Snake Range (day 2)

Last night was much colder than I thought it would be. I didn't shiver, but the constant chill brought on a consistent restlessness. Of course, the crisp mountain air contributed to this, as well as damp clothing from the rain. I slept in a zero-temp bag with socks, pants, long-sleeve shirt, beenie, gloves and a good coat. None of it sufficed. 

As I crawled out of my tent and walked toward the lake I realized that my feet were sore and knees ached. My eyes struggled to focus. My body felt groggy and heavy. 

Johnson Lake.

The sun crept above the eastern horizon and no one else stirred. I decided to return to my tent and rest a bit longer. 

When I withdrew to the outdoors again (just ten minutes later), I made my way to the lake with an empty water bottle where I stooped down to fill it up, trying not to capture any small bugs from the water. There was no running water here, just the stagnant lake. I would use some iodine tablets to purify. 

Suddenly, a massive shroud of fog swooped down from the cliffs and enveloped the small basin where we camped. The vaporous cloud felt palpable, moist and misty. The fog shrouded the sun and the tall coniferous trees stood as silhouettes in varying shades from dark green to black.—Then, in a moment, the fog lifted and sun returned. 

Fog moving in.

Pine trees standing as silhouettes in the fog.

I felt a little better now. My feet and knees no longer hurt, but my stomach was slightly tender. As I stated earlier, this backpacking trip was a test for me, an examine to see how my body would react after acquiring my new disease.

Slowly, Dave and Devin rolled out of their tents and we ate breakfast and packed our bags. A distant thunder rolled through the valley. Wet, puffy clouds slowly passed over the saddle above us. We would have to cross that saddle to enter another basin. It was now time to get moving. 

With heavy packs now encumbering our shoulders, we ascended the switchbacks toward the saddle. I felt weaker than I had yet, focusing on my breathing and moving forward one step at a time. For me this was the most difficult part of the hike. We climbed nearly 500 feet in just a third of a mile, maxing out at a 38% grade. It doesn't sound too bad, but for a sick old fogey like myself, it about put me under. By the time we reached the saddle I was ready to lie down and take a nap. 

Up to the saddle.

From this point we wandered off-trail for about 45 minutes in search of an adit and old structure belonging to the mine. We had no luck. Perhaps the adit had been reclaimed and the structure swept away with snow. Who knows? 

We continued down the other side of the saddle toward Baker Lake. Did I mention that this whole area is a rock-hounder's paradise? Although I can't identify all the types, one of them is a quartz monzonite, a dalmation-colored stone. The only issue is that you'd have to haul it out . . . and it's a long haul! I picked up a couple smaller specimens and put them in my pack. 

The three amigos at Baker Lake.

Baker Lake was lower than normal, and less impressive—in my opinion—than Johnson Lake. But the rugged cliffs above were impressive. Nearby is Baker Peak, one of the highest peaks in the range. 

The trail switchbacks to lower ground below the lake. It is here we took a little break off the side of the trail. I just happened to look across a boulder field onto the hillside about two hundred yards away and saw something move. Lounging on the slope were nearly a dozen bighorn sheep. They blended in well with their surroundings and I'm willing to bet that most hikers passing by that day would never notice them. Although I forgot to bring binoculars, I could tell that the largest rams had fine horns that nearly made a full curl. Seeing these sheep was definitely a pleasant surprise! 

Bighorn sheep.

We continued down the trail. 

Water below the surface of the ground magically bubbled to the surface and suddenly we noticed a healthy mountain stream below us. Grass grew all around it with occasional flowers. It tumbled down the mountain in elegant fashion. 

Occasionally we were treated to a cluster of bright fall colors. I'm sure this place would be a festival of colors at the right time, but we were still a little early. 

As we made our way down the canyon, the vegetation changed and pine trees gave way to oaks and other small trees. I would say that our hike down was a combination of the ordinary and the impressive. 

A few fall colors were beginning to develop.

This stream appeared suddenly out of nowhere.

For one final treat we spotted four nice bucks in the vicinity of the trailhead. They nibbled at the leaves and bushes without giving us much thought. 

The largest was a massive four-point, with at least a 28-inch spread. His antlers were darker than the others, but what caught my attention was that they were smeared with blood. And upon closer examination, he still had a piece of flesh dangling from his right antler! This guy must have been in a serious fight. 

Nice buck with blood-stained antlers. Notice the piece of flesh hanging from his right side.

We finally arrived back at the vehicle where we fished the Mountain Dew out of the stream and I quickly cooked a jalapeño cheddar hot dog on the grill (because I was craving it). The wind picked up and the sky teased with rain. 

As you may recall, this backpacking trip was a test. It was my first such trip since my health issues arose fifteen months ago. We hiked 13 miles and climbed 4,000 feet in elevation. The part I struggled with the most was fatigue, especially during the grueling uphill portions. I had no major stomach pains. I think we chose the right size. Any more, I think, would have been too much. 

—I would say I passed. 

[After having returned home, this hike really wiped me out, and it took several days to recover.] 

Now, I know what I can do. Next time I will push myself a little further, until, little by little, I am doing beyond what I did before. This is my goal. ♠

 

The best way to end a hike!