pear Lake, beautifully situated below Alta Peak.  It is an outpost for innumerable backpackers.  Most spend their time at Pear Lake and go no further.  While there, they discuss tortilla size radius and other important matters addressed in online forums.  My last Pear Lake foray included shushing backpackers who were blasting music during alpine glow, and waking to a hiker hovering over me asking about the nearest bear box location. Damn you!  This was the same fellow who yesterday had sauntered into Pear Lake with a Dominos Pizza box strapped to his pack.  The Pear Lake pit toilets are welcome and offer convenience, but the stench of sawdust and sewage should direct you elsewhere.  Yes, Pear Lake is a circus. But a beautiful circus.  Minus the clowns.

So! You have arrived at Pear Lake!  What next? Leave!  Leave quickly! Did you bring map and compass?  Great! They are helpful. You are now going off trail.

There is a ridge due North East of Pear Lake.  Head for that ridge.  You can go for the ridge’s  high or low point  (the latter directly above the Pear Lake ranger hut).  High or low    doesn’t matter.  Pick your way through the inclined granite scrabble to access the ridge. It is neither dangerous nor difficult.   Ok, you reached the ridge!  Pour yourself a drink. There is a meadow below.  Head for the meadow, or, as Bambi says, “The Meadow!”  Skirt the meadow on the right (south).  Over the next 1.5 miles, generally head North East amidst the trees. The trees grow more and more sparse, and the direction is generally obvious.  You are zigging south and then will zag a bit north.  

Soon you can appreciate the western edge of Tableland Meadows.  The terrain opens, the trees thin, and a prominent mound presents itself (the “10,695 foot” prominence noted on the 1980 Wilderness Press Triple Divide Peak map).  South of the mound is two-parted Topaz Lake.  You can access the lake via the mound’s left (west) or right (east).  Topaz Lake is like Montana – Big Sky!  There are 360 degree views ideal for star gazing and campsites on the southern shore. An evening alpine glow hike skirting the lake’s circumference will provide undying memories. 

Accessing Arnot Lake (Lake 11,200 feet) from Topaz Lake is straightforward.  If leaving Topaz Lake, connect your compass with the upper Big Bird Lakes to the East – there are two.  You will be heading toward the highest point of the 1.25 mile distant ridge.  There are other small tarns in the area.  Difficulties? Don’t give up! You need to find Arnot Lake.  Drop your packs.  Explore.  Be patient.  Your inclination will be to head low.  Don’t. Stay high.  If accessing Arnot Lake from Tableland Meadows, again, set your compass for the two upper Big Bird Lakes.  As you ascend, pick your way through the granite.    There is a false ridge.  Darn it!  .75 miles beyond the false ridge is the real ridge. Again, stay for the high point.  Moose Lake is soon visible to your right (South).  There is an optical illusion here – Moose Lake appears to be tilted!   Perhaps it is!  Arnot Lake, though not immediately obvious, is quite accessible.  If you see many granite slabs oriented like dinner plates, you are generally in the correct location. 

Wrinkles:

A ranger told us that Arnot Lake to Moose Lake is relatively easy – stay at a level elevavation to access.

Moose Lake to Pear Lake is an oft-used route – not technical, but patience is required to find the non-technical route.

Happy trekking!  And if you need information on the ideal shoe lace type for backpacking, please go to the online forums!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Passing Thoughts

Yesterday I embraced this song without words while sitting on that Tahoe beach.  The boastful cumulonimbi's surface, not unlike popcorn, seemed to breathe.  Expansion and contraction.  It lingered and threatened, but in the late afternoon it became nothing more than a passing thought, leaving an empty blue stage for the setting sun.

Afterwards, we ate pizza and recollected the game of charades where, in response to the clues, the participants guessed The Jar Leg when the solution was The Martian.

Amelia Earhart Peak over Ireland Lake

09/09/2011
My sister, Celerina, and I enjoyed lunch from this vista earlier this year. Ireland Lake is off trail in a relatively obscure part of Yosemite. Lunch consisted of an inch of Gallo Salami, 2 cheese sticks, a handful of plain M and M's and a liter of water. Oh, and one flour tortilla.

On a totally unrelated note, it was noted that one of my son's friends broke up with his girlfriend. "Why did they break up?" I asked, to which H, my youngest, replied, "Well, Dad. He simply said 'We're freshmen, so we both know this isn't going to last anymore than 6 weeks. So let's break up now and just get it over with.' "

The Geyser Grill

Signage in the Geyser Grill, a burger joint in West Yellowstone, Montana (our 14 year old son failed to see the humor).

Menu items in the restaurant included antelope burgers and elk chili. I ordered a bison burger and developed a hump in my upper back after eating it.

I spent the entire week saying "Yosemite" when I meant "Yellowstone." More to follow...

Innies and Outies

Skyblue Lake

Route to Crabtree Pass in background

Sierra Nevada

On this day, a boy I know ate an In-N-Out burger immediately after undergoing in and out surgery. I wish him many happy steps...

Of Snowmen Dreams and Stranger Things

The letters from the publishers came sooner than expected...first one, then another, then five or six replies on the same day. Regrettably, none of the publishers acknowledged my spark of genius. Some of their responses are printed here:

Dear Writer: Your obsession with your theme is troubling. Please do not write any more stories. Please do not write back to us. Ever. We are busy here.

You scare us.

Dear Sir: Although I chuckled when I read your cute little gags, that was all you composed... cute little gags. We cannot support our fine printing company by publishing cute little gags. Please find a different hobby. Have you considered scrapbooking?

You need help. Please find it. See the attached list of phone numbers for services in your area.

Dear Sir: Cease and desist. Please see the enclosed restraining order.

I need only quote Truman Capote: "Your writing isn't writing at all. It's typing." Please do not send us any more of your insipid, vacuous, egotistic chicken scratch. Shame on you.

Gentle Writer: The most enthralling and well-written part of your writing is the address you printed on the envelope. Please run away from writing and all writing-related endeavors. You will thank us later, as will your family and friends and your pets (if you have them).

I don't care about your writing or you, for that matter, though I suspect your grandiose temperament will misconstrue these words as complimentary.

Your writing gave me and my associates terrible headaches; we are still recovering. I even had to take sick time. HR is not happy.

Your writing isn't funny. I'm actually not sure what it is. I will use it to line my my parakeet cage.

If you must write, might I suggest keeping a journal? And please do not share the contents with anyone. It can be your own little secret journal, ok?

Where did I go wrong, I wondered. How had my brilliance unravelled? Here is my story:

Was it the meatloaf I had enjoyed for dinner? Or perhaps it was the McMillan and Wife reruns I had watched earlier. Whatever the reason, while sleeping that night, I found myself in a vivid, epic dream, the kind you have when recovering from a wisdom tooth extraction. I forget many details, but I know it involved Robitussin and elves (the short kind, not the Lord of the Rings kind). I awoke suddenly as a voice in the dream (it sounded like Burl Ives) said, "Manicotti? Again?" I sat up in the dark, bent 90 degrees at the waist. I was hyperventilating and sweaty, like the time I ate dinner with Loretta Falseto, a dimunitive Portuguese woman with precipitous breasts and a lint moustache.

I flicked on the nightstand light. I frantically pulled out the drawer, seeking my 3 x 5 cards which I kept in my nightstand for such occasions. The drawer crashed to the floor. I found the cards and began scribbling on each one. In my unrestrained excitement, some of the cards flew out of my hands like I was performing a Vegas card trick. My brain was ripe like a soft persimmon losing hold of its branch. I needed to record the images and words spinning around in my head before they were lost forever. Something about the dream had triggered a cascade of unexpected but most welcome brilliance. Eventually, without realizing how or when, I succumbed to sleep's embrace.

I awoke at 9 AM exhausted and headachey. For migraineurs like myself, disrupted sleep can be lethal, a sure migraine trigger (like going to Cirque de Soleil on a hot Saturday afternoon). I cracked my neck by moving it like Stevie Wonder does when he sings, and my spine made a sound like breakfast cereal. I stuck my thumb into my right eye and pushed hard. That always helps. Suddenly, though, the 3 by 5 cards caught my attention. They were scattered over my bedspread. I gathered them. Oh, yes, I remembered. The cards! I read each one...

S'mores

I scratched my head. S'mores? I closed my eyes and ventured into the fogginess of my recent dream. In a moment, all became clear, like finding Waldo. The snowmen! Picture several snowmen sitting around a campfire. They are smiling and telling campfire stories. One of the snowmen plays a guitar. They roast marshmallows over the fire. The marshmallow sticks, however, are about 30 feet long, thereby keeping the snowmen a safe distance from the fire's heat.

I laughed hard. I read the next card:

The NHA

The NHA? I tap the card against my forehead. No Helium Allowed? No, that's not it. National Hairdryer Association? That's it! The National Hairdryer Association. Imagine a snowman driving a pick-up truck. The snowman is wearing a hunter's plaid, wool jacket. His stick elbow is jutting out the window. There are several hairdryers on a rack on the back window. The bumper sticker on the rear bumper says: National Hairdryer Association. Support a snowman's right to bear hairdryers.

I was now giddy. My headache was nearly gone, thanks be to God. Another card stated:

Belly of the ship

I recalled this image immediately. A human man and a snowman are shoveling coal into a furnace on a ship. The furnace emits an orange glow. The snowman says to the human: "It's hot in here!"

From another:

barbecue

Ahh...A snowman sits on his front porch in a rocking chair. He is reading the newspaper. He has charcoal briquets lining his mid-section (his "buttons"). The humans next store are barbecuing. A man is walking away from the barbecue and says to his wife, "Don't worry, honey, I'll be right back with more coals." He is holding a blow torch. The snowman is peering over his newspaper. He looks worried.

And from other cards:

abdominal bloating

The jackel

Certs, Tic Tacs and Listerine

Don't peel the carrot

I'd like to buy a vowel

Metamucil

Igloo Repair

I stared long and hard at these cards. I was clueless. I left my bed, shaved my face smooth, showered, then ate two eggs over medium. I popped some bright orange Advil and drank some strong, black coffee, thereby chasing away the migraine remnants. The meaning of the few mystery cards remained elusive. Never mind, I thought. I typed up the gags and mailed them, along with the 3 by 5 cards, to hundreds of publishers. On each envelope I drew a picture of snowmen doing various human things, like drinking water, ironing and holding up "We're number one!" signs at ballgames.

This was my key to early retirement. My rewards would come soon enough. I only had to wait for the replies...