Last night as I was looking at the map and thinking about my itinerary over the next few days, I thought it might be nice to try to get to Lodgepole in three days rather than on a fourth hiking day like I had originally planned. This would give me a little more flexibility when I head into my last high route, which I think may have some difficult sections that would be mollified somewhat with extra time. This morning, even though I was so comfortably asleep in the homey nest of my tent, I got myself up and prepared and hiking by 6:30 (point of reference: typically on long hikes I’m hiking by 5:30 or 6 every day, but for some reason on this trip I’ve been indulgent in the mornings and often break camp around 7).
The Kern River slashes a deep gash running north to south through Sequoia National Park. At the bottom of its canyon, the elevation is around 6500 feet for many river miles. It’s bordered by steep and tall walls, stretching several thousand feet up, and if you were to climb up and follow the plateaus away from the canyon, you’d rise into high country both to the east and to west. To the east lies the Sierra Crest, areas I was intimate with only a few days ago. Today, after finally breaking away from the river, I went west.
I walked for around 8 miles or so along the river, lovely and unusually flat walking during which I had a startling encounter with a bobcat who was sleeping in the sand next to the trail and didn’t hear my approach until I was nearly upon it. It ran up the hillside and watched me as I watched it, its stub tail twitching back and forth. I’ve come to enjoy staring contests with wild cats over the years, and this one was as pleasurable as all the rest: taking in one another’s size and shape, level of concern or ambition. I didn’t linger long, and nearly simultaneously we broke from one another, me continuing along the trail and the cat slinking upslope into a patch of trees.
Ferns and forest along the Kern River
Looking back south into the Kern River Canyon from partway up the climb
By 9 or so I had come to the junction with the High Sierra Trail. I followed it west away from the river and up, a steady and determined climb of 2500 feet, after which the grade lessened but the trail continued to climb for another 1500 feet, from 6500 at the gentle Kern River up to 10500. It wound through sandy forested hills, along some meadows, along a cliff edge, and then descended to a lovely avenue of green, ramps of meadow that led after a few miles to Kaweah Gap, an unusually low spot in the Great Western Divide, a tall seam of mountains running north-south that makes east-west passage difficult.
View south from the Chagoopa Plateau (what I climbed up to) along the High Sierra Trail.
Flower medley
Self-portrait #3
Somewhere during this, from 12:15 to 1:45 or so, I did a simultaneous Contemplative Dance Practice (CDP), aligned in time with a group of dancers I practice CDP with weekly, every Friday. CDP has three parts: sitting meditation; personal awareness practice (like a physical and attentional warm up); and open space, in which we explore improvisational composition, movement, and witnessing. I let them know through email I would be joining in this way, imaging them in the studio as a kind of transparency overlaid with my world of mountains. Mine were walking versions of each part: walking meditation, walking personal awareness practice, and walking open space. In certain ways, the first two felt familiar to states I’m often in as I hike along day to day. But the last part in particular was novel: to view the landscape I was walking in through an open space lens was a meaningful shift. Suddenly the trees and rocks were part of the composition, and I was a witness from the very center. I bowed in (a formality in the practice, which is deeply influenced by Tibetan Buddhism) a few times, added to the composition as I walked: a long meadow framing a mountain with an off center rock one time; a stretch of dense forest another; yet another singing with a creek that splashed across the path. And I did imagine my dance companions in Seattle, using their bodies to make sense of their world as I used mine to make sense of this mountain land. One kind of sense among many, anyway. Such is the multiplicity of our world.
I had originally planned to camp just at the beginning of this long green avenue of meadows leading up to the Kaweah Gap. That would be a totally reasonable 20 mile, 4000 foot day. But when I decided to punch it and see whether I could sail into Lodgepole a day early, I decided to make it up to the gap, another 3.5 miles or so, or just after. I began climbing the thousand feet up there, and after a couple miles decided to stop before crossing the gap. Some hikers heading in the opposite direction said there wasn’t camping on the other side for some 4.5 miles, and it was about 6p as I was approaching the gap. It’s getting dark now at 8p, so it seemed reasonable to put off crossing until morning. But as I was looking for a place to set up camp, the inevitable afternoon mass of gray clouds overhead let loose the rain, my ever-on-hand wet friend. This was one of the heavier and steadier rains yet, and I quickly dug out my rain suit and battened down my backpack. I didn’t want to stop and pitch the tent in the rain–often when it’s raining, it’s better just to keep walking and wait the rain out rather than make camp in the rain and get everything wet, though of course this strategy depends on whether it’s the kind of rain that will stop–so I decided to hump over the gap and see what I could do with the other side.
Rain mixed with sun, the mercuriality of the mountains
Rain over the Big Arroyo Canyon (where I came from) viewed from near the Kaweah Gap.
The rain stopped as I topped out, and I began a quick descent, knowing I had limited daylight hours to find camping. I was prepared to finish my day with a 4 mile jog downhill to Hamilton Lakes if necessary. As I ran downhill in the fading light, dodging rocks and navigated patches of snow, I passed a scratched out spot in the dirt right next to the trail. I gratefully decided to stop there rather than slip into camp near 8p, rather than run down this rocky trail in the dark.
Precipice Lake, where I did not stop to camp
Sunset view from where I did stop to camp.
Though it was a long day, some 25 miles and over 5000 feet in climbing, my body feels relatively good. Both ankles are holding up ok, knees are alright, hips are strong. I haven’t had any days like this on this trip because 25 miles cross country is out of my league, but it’s nice to have one long trail day with an open stride.
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