It’s spring time, with weather too nice to stay inside but still too cold and snowy for normal people to head up into the big mountains.   This is the time of year when the lower elevation mountain ranges, such as those found on California’s coast, are at their prime.  With mild weather and abundant wildflowers awaiting, it’s a good time to break out the backpacking gear, unlock the muscles and start working off that winter blubber.  So where should you head?  That mostly depends on where you live, but I’d like to share a favorite spot of mine that has become almost like an annual spring pilgrimage:  Henry Coe State Park near the San Francisco Bay Area.

Those unfamiliar may be forgiven for raising eyebrows of skepticism at the mention of backpacking in or near the San Francisco Bay Area.  After all, one might ask, “How good can the outdoor opportunities be near such a major metropolitan area?”  Anyone asking this question is in for a pleasant surprise.  Henry Coe covers something like 75,000 acres of rugged hills, grassy meadows and flowing streams.  With elevations approaching 4000 feet, there is plenty of challenging terrain but nothing too overpowering on a mild spring day (summers can be iron melting).  So attention weekend warriors, Henry Coe beckons you and accepts your spirit of a tiger but the body a potato.  

With my trusty backpacking companions Dave and Kate, I headed to Henry Coe in mid April. It was 2009, but that is not an important detail–it could have been 1999 or any other year practically.  We decided on a 2 night/3 day itinerary camping first at the base of Blue Ridge at Mexican Flat and the second night at “The Rock”, a special place I first discovered with Dave 12 years ago, during our college days, on our maiden voyage to Henry Coe.  In typical fashion we got a slow start and were on the trail no earlier than 4:45 pm.  The hike from park headquarters to the base of Blue Ridge is fairly easy and mostly downhill, passing Frog Lake and a number of wild turkeys.  I can’t guarantee anyone that they will spot wild turkeys, but I can guarantee that locating Mexican Flat is no easy task.  It is about 3/10 of a mile off trail (feels like twice that) and guarded by poison oak. 

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It wasn’t much to look at,  an enormous pile of rocky debris shaped into a giant mound by the creators of mountains and then perhaps left behind or forgotten about, half finished.  The summit of Mt. Gabb stood  tall but not unreachable from the three trekkers in the valley below.  The summit would have required perhaps a strenuous walk to the top, from the look of it.  “What would be the point?” I thought.  Looking at it, I joked the mountain looked like a giant pile of rubble, and none of us thought much about climbing it.  Less than 24 hours later, when it was too late to reverse the foolhardiness of assumptions and first impressions, I wished we had attempted a climb.

Mt. Gabb was somewhere near the center of our 5 day trek into the heart of the Mono Divide and the John Muir Wilderness, a rugged section of California’s Sierra Nevada mountains.  To get there, the three trekkers; Dave, Kate and I, had to start somewhere different– a trailhead remote and eerie, deep within the mountains.  On the map, the Pine Creek trailhead began near a mine symbol marked simply as “tungsten mine”.  Such markings are often of little consequence, as many mines are hidden and obscured by time, abandonments to the past.  But not this one.  The mine we encountered sprawled in the head of a tight valley surrounded by jagged peaks.  Amongst the metal buildings and strange equipment we detected traces of humanity, a nearly futile struggle to keep the shattered and towering rock from pressing in too close, threatening to crush and ruin.   As we climbed the trail that wound around and above the mine, there was scant evidence of any life or activity, nothing to betray a human presence.  Only the fact the mine wasn’t simply crushed and reclaimed by the giants above belied the truth that someone must care for this scar of metal and mechanical invention.   It was a mystery at the start of a mysterious journey.

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It had long been my goal to reach Smith Lake, but when I accomplished that goal on September 2, 2007, I realized I wasn’t half done with the adventure.  On that day, my friend, Dave Bosworth, and I were camped at Smith Lake with beautiful weather and an entire extra day to kill.  So naturally, we decided to take full advantage of our time and attempt a climb of Sawtooth Peak.  Actually, we intended to simply hike and climb–whether we made the summit or not was not the main concern because we knew that the summit was a Class 2+ , 3, or 4 climb, depending upon what author’s opinion is regarded.  In other words, the summit might be a fun, challenging climb or something closer to suicide.  We didn’t know what to expect, but we soon found out.  Ultimately we did not conquer the summit on the 3rd of September, but we came close, and the adventure we had that day was nevertheless one of the most rewarding, exciting, and fantastically beautiful wilderness experiences of my life.  Yes, the final leg to the summit was a climb too vertical and scary dangerous for Dave and I, but maybe one day we will return for another attempt, perhaps with actual climbing gear, not just trail running shoes.  Until then, here is a story of a remarkable hike and climb that any enthusiastic backpacker would treasure.

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If there is one backpacking destination that I have coveted over most others, it would have to Smith Lake, set high in the Trinity Alps of northern California.  This lightly visited mountain range is rather unlike some of California’s better known mountains such as the Sierras.  I could go on and on all day about how great the Sierra Nevada mountains are.  But for those looking for something a little different, the high country of the Trinity Alps comprise a small universe of surprisingly rugged granite peaks and pristine lakes.  The summits of these mountains look at feel high but aren’t (the highest point, Mt. Thompson, is only 9002 ft.)  But don’t be fooled– these mountains are no chicken scratch, they rise thousands of feet above their valley floors and are tough, chiseled sculptures of towering granite.  Like the Southern Alps of New Zealand, alpine conditions start at fairly low elevations.  Also in common with New Zealand’s Southern Alps, the Trinity Alps lie relatively close to the ocean, and therefor the weather can be highly unpredictable.  Allow me to emphasize this unpredictability;  I have been hiking in a t-shirt under a clear sky and had a  thunderstorm appear from out of nowhere, with  less than twenty minutes of space between suntan conditions and then rain, hail, wind, thunder, lightning, and plummeting temperatures.  The lesson here is that a hike of any length needs to be equipped to handle 4 seasons in one day.  However, there is no reason why a competent backpacker should miss out on this wilderness area, and if you are up to the challenge, consider Smith Lake as one of the ultimate cross country (off trail) destinations of the Trinity Alps.

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view from Donner Pass Road

Sometimes an adventure seems impossible because of time constraints.  I was in this predicament last week.  I had gone up to Truckee (near Lake Tahoe on the California/Oregon border) to work for Ian Waight, owner of Palisade Construction.  With the short winter days, there was little room for any outdoor adventuring.  But I couldn’t complain, it was great just to have a job to do.  Times are tough now, in late 2008, with the economy shedding jobs faster than a recently immersed dog shaking off water.  With recession now officially declared, things are especially bad in construction due to the recent collapse of the housing market.   But that topic is for another blog entry perhaps.  At any rate, my economic survival strategy is to go anywhere there is work which is why I jumped at the chance to work in Tahoe for a week.

The Lake Tahoe area is fantastically beautiful and since I am in the area infrequently, it seems a shame Read the rest of this entry »