Tag Archives: California hiking

August days in Death Valley

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During the summer months at Death Valley, birds sometimes drop out of the sky, killed by the extreme heat. Would our car die as well? As the car slid down Highway 190 into Death Valley, the temperature indicator continued to climb: 105, 110, 112, 115, eventually topping out at 123 degrees F. Would the tires hold up? Can cars even drive in such heat?

We’d hardly seen another vehicle on this road on this hot August afternoon. But when we pulled into the parking lot at Father Crowley Vista Point, we felt better, as plenty of other visitors joined us there for views of Rainbow Canyon.

We had read that birds sometimes sometimes drop out of the sky, and then, on a short morning hike, we found this little bird, still warm.

Visiting Death Valley at the peak of summer is a unique experience. It’s probably  not for everyone,  but I went there in August, 2018, and had a lovely time exploring the park, the largest outside of Alaska.

Although we had a car full of camping gear, camping was not an option. As we drove by, one lonely tent sat in the campground at Emigrant, and not a single tree.  The temperature here was about 119 degrees, and probably  15 or 20 degrees higher in the  heat-absorbing tent.  But summer is “low season” at Death Valley, and we scored a last-minute air-conditioned room at the Furnace Creek Ranch, motel-style accommodations with a mediocre family-style restaurant and a fantastic pool. Across the road, the fancy Furnace Creek Inn beckoned with all of its 1920s glamour and low summer rates, but alas, the inn was full.

In the winter, I could spend a lot of time exploring the nooks and crannies of Death Valley, which features mountains and canyons galore, as well as the lowest point in the United States, Badwater Basin. There is also the weird Scotty’s Castle, one-time vacation home to Chicago businessman Albert Johnson and his wife Bessie, along with their sidekick, the con artist/cowboy Walter Scott. Unfortunately, the Castle is closed until 2020, as it sustained severe damage in a 2015 flash flood.

In the summer, signs posted everywhere remind visitors that hiking after 10 a.m. is dangerous and not recommended. Thus, we set our alarms for 4:45 a.m., intent on greeting the day at Badwater Basin. By dawn, the temperature had cooled to a reasonable 100 degrees or so — a dry heat.  By 5:30 a.m.,  we were wandering around the Basin in blissful solitude.

Soaking up 282 feet below sea level as the sun rises as Badwater Basin, the lowest point in the United States.

By the time we left the Basin around 7 a.m., three or four other people had gathered. I love national parks, but they are often very crowded. Lack of crowds is a huge benefit in visiting Death Valley  and other parks off-season.

After the sunrise, when the temperature had climbed to a reasonable 105 or so, we headed up a nearby gravel road to the trailhead for the short hike into Natural Bridge Canyon.

The hike up Natural Bridge Canyon is do-able in extreme heat, especially before 10 a.m.

The hike — about one-mile round trip, depending on how far you hike in — offers some fun rock scrambles and interesting geological features.

Scrambling up the rocks in Natural Bridge Canyon.

Then, after a drive along Artist’s Palette loop road, (which shows off its best colors closer to sunrise or sunset) we returned to the air-conditioned visitor’s center to check out the exhibits, and then to our room at the Ranch for siesta.

The pool at the Furnace Creek Ranch feels very decadent in this land of little rain, but I still enjoyed lounging around in it during the hottest part of the afternoon as well as later in the evening, when the temperatures cooled to a balmy 105 degrees or so.  An abundant natural spring supplies water to the pool through a gravity-fed system, and the water is then re-used to irrigate the landscaping, gardens and the resort’s golf-course. Learning all of this — and that the resort is a California Green Lodging Certified property — eased any remaining guilt I felt about cooling off.

That evening, after a visit to the glamorous Furnace Creek Inn for a late afternoon snack, we headed to Zabriskie Point to catch the sunrise and watch the colors of the sunrise play out across the folds of the Death Valley.

Zabriskie Point at sunset. Don’t be fooled by my solitary pose — sunset at Zabriskie always attracts a crowd, even on the hottest days of summer.

Death Valley attracts many European visitors in August, and we found ourselves surrounded by a mix of French, German, Italian, Spanish and other voices.

After sunset, the temperature cooled down.

Evidence suggests that like many places on earth, Death Valley is heating up even further. Summers have always been hot at Death Valley. But in 2018, Death Valley had it warmest ever July, breaking the record set during 2017, with an average daily temperature of 108.2, six degrees higher than usual.  At the Furnace Creek weather station, the high temperature hit at least 120 degrees on 21 days. On four days, the temperature soared to 127 degrees.  (The highest temperature ever of 131 degrees Farenheit was “reliably recorded” at Furnace Creek on June 30, 2013).

An outdoor museum at the Furnace Creek Ranch showcases wagons, tools, and other artifacts leftover from the 1883-1889 borax mining era at Harmony Borax Works, near Furnace Creek. Various mining operations continued to operate in the park for most of its history, with the last mine closing in 2005.

A  “wet bulb” temperature of 100 degrees F (35 Celsius) and 85% humidity that equals 167 degrees is the maximum heat limit for human survivability, because the body’s cooling system can’t keep pace with the heat (see Leahy source, below).  The NOAA National Weather Service Heat Index shows the combinations of heat and humidity that produce specific “wet bulb” temperatures.

But wet bulb temperatures below 167 degrees also kill people. In 2015, a heat wave that generated wet-bulb temperatures of 122 degree F killed over 3,500 people in India and Pakistan. Chicago experienced a similar heat wave in 1995, and hundreds of people died. Thanks to climate change, we can expect more Death Valley-like days everywhere in years to come.

The Timbisha Shoshone people, who still call Death Valley home, knew how to  survive in this harsh environment. But Death Valley earned its name for a reason. At Furnace Creek, the spring-fed pools and air-conditioned rooms changed our experience of the heat from a threat to a novelty that we could experience, and then retreat from to a cooler environment.  But around the world, millions of people in hot zones — along with plants and wildlife — have no access to a cooler artificial environment. I wonder how we will adapt as major cities around the world routinely experience stretches of Death Valley days.

Being an optimist, or perhaps willfully blind, I’ll end by saying that I look forward to returning to Death Valley, but probably in another season, when birds don’t drop from the sky, and I can spend the entire day outdoors exploring this amazing national resource.

Good-bye, Death Valley, until I return in my camper van (a few years down the road).

Sources and resources

This cool map of Death Valley, from the National Park Service, displays in a couple of different ways.

“Death Valley posts hottest month ever recorded on Earth, for the second July in a row,” by Ian Livingston and Jason Samenow.  The Washington Post, August 1, 2018.

“Parts of Asia May Be Too Hot for People by 2100,” by Stephen Leahy.  National Geographic News, August 2, 2017.

 

Exploring the streets of the mountains in the Onion Valley

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On the map, Onion Valley looks remote and inaccessible, an impression confirmed by the drive on a twisting mountain road from Independence, California.

After a 15-mile drive from Independence, the road ends at the Forest Service campground, at an elevation of 9,600 feet.

In town, we pass the home of  writer Mary Austin, best known for her 1903 essay collection, The Land of Little Rain, a short collection of quiet prose describing the natural and human world of the southern Sierra and Owens Valley.  I had packed the Dover Thrift edition (weight 3 oz) and was looking forward to becoming re-acquainted with Austin.

As a literary type, I was thrilled to suddenly come upon Mary Austin’s house after we turned off Route 395 to head up to Onion Valley.

My three friends and I were logistically prepared for a five-night backpacking trip in the southern Sierra, where, wrote Austin, “all streets of the mountains lead to citadels.”  However, an unlucky accident involving a slashed toe (not mine) meant we had to consider a plan B. We had a day or so to decide.

The Onion Valley Campground, tucked into a small glacial valley and surrounded by mountains, was definitely remote. But not inaccessible. On this summer weekend, the campground was full to bursting with campers and hikers, including many coming off or starting out on the John Muir Trail.  But the campground, populated by tired hikers, was quiet. That evening, as a sliver of moon rose in the sky, we shut the place down as we read Mary Austin around the picnic table.

In the morning, the toe looked gruesome, but its owner was up for a short hike to test it. We headed up a rough trail towards Robinson Lake.  The map showed a 1.5 mile hike, but we missed the actual trail and ended up following a series of herd paths that took us up a steeper and longer route.

Robinson Lake, a 1.5 mile hike from Onion Valley that was more challenging than I expected. The water was FREEZING! (And I’m from Maine, so I know cold).

We spent the afternoon relaxing and exploring around the lake.

Another view of Robinson Lake.

The grove of Jeffrey pines on the shore of Robinson Lake would make a great campsite. With a permit, camping is allowed, although the lake mostly attracts day hikers.

That evening, as we enjoyed our rehydrated Good-to-Go pad Thai meal, we decided to call off the backpack. Instead, three of us would set off on the 9-mile round-trip hike to Kearsarge Pass, elevation 11,700 feet.  Our injured friend would pack up the campsite (as we had to move to another site) and try to meet up with us later in the day, when she felt ready.

The trail to Kearsarge Pass travels a well-packed series of switchbacks. Right from the beginning, the hiking was easier than the day before. Maybe because it was a better trail, or maybe because we were hiking ON the trail, and not bushwhacking.  Or maybe our lungs had adjusted to the altitude. Regardless, the 4.7 hike up to the pass, with about 2,000 feet of elevation gain, did not feel difficult.

On the dusty trail towards Kearsarge Pass. The horses are from the Sequoia Kings Pack Outfit pack station, which resupplies hikers on the John Muir Trail.

View of Heart Lake, one of five mountain lakes that hikers pass en route to Kearsarge Pass.

As hikers approach the pass, steep slopes of Sierra scree rise above the trail. The trail itself is hard-packed dirt, and easy walking, at least if you are coming from the roots and rocks of New England.

At the pass, we enjoyed a cocktail-party like atmosphere with as  hikers stopped to rest and chat.   Below us stretched a basin with Kearsarge and Charlotte Lakes, where we had originally planned to camp.  The John Muir trail beckoned.  

We didn’t get to complete our five-day backpack, but I wasn’t really disappointed. I was in the company of three fabulous friends with whom I rarely get to spend time.  And we had learned so much about what we could do, many years after our first days of hiking together.  Like all hiking, the hike to Kearsarge pass was a process of putting one foot in front of the other, many times.  The 211-mile John Muir Trail — and any trail — remains within our reach.

Okay, we weren’t carrying heavy packs, and we’ll need to do some training if we want to enjoy rather than just endure a 200-mile hike. But we can do it.

As Mary Austin wrote, “There is always another year, and another.” Now, as summer turns to fall, it’s time to start planning.

All smiles at Kearsarge Pass.

The view from Kearsarge Pass, including Kearsarge and Bullfrog Lakes. Our original plan called for us to drop down into this basin and set up a lakeside campsite.

Sources and resources

The Inyo National Forest Onion Valley Campground site provides information about campground reservations and wilderness permits. The Forest Service accepts permit applications six months in advance, and limits the number of permits. We applied for ours back in February.

The excellent John Muir Trail planning site of the Pacific Crest Trail Association is a great place to begin planning for an extended JMT hike.

Beautiful desolation at Lake Aloha

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“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.“~John Muir, Our National Parks (1901)

Many wildflowers bloomed on the trail, including the phlox familiar to most New England gardeners/

Many wildflowers bloomed on the trail, including the phlox familiar to most New England gardeners.

Could I still carry a fully loaded backpack and not be crushed by its weight and the forces of middle age?

Well, I knew I could do it. The real question was, could I carry a full backpack and enjoy myself?

The occasion was my friend Natasha’s 50th birthday. The destination, Lake Aloha in the California’s Desolation Wilderness, near Lake Tahoe.

I made my checklist – tent, pots, Bearikade container filled with three days worth of food  — and scrutinized each item for its weight. Over the past couple of years, I’ve replaced various pieces of old gear with ultralight equipment – like my 15 oz Z-Pack sleeping bag – but still couldn’t quite commit myself to the raw food/no stove ultra ultralight approach. For me, drinking cup of hot coffee or tea at a remote campsite is part of the wilderness experience. But could I do without a book, a journal? I couldn’t.  I threw both in and strapped on the pack for the trip to the airport.

When I arrived in San Francisco, heavy rain was falling –a totally unanticipated event in this drought-ridden state. On-and-off heavy downpours continued as we drove to Echo Lake, where we planned to take the water taxi to its upper end.  On our drive, we debated options: stay in a cabin or lodge for the night? Head out in the rain?

At the Echo Lake store, we learned that the cabins across the way were not yet open, but a water taxi was loading up.  We rapidly re-organized our stuff, pulled on rain gear, and jumped in boat.

When we set off from the trailhead at the upper end of Echo Lake, my pack didn’t feel terrible. By then, the rain had stopped, and the leftover dampness tamped down the dusty trail that I remember from previous hikes here. The air felt fresh and the usually dusty sage brush smelled sagey. Orange paintbrush and pink phlox bloomed beside the trail. As we walked among the ponderosa at Haypress Meadows, the grass glowed vibrant green.

We hiked in about three miles from Upper Echo Lake to arrive at Lake of the Woods just as the gray sky was starting to clear.

We hiked in about three miles from Upper Echo Lake to Lake of the Woods just as the gray sky was clearing.  There, we found the perfect campsite, tucked in the trees 100 feet back from the lake (per the permit requirements), but just steps away from a granite peninsula that made for a fine lakeside kitchen and lounging platform. Mid-week in June we were the only campers here for two nights, although we encountered many heading up the trail from Echo Lake on Friday.

I was glad I remembered to bring a couple of dimes so that we could open the Bearikade bear-proof food canister, especially after I realized I had locked the swiss army knife in with the food. The meal was a delicious dehydrated Thai curry from Good-to-Go, a little start-up food company at the end of my street in Kittery.  Real vegetables — green beans, hunks of cauliflower — sprung to after soaking in boiling hot water for 20 minutes. As we ate dinner, a mother duckling and her five ducklings paddled by.

I left Kittery at 3:30 a.m. by sunset was enjoying a late sunset dinner at Lake of the Woods. I'm glad I remember to bring a couple of dimes so that we could open the Bearikade food canister, especially after we realized we had locked the swiss army knife in with the food.

I left Kittery, Maine at 3:30 a.m. and by sunset was enjoying a late Pacific Time dinner at Lake of the Woods.

A bottle of champagne only weights a couple of pounds.

A bottle of champagne only weighs about 1.5 pounds, so we threw it into the pack. Happy Birthday, Natasha!

As the sun set, my friend and I toasted with the champagne we’d brought (along with our books) and continued our non-stop conversation about our families, jobs, mutual friends, politics, books, Morocco (where we both served as Peace Corps Volunteers), and a hundred other topics.

I was definitely enjoying the moment, but confessed that I wasn’t fully immersed in it, because in my head, I already was planning another backpack.  “I know what you mean,” Natasha said. “I’m feeling greedy for more of this.”

Our first view of Lake Aloha, which stretches out for 3.5 miles in the Desolation Wilderness. The lake is actually a low-tech reservoir formed by a series of five small dams constructed over the years to assure a consistent pool of water in the summer months. But these are small stone and earth dams.

Our first view of Lake Aloha, which stretches out for 3.5 miles in the Desolation Wilderness. The lake is actually a group of small lakes and puddles stitched together by five dams into a shallow reservoir. As visible in this photo, the water was quite low for this time of year when it is typically filled with Sierra snowpack runoff.  The Lake is a popular destination for backpackers, but also makes a fine destination for a day hike, about 10 miles RT from upper Echo Lake .

That first night, more rain fell, but we were warm and dry in my tent. The next morning, after our backcountry coffee , we set out on the trail for Lake Aloha.

The 64,000-acre Desolation Wilderness, one of the nation’s most popular, is well-travelled. Gold miners once prospected here, without much luck, and cattle grazed in Haypress Meadows, before receiving official wilderness status in 1969 (although the area had been less restrictively protected for many years as part of the El Dorado National Forest).

In general, the Forest Service struggles with the idea of wilderness. Can an area threaded with hiking trails truly be called a wilderness?  Purists want to abolish trails and all man-made structures (like dams or shelters) in federal wilderness areas. However, a wilderness with no trails or trail signs and which is travelled by thousands of hikers is one in which many people will get lost.  Thus, all major trail junctions have signposts with arrows, but the trails are not marked with blazes or cairns.

Without blazes and cairns, it is fairly easy to lose the trail in the Desolation, but not hard to navigate back to where you thought you were, as long as you have a good map. We learned this truth early, when we missed the junction for Lake Aloha, and found ourselves confronting a large granite wall at the far end of Lake of the Woods. A couple of rocky slides looked like they might be climbable without the risk of death, but, having children back at home, we opted not to scramble up steep rock cliffs.  A short backtrack, along with our map, led us to the trail that threads up and through a meadow before descending to Lake Aloha.

Lake Aloha features many granite outcroppings and small granite islands -- lots of nooks and crannies. We found a private spot and jumped in, briefly, to the icy cold but refreshing water. Swimmers flock here in the summer, when the lake is shallower and warmer.

Lake Aloha features many granite outcroppings and small granite islands — lots of nooks and crannies. We found a private spot and waded in to the icy water for about 2 minutes. Swimmers flock here in the summer, when the lake is shallower and warmer.

In sharp contrast to its landscape, Lake Aloha conjures up hibiscus and jasmine and other lush tropical flowers. By mid-summer, the straggly stands of paintbrush and other wildflowers will have wilted, and this will be a landscape of granite, dust and scraggly Sierra pines.  But in early June, the walking along and above the lake was easy.  We set aim for Heather Lake, just beyond, and had lunch there before turning back to our base camp.

Again, we lost the trail. Instead of climbing to the meadow, we found ourselves looking out at the granite landscape of the Desolation Valley, with Pyramid Peak in the distance. We knew that Lake of the Woods was below this ridge and not far, but didn’t want to take our chances on bushwhacking to the head of a steep rock wall.  A short backtrack led us to the trail junction and we were on our way.

Another view of Lake Aloha as we turned back towards Lake of the Woods.

Another view of Lake Aloha as we turned back towards Lake of the Woods.

A very assertive Sierra marmot tried to steal our lunch at Heather Lake, just past the far end of Lake Aloha.

A very assertive Sierra marmot tried to steal our lunch at Heather Lake, just past the far end of Lake Aloha.

Back at the campsite, we finished off the champagne and stuffed ourselves with a chipotle three-bean chili before retiring to the tent.

Towards dawn, I woke up to the chorus of coyotes howling and yipping up on the ridge. Tucked in my sleeping bag, inside the thin walls of a nylon tent, I was exactly where I wanted to be. Although I had carried in more gear than I needed, I felt lighter than I had in years.

While exploring the Desolation Valley, we found this horse sculpture with a view of Pyramid Peak.

Before packing out, we explored the territory behind Lake of the Woods and found this sculpture looking to Pyramid Peak

Frata Lake, a sweet spot tucked behind Lake of the Woods in the aptly-named Desolation Valley. A helicopter buzzed above us in a zig-zag pattern and we wondered for whom or what it was searching. As we explored, we realized that the Desolation Valley gradually flows down to the far end of Lake of the Woods. Maps are great!

Frata Lake, a sweet spot tucked behind Lake of the Woods in the aptly-named Desolation Valley. A helicopter buzzed above us in a zig-zag pattern and we wondered for whom or what it was searching. As we explored, we realized that the Desolation Valley gradually flows down from Lake Aloha to the far end of Lake of the Woods. Maps are great!

Sources and resources

The Desolation Wilderness is laced with over 150 miles of trails, and offers many great options for both day hikes and backpacks.  On an earlier trip, we enjoyed a dusty and hot family hike to Tamarack Lake (from Upper Echo Lake).  Swimming at Susie Lake is a great reward after a three mile-ish hike in.

Visit the Desolation Wilderness website for information on trails  and permits.

Although the 19th century writing reads slow, anyone who hikes in the Sierra needs to spend a summer slowly savoring John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra.