Test of the Snake Range (day 1)

It was one year ago this month that we had an awesome backpacking trip planned to the Snake Range. I wanted to do it so badly, but I hadn't felt well for several months. My stomach was tender and I worried that the pressure and strain from backpacking would only make it worse. Mentally I was back and forth whether I should do it. Then, my decision was made for me. 

In the weeks leading to the hike, there emerged small clues from tests and symptoms that suggested I might have a rare blood cancer called polycythemia vera. Doctors felt they had enough evidence to give me the diagnosis, but as part of the process, they needed a bone-marrow biopsy to be sure it hadn't progressed to an advanced staged called myleofibrosis. The first phone call I received was from the oncology center discussing the diagnosis. The second call was to schedule the biopsy. It would be the same day as the hike. 

That settled that. Deep down I was relieved because I knew I shouldn't be doing a backpacking trip like that anyway. 

One year has passed and I have been in and out of doctor's offices like most devotees are in and out of church. I am officially diagnosed with polycythemia vera, but my stomach pains persist. The pain has subtly improved. I still get fatigued, but not as much as last year. Doctors can't necessarily connect my pains with the cancer. We have tried so many things, but nothing seems to work. 

A nice buck under the flashlight.

So here I am, a year later, and I am anxious to get out and do anything outdoors. Up to this point I have pushed myself on some hikes, but never a backpacking trip. Yet I needed to do one to test my limits. I had to push myself. 

With this in mind, my friend Dave and I planned a backpacking trip to Colorado. It would be a perfect challenge for my body—not too far and not too short. We were all ready to go, when just a week before departure, everything started falling apart. With just one day before leaving, we made the difficult decision to change plans and try something similar, but closer to home. We chose to replicate last years plans and backpack a 12-mile loop in the Snake Range of Nevada. 

I can't say I was completely confident. My stomach was still tender from time to time. Sometimes I had issues breathing. My white blood cell count was lower than normal. Fatigue was always an issue, especially with exertion. (And this hike would have no lack of exertion, climbing almost 4,000 feet in elevation!) 

With that as the background, we hit the road. 

The trail to Johnson Lake. Pyramid Peak is in the background.

The forecast for Garrison called for a 0% chance of rain. We knew that wasn't true as we witnessed lightning, dust storms and torrential downpours as we approached the border town. 

We tried finding a campground, but it was getting dark and everything was filled. We decided to take our packs and find a flat plot of ground to pitch our tents. We did our best to sleep in spite of howling winds ripping at the flaps of our tents. 

None of us slept well, but morning brought a new day. Perhaps the anticipation of a new adventure eclipsed our poor night's rest. 

We ate breakfast, then strapped on our packs. I had worked hard during the last year to make my pack lighter, and I certainly felt a difference. 

But as we headed up the mountain trail, I could feel my usual fatigue set in. My stomach was tender as well, but tolerable. I focused on breathing and continued forward, albeit at a slower pace than normal.

The mountains of the Snake Range are beautiful. It was now mid-September and the higher in elevation we climbed, a sprinkling of aspens began to change colors to yellow and bright orange. 

Final ascent near the Johnson Mining District.

We had the trail to ourselves. In spite of the masses in the campgrounds below, no one dared tackle the steeper mountain slopes. 

We came to a series of switchbacks which tested my energy levels and muscle strength. But I passed. At the top we entered a large meadow. Pyramid Peak loomed to our west. We were hiking a loop trail, but it was our goal to summit at least one, if not two peaks during our trek. 

After the meadow we climbed a small ridge, then beyond the crest we entered another basin. This was the Snake Creek Basin. Our legs enjoyed a brief downhill section. It was near here we spotted a four-point buck walking through the timber. 

Four-point buck walking through the timber.

Beyond this point, the trail was merciless. The steady uphill slope was full of rocks. I think fatigue began to hit Dave as he trailed further behind. 

As we made our steady climb, we came to the first remnants of the Johnson Lake Mining District, an operation that extracted tungsten in the early 1900's. The mine has long been abandoned, but artifacts from its existence are strewn across the mountainside. 

We first came across the mill, then a half-mile further, the cabins used for lodging. We removed our packs and spent ample time exploring the relics. I will go into detail about the mine in a later post. 

Cabin at Johnson Lake Mining District.

At last we arrived at Johnson Lake. This was our destination for the night (although it was only 1:30 in the afternoon). We had time to relax, pitch our tents, and perhaps hike a peak. 

Mother Nature would prod us along. The wind picked up and a light rain fell from the sky. We scrambled to set up our tents. The urgency proved to be a benefit and in record time we were good to go! 

Johnson Lake is a wonderful setting. At 10,732 feet in elevation it is higher and much colder than anywhere else in the area. The lake is surrounded on three sides by steep mountain slopes strewn with white boulders. High to the north is Pyramid Peak. A tramway cable for the mine is still strung on the hillside. 

The meadow around the lake is an ideal setting for a camp. Alpine tundra, including dwarf flowers, low-growing perennial herbs and grasses grow where soil will allow. The wooded area around the lake abounds with pine, fir and aspen. Although most of the moraine is strewn with rocks, there are still several places flat and smooth enough to pitch a tent. 

Johnson Lake.

I will mention only one other adventure from this day. As I have stated, we wanted to climb a peak. Pyramid Peak was our most eligible candidate, but the weather at the peak was sketchy at best. Storm clouds blew in and blew out, changing every ten minutes. Occasional booms of thunder rang in the distance and we knew from personal experience that a high mountain peak was the last place we wanted to be during a lightning storm. 

So we waited and took a nap. 

When I woke, to my pleasant surprise, I found the skies to be mostly clear. I woke up Devin and Dave and we decided to make a run for the peak. 

As a general rule of peak climbing, it is best to be off the summit before 11 am to avoid a higher probability of electrocution. It was now 5 pm, so we were obviously ignoring that rule. 

The ascent to Pyramid Peak.

The climb to the peak would be at least another 1,200 feet. But without heavy packs burdening our shoulders, the task seemed easy. We followed the trail above the lake and onto the saddle below Pyramid Peak. It was here that the weather began to turn. 

Both Dave and Devin wore shorts. Devin forgot his jacket, but brought a red poncho that flapped sideways in the wind. The gusts now came at near hurricane speeds. All we could do was put our heads down and focus on walking up the steep slope, over talus and tundra. 

As we got higher up the slope, we could see that it was storming on all sides. Below us to the southwest a bolt of lightning lit the clouds. Our speed to the top now became urgent. We had traveled this far and didn't want to turn back. I prayed that no lightning would hit the peak before we got there. I knew that if just one bolt hit, we would be turning around . . . running! 

Devin, about to be blown away.

The gales of frigid air nearly blew us over. We held on to our coats and hats with clinched fists. If the wind were to take anything, it would be long gone! 

At last we reached the summit, but here our misery doubled. Hard pellets of hail shot from the sky and stung our face and any other bare skin that we foolishly left uncovered. Dave sat down, nearly crouching in a fetal position to block the raging pellets. I was grateful I wore long pants, a long-sleeved shirt and beenie. 

The storm started and stopped in uneven intervals. When the hail stopped, the calm came. After the calm came, the rain started. When the rain started, the wind picked back up. In short, it was a fine and pleasant misery! 

Dave, huddled on the ground.

From the summit we could see all the major peaks, including Wheeler and Baker. On a shouldering slope we could see it was now white, covered in hail. 

We took as many pictures as we could, then began working our way down. Even when off the peak, we weren't out of the woods yet. If a lightning storm decided to move through, we would be exposed and vulnerable. 

But, we made it! 

Moi.

As we returned to the trail above the lake, we marveled at our new adventure and drew similarities to another adventure two years earlier in the High Uintas. We also marveled at God's creations and discussed how “hard things” help you through life. 

We made it back to our tents just as it was getting dark. We still had to make supper. It would be much colder tonight, especially wearing damp clothing. 

The sunset glow on Johnson Lake was replaced with darkness and above the steep slope beyond the lake the stars came out in all their glory.

 

(to be continued . . .)

 

View of Johnson Lake from Pyramid Peak.