Backpacking in the Emigrant Wilderness

     Unbelievably gorgeous landscapes, swims in cold mountain lakes, rigorous hiking, challenges met and overcome, good hiking companions—everything that makes a good backpacking trip came in spades in my recent week-long trip in the Emigrant Wilderness Area, just north of Yosemite, with my friend Scott and his cousin's daughter, Erin.

Scott and Erin, my tall, long-legged hiking partners

     Scott, a Sierra Club outings leader, was looking at the route we took as a potential Sierra Club trip. When I asked, as we were walking out, how he would rate it for difficulty, he said, "A solid 4." (The Sierra Club's "most difficult" rating is 5.)

    I whole-heartedly agree. The trail was so steep in places I thought I just couldn't haul myself—and my pack—up another two-foot-high rock step in the long, beautiful, built-in-granite, rock staircases. At one point, I thought, "Diana, you're 80 years old. What do you think you're doing?" But on I went and on I went and on I went, and I did every step of the trail and loved it all. Many times I rounded a curve to find Scott and Erin waiting for me. Seeing me, satisfied that I was coming, they turned around and kept on hiking. I followed without stopping.

    We camped in glorious places. My favorite was on the granite slabs above insuperably beautiful Lake Lertora, achieved on a "black diamond, singletrack trail with a hard overall physical rating." (Agreed!) That night we watched the sunset stripe the sky and the lake with pinks and oranges; the next morning I got up at 6:00 for a swim. Yes, it was cold (7877-foot altitude), but it was so beautiful I couldn't leave the water. I swam around a large granite-based island with trees and flowers before finally pulling myself to shore. It was, Erin estimated, a 40-minute swim.

The island I swam around in Lake Lertora

    I had a swim every morning. At one campsite, while Scott was trying to catch a trout he could see holding steady in the current, I swam across the river and back. As the trout never bit, we dubbed the campsite Camp Elusive.

    There were numerous stream crossings. Each time, I watched Erin cross first to see how deep the water was. Three or four times the water was so deep I took off my shorts to cross in my underwear and let Scott carry my pack.

Crossing Wood Lake

If the current was strong Erin carried my shoes so I could use both hands unencumbered on my hiking poles. Do you see what I mean? Great hiking companions.

Scott filling water bottles at a stream crossing

    Day after day we took to the trail, climbing over logs, up steep stone staircases, through mosquito-infested marshes, across steep snowfields, and, always, through the stunning landscape of the high Sierra. One day, on an unmaintained trail, Scott's phone with its GPS died, so we had to do some trail-hunting. We didn't get to our destination that long, difficult day till 6:00 that evening. When we got there—Gem Lake—the bugs were awful. Actually, the whole trip was marked with unending mosquitoes. We wore mosquito nets over our hats most of the time and kept any exposed limbs well lubricated with bug repellent. 

    But in the high Sierra, if you have mosquitoes in June, you also have flowers. l was in seventh heaven with the spreads of pale lavender shooting stars,

bright magenta penstemon, heather almost the same color, and spreads of pink pussy paws, yellow brodiaea, and gorgeous clumps of pink and white creeping phlox among the white granite.

    Each of us had brought dinner for all of us for one night. Erin's was best—rice with three tins of mackerel, rich and fulfilling and impressively heavy to carry. I wished I had brought more cream cheese to go with the pasta I served, but, unlike Erin, I was considering the weight of my pack. 

    One night we looked at a campsite in the trees by the river, but it had an animal hole, front door and back door, which we figured was a fox's, so we camped instead on the rocks above the river. Sure enough, that night I heard the fox bark down there where we had thought to camp. 

    At Lake Lertora we were entertained for hours by nuthatches and woodpeckers flying in and out of holes in a tree facing our campsite.

We saw an occasional marmot. Lots of trout, a pileated woodpecker. No bears or deer.

    Have I talked you into hiking into the Emigrant Wilderness from Crabtree Trailhead? It ain't easy! But it's OMG gorgeous.

Mountains, Flowers, Friends, Taxis, and Bears

     I spent a few days last week camping with my son, Ela, and a group of friends at a tiny log cabin 

                                                                photo by Ela Lamblin

deep in the north Cascades, overlooking dense forests and distant snowy peaks.

    What a great group of people! We spent hours in intelligent, probing, delightful conversation, morning and evening.

Breakfast long over, we are still enjoying each other's company.   
                                                                                    Photo by Diana Coogle

We went on hikes, drank sweet water from hidden springs, looked for the lady slipper orchids, which were disappointingly not quite in bloom. The first night I lay in the hot tub, on a platform overlooking the densely forested hills, watching the stars twinkle into view one by one.  We cooked over a campfire every night,

                                                            photo by Ela Lamblin

sharing whatever each of us had brought. Ela grilled some delicious lamb chops one night; another night he and I passed around caprese hors d'oeuvres while a salmon filet cooked on the fire.
    The second day, while some guests took long mountain-bike rides, Lisa took me on a strenuous hike up and over the mountain, 

                                                            Photo by Lisa Brody

where yellow balsam root, red Indian paintbrush, and purple lupine decorated the woods, with great views of Cascade peaks. The trail was mostly a motorcycle trail; Lisa, who hadn't been on it for several years, called it "70% unhikable" because it was so steep and dust-slippery, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.   

    The last day of our visit we went back to the orchids and this time were treated to their astonishing blooms. 

Lady slipper orchids in the north Cascades. Photo by Diana Coogle

    I had a wonderful time, but I did not have a smooth trip home. The taxi I booked to get me to the train station in Tacoma never showed up. I finally took a bus, but I missed my train, had to buy another train ticket, and arrived in Eugene too late to drive home so I also missed a meeting and a booked massage on the next day. On the other hand, I found a really good little restaurant for dinner in Eugene, and the train ride from Tacoma to Eugene had been beautiful. 

Mt. Rainier through the train window. Photo by Diana Coogle

    When I got home, I discovered mysterious smears on several windows.

In spite of the reflections, you can clearly see
the bear paw prints on a downstairs window.

They had to have come from a bear, investigating the house while I was gone. One of the windows on which he left a paw print was, disconcertingly, in my upstairs bedroom. The bear had climbed a tree to get on the roof to peer in. I used to leave that window wide open every night. Not any more.