August 24, 2020.
5.3 mi. | 1880′ ele. gain | 7:30 hr.
The stats for this entire loop are misleading. Five and a half miles with less than two thousand feet of elevation gain? We should have been able to knock that out in no time. But I would soon learn of the obstacles in our path to a quick and easy finish.
We awoke to a foreboding gloom. Wildfire smoke filled the air and our lungs. It was hard to breathe while eating breakfast; I was not looking forward to charging uphill with a heavy pack with that air quality. But, we had no choice.
I watched as the red sun rose over the craggy ridge to the east. A pika scrambled around the rocks, squeaking arbitrarily as it hurried about its business. We packed up camp and walked along the user trail alongside the lake. At the lake’s inlet, the trail disappeared. I followed the rough path in my notes, hopping over little streamlets and crashing through brush. We ended up in a broad bowl beneath steep ridges. The terrain was a combination of running water, bare rock and vegetation. The skies above sprinkled down rain, threatening to unleash torrents at any moment. In light of that, we stuck to the vegetation instead of wet, slippery rock.
Fortunately, big rains never came. We slowly made progress to the upper lakes basin. I mistakenly took a detour up to a pile of rocks that we ended up having to downclimb. But, there was an unexpected benefit: more goats. We would not have seen them had we stayed on course. At least, that’s how I justified my navigation error!
With the wind picking up, smoke filling the air and mysterious clouds overhead, I felt like we were on a doomed mission. Something was bound to happen. At the lakes basin, we found a quiet spot to have a snack and assess our route up. Where should we go? I looked around and nothing looked good. I checked the GPS points on my phone and those just left me more confused. We have to go up there? I thought. It looked so steep and loose.
It occurred to me that all the people we passed on this loop were traveling in the opposite direction. The reason: this awful pass. It looked far easier and more straightforward from the other direction. It didn’t matter now, since we weren’t going to backtrack the route that took us 3 days of walking.
And then, the real challenges began
I led us up into the first gully that led to the ridge. I asked LeeAnn to stay out of my fall line because of loose rock. It was very difficult to make any progress without sending rocks hurtling down below my feet. My heavy and bulky pack made it difficult to move upward, and breathing heavy smoke didn’t help, either. Instead of focusing on all the things that I hated in that present moment, I kept looking up and searching for markers of progress. Little patches of colorful flowers served as intermediate goals.
Eventually, we abandoned the gully for somewhat more solid terrain on the left side. We clambered over large, stable boulders interspersed with patches of loose soil. It was just as fun as it sounds.
At last, I reached the ridge. Bright, yellow blooms welcomed me to the next chapter of the route-finding debacle. Standing atop a jagged ridge, it was impossible to tell how far we could get without reaching an impassable cliff. We paused here again to check in with each other, get some calories down, and make a plan.
For what felt like an eternity, our travels looked like this: walk along the ridge, reach a barrier, downclimb, traverse scree, bail back up to the ridge, repeat. It was an impossible choice: the rocks on the ridge were much more solid but often led to dead-ends, and the terrain below the ridge was extremely loose, cluttered and difficult to walk on. Every choice was the wrong choice. I regretted coming up too soon.
Nonetheless, we had to make it to Patterson Peak’s summit in order to cross into the Fourth of July Basin and complete the loop. Ultimately we did, but not without an inordinate amount of Type 2 Fun. At this point I wondered if LeeAnn would ever want to go hiking with me again.
The wind blew hard on top of the peak, and we both wanted to get the heck out of there. No time for celebrations, treats and rest, we had to descend. Every way down looked equally heinous. I did a double-take upon looking at the pre-recorded GPS points. “There’s no way we can follow that route!” I thought. Based on what we had just done, I had no intention of trying to follow another impossible ridge. “We’re going down,” I said.
The skies threatened to dump rain again. We moved as quickly as we could atop loose talus and scree. The temperature dropped and the wind picked up. I put on long john bottoms for warmth and gaiters to keep the rocks out of my shoes. Even with the extra protection, I had to dump them out a few times on the way down.
I threw myself down at the un-named lake that indicated we’d reached the trail again. At last! No more thinking, no more wondering, no more agony. We can mindlessly put one foot in front of the other again! With our shoes and packs off, we laid on top of a large boulder to let the stress of the day melt off. The mental energy required to navigate difficult terrain cannot be understated.
My phone battery was nearly dead and would not take a charge from my battery pack, so I stowed it away and didn’t take any more pictures. We chatted the whole way back, enjoying the easy walking. At the trailhead I snapped one last picture and my phone died…for good. Great, I thought, no more pictures for the rest of the trip. No more podcasts or navigation apps or anything. This happened to me on another roadtrip. Such bad luck.
Back at the car, we pulled out cold bubbly water and crunchy snacks to celebrate the completion of the first leg of our journey. Tomorrow, we decided, we’d have to head into town to deal with the phone. Plans always change on trips like these, and between the two of us, I knew we’d figure something out.
Lessons learned
Although I meticulously planned out my food for the 4-day trip, I vastly overestimated how much I would eat. I came back out of the woods with a lot of extra weight that I didn’t need to carry. The bear canister itself took up most of the inside of my pack, too, so I think in the future I’ll only carry one if I absolutely need to.
The solar charger I carried didn’t work as well as I’d hoped, but that was mostly because my phone wasn’t charging well. I should have used it only to charge the battery pack, a strategy I’d employ later on this trip.
I was baffled by how warm it stayed at night. I’m a cold sleeper, so I brought a warm bag, but I never really needed to zip it up. It doesn’t take up that much more space than a lighter bag, so I’m not sure I would have packed differently. I also never needed the hat and gloves I brought, but again I don’t think I would have felt better leaving them behind.
Despite our struggles on Day 4, I don’t think I would have planned the trip any other way. Before leaving home, I gathered just enough information to allow me to navigate the route. I wanted to have just enough mystery to allow me to challenge my skills in a new-to-me area. I never felt like we were in a perilous situation; being uncomfortable, working hard, getting frustrated and solving problems are all essential parts to any adventure (in my humble opinion. I do not like having everything sorted out for me.