WOODS LAKE – ROUND TOP – WINNEMUCCA LAKE LOOP: A RIDE-N-HIKE

If God were to somehow decree

that you could have but one hike in California’s Sierra

…and you had to complete it in less than a day...

this might be that hike.

My hiking buddy, brother Tim, had an appendix removed a week earlier, so, we figured, it was high time to overdo it.  Our common hike up around Duncan’s Peak (Placer County, Tahoe National Forest) seemed appropriate, but we’d done that a month back.

Tim had read about a little loop out of Woods Lake (Carson Pass area, Alpine County, El Dorado National Forest.)  I’d been there, wasn’t recovering from surgery, and figured I could keep up with him, so I said, “Sure.”

I’d stumbled across Woods Lake thirty years ago when looking simply for a place to stretch out after evening had fallen. Awakening to this marvelous alpine lake set among firs at the base of granitic outcrops prompted me to wonder whether I’d wandered into heaven.

Return visits have found me exploring – and later showing off – the four-plus mile trail that loops past Round Top and Winnemucca Lakes.  Sometimes I’ll ride the bike to the trailhead, but sometimes I’ll feel like bringing along the dog. 

I point out a sign to Edward, the lab mix, who returns a look that says, You know I can’t read, ya idjit.  Can’t we just go?

The old trail used to run past the Lost Cabin Mine, then a working claim, amply labeled with keep out signs.  Whatever happened to that route escapes me; the only sign of the district’s mining heritage is a derelict Model A chassis, long ago converted with a pulley to accommodate a belt, which provided power down a now-iron-gated shaft.

The trail ventures south and west out of the campground – at least in the direction we elected.  The path is well used, therefore requiring little grooming.  Steep, with rollie-pollie golf-ball sized rocks in some stretches, Tim breaks out his hiking poles.  I should have done so as well.

Harsh winters and summer foot traffic combine to expose roots on the route.  The stand of pines attached to these tendrils, thrive, but the footing can be delicate.

In late June, I remember this route slicing through glades and meadows of clown lupine and mules ears.  This time, in early August of a dry year, the plant life looks to be more thick-leaved and succulent.  The precursors, festive and alive a month before are but dry stalks turning to dust.

Summiting a small ridge, we find Round Top Lake, an emerald pond at the base of its namesake mountain.  On her western flank, we can see hikers who’d gotten a much earlier start already descending.  We would forego this spur this day.

Glaciers work in slow and predictable ways pushing ridges of gravel and sand ahead of them as they creep down the mountain and leaving those ridges – or moraines – behind when they retreat.  Plants adapt to short dry summers in nutrient-weak soils.

Advancing and retreating over eons, pools form behind the moraines called Paternoster Lakes.  The Sierra is full of them.  Of varying depths and sizes, their water temperature varies as well – each supporting a slightly different cast of living things.

We trek across one of those ancient ice-age remnants on our route to Winnemucca Lake.  At elevation, stunted pines and the occasional juniper are targets for lightning.

Cresting the moraine, Winnemucca Lake reflects the topaz blue of a high Sierran sky.  Big enough for a nice swim, but even in August, my fingertip assessment of water temperature invites me to stay ashore.  And Tim still had stitches.

A trail forks from Winnemucca over to Carson Pass, about 2 miles further east.  Hikers there on must have that top-o-the-world feeling that comes with tickling the sky’s belly. 

But our intended loop gives up elevation quickly as we descend a drainage back down to Woods Lake.  I break out my hiking poles for this section and, although I feel like a human version of a daddy long leg spider, I wish I’d used them on the way up the hill and will, in the future. 

Edward and his buddy, Bernie, enjoy a last moment of hydration before hopping in the Prius (it gets better gas mileage than either of my motorcycles and it runs on regular) for a two-hour ride home.

o0o

Today’s Route:  CA 88 east from Jackson or west from Hope Valley over Carson Pass, or US 50 to Pollack Pines, east on the Mormon Emigrant Trail to CA 88, east on 88. South on Woods Lake Road 1.5 miles to trail head, two miles to Woods Lake.  Fee.

© 2013

BLACK DIAMOND TREKKING POLES – OR ANY TREKKING POLES, FOR THAT MATTER

A product review

Besides motorcycle adventures, a favored activity of mine is a hike in the high country.  It might be genetic.  My postal-worker dad used to spend his weekends on the trail somewhere.  He always used a walking stick.  As a kid, I, too, used to carry a walking stick.  Not because I needed it, but because I wanted to be like Dad.  And since I wasn’t really using the stick, if oft-times was left in camp or used as campfire wood.

Fast-forward a half-century: My knees are sixty-one years of age.  They’ve been temperamental for about forty of ‘em.  Those high country hikes are breath-taking, and, for the most part, enjoyable, except for the pounding my knees take when hiking downhill and the tentative nature of my gait, always concerned about twisting or hyper-extending something.  Injured, I could never safely mount the bike for the ride home.

After ruminating about this for some time, and after consultation with, of all people, my dental hygienist, I found myself in possession of a pair of Black Diamond Trail Ergo Cork Flicklock Trekking Poles.  These lightweight tools telescope down to a length compact enough to strap on the motorcycle without exceeding the GSA’s ample width.  They also fit nicely into the ski-pole slots on my daypack.

They easily extend to a length equal to where my hands are when my forearm is parallel to the ground – and then some.  A cam locks the sections of pole securely into place.

The cork grips nicely fit my hands, the loop working exactly the same as the loop on those cross country ski poles I haven’t used in twenty years because of concerns about the painful confluence where snow skiing meets my poorly designed knees.

My first real use of the poles occurred on a recent Sierra high country day hike.  The route required about an 1800-foot elevation gain in about a mile and a half.  The descent would be about the same.  The trail, although nicely groomed, involved stretches of uphill and downhill on ball bearing-like scree or sand slickened granite.

Going uphill using the poles in rhythmic concert with my gait, I didn’t feel any particular relief on my legs, but upon achieving a summit and resting, I noted that my arms and shoulders felt as if they were receiving a gentle workout.

Heading downhill with the trekking poles properly extended, almost, immediately, I wasn’t concerned about the errant foot slip that would have prompted my involuntary knee-stiffening reflex.

Only when crossing a small stream on a log was I so concerned about where I placed the poll tips that I nearly fell in.

On the five-mile loop, I was aware that most of my fellow hikers were using a similar appliance.  One who wasn’t struck up a conversation admitting that he was nearly fifty, thinking about getting a pair and wondered how I liked them.  That’s the moment when the above comments began to gel.

The following morning I awoke with pleasant memories of a hike in the high Sierra.  My arms, shoulders and upper back felt as if they’d spent a little bit of time at a gym I never visited, and my knees?  No acetaminophen necessary.

Dad, in his way, was right again.  I should have purchased some trekking poles long ago.

© 2013

Church of the Open Road Press

ON THE TRAIL OF THE PONY EXPRESS

History is an amazing great thing. 

If you don’t know a specific detail, you can always just make something up.

- Carl Rove did not say this, however...

Hiking buddy Joe once told me that State Route 88 from Jackson to the Nevada State line was one of the prettiest roads anywhere.  It had been some time, so a revisit to the area was in order.  After breakfast at Mel and Faye’s in Jackson, I rolled east on 88.  The BMW seemed eager to climb the gradual ascent through oak studded hills, into the mixed pine belt, then Ponderosa pine, then lodgepole, and up into the glazed and beautiful granite county.  This would be one of those days the late Robert Goulet crooned about.  Thirty miles on, I recalled that my goal was a leisurely ride, stopping here and there for photographs.

East of the Mormon Emigrant Trail intersect, Shot Rock rest area offers stunning, panoramic views of the Sierra.  A quarter mile trail leads to a rock barricade perfect for rest and reflection.  The sky is deep blue and the air sweet enough to drink.  Down from the vantage point, glacial polish tells of the power of ice to scour clean the ancient topsoil of the region.  Huge granite boulders rest on broad flat plains where they were deposited once that ice melted away.  Erratics, they are called – and they are not named after those who drive on Interstate 80 in the Sacramento area.

The power of ice is further on display as one passes a huge specimen of granite that appears to have been cleaved in half.  Only ages of water gathering, freezing, expanding, melting and repeating could have produced this split.  And only in the last few moments of its existence, a bit of what appears to be pine mat Manzanita has gained foothold.

Up 88 a few ticks, the road courses past Silver Lake and Caples Lake, two early day examples of man harnessing the river by inundating a meadow.  Now the shallow water washes over the lake’s decomposing granite floor.  Tiny tempests kick the surface into a minor flurry.  Back in the day, you’da probably sipped this water in its raw form.  No more.  Still, camping seems glorious here.  A kayak or a canoe on a moonlit night would be perfect. 

Secluded off the highway rests the Woods Lake Recreation Area.  I’ve camped here several times.  If on a multi-day trip, this spot might command two nights. 

Woods Lake is an alpine body surrounded by peaks soaring a thousand or more feet above.  Snow still clings to their protected flanks and the water feeding the pond is cold enough to shatter teeth. 

A marvelous hike loops south, east and then north past Winnemucca and Round Top Lakes.  Each is a delightful pool – a few thousand years short of becoming a meadow – positioned on the higher ground.  Early July is only early spring in these parts and a carnival of wildflowers frolic in the afternoon breeze alongside the trail.  A bonus on this hike is passing an up-until-quite-recently-active hard rock mine.  Look for the Model A engine with a flat belt pulley fashioned on its drive shaft and pointed toward a hole in the ground.

State Route 88 gracefully climbs over Kit Carson Pass.  Here, the Pacific Crest Trail crosses.  There is parking and a manned informational kiosk.  

Like a seven minute waltz that only lasts three, the descent into Hope Valley doesn’t last quite long enough.  Unlike the gradual rise from Jackson to the summit, the trip down is abrupt and the road is painstakingly engineered into pinkish rock variants that no longer seem like granite.  As the route begins to level out, one of the most photographed, sketched and/or water colored cabins on the planet comes into view on the left.  Built decades ago, it appears rustic and romantic prompting thoughts of wouldn’t that be a great place to have.  Maybe with Maureen O’Hara.

Although now, nearly completely screened by willows I stop for my perfunctory picture and discover that the forty acres upon which it sits in on the market.  Immediately I call my wife on the cell phone, which amazingly has coverage here.  She just laughs.  It is then that I realize I don’t have Maureen O’Hara’s number on my speed dial.

Hope Valley is a year round Mecca for hikers, mountain bikers, fisher people enjoying the Carson River, and XC enthusiasts.  Sorenson’s is the hub.  North from here is the crush of South Lake Tahoe.  South finds us in Markleeville, the state’s smallest county seat.  East takes us to Woodfords, my final stop on this crossing.

Back to making up history:  That’s what I must have been doing when, back in the late 70s and early 80s, I taught my fourth graders about the perils the Pony Express endured while crossing the Sierra near Donner Pass.  So, when I took a break yesterday at the Woodfords Store, I was surprised to find (or had forgotten) that the frontage road is called “Old Pony Express Trail.” 

Just outside the outpost, an ancient apple tree hangs over a pair of picnic tables where I would enjoy a Payday bar and a bottle of Calistoga water.  Across the road rests a plaque correcting my story.  As I spat out some candy wrapper that had stuck to the caramel, I wondered how many other facts I’d told my delicate nine-year-olds that were forty miles south of the truth.

Shot of the Day:  Industrious red beetles work over a piece of thistle or meadow cabbage of some sort in Hope Valley.  Click on the photo to enlarge.

Today’s Route:  From CA 49 in Jackson, head east on CA 88 over Carson Pass and into Nevada.

© 2012

Church of the Open Road Press