2 Jul (Sun) Day #2 of Big Holiday Weekend! What now? Last night, locked my two drones in the corral—the same two drones who’d been free-eating all day long—but left Red out to graze. My plan worked: he stuck close by which kept his cohorts from panicking and crashing out. So Red was well fed and rested and ready for more. “Sez who?” asks the red horse. ◦◦◦◦◦ Got an early start (for me), leaving just as sun hit cabin. Plan was to make it to Fremont Lake before half the happy tourists packed up and moved on. Got there an hour later, passing two camps with boots-at-the-door. I don’t know about other rangers but this one refuses to knock on tent doors this early in the morning, rousting vacationers out of bed just to check their permits. ◦◦◦◦◦ Had this weird thing going on today that turned into a real hassle. This has happened before but never quite so bad. Now, please don’t laugh, but I had a really painful right nipple all day long. Genuinely, sincerely, truly painful. Hadn’t factored in how cold it’d be in the chilly shadows. My nips react to cold by getting hard and pointy (as nipples will) and, what with all the saddle-bounce, they were continually chaffing against fabric. The one nipple may have taken the brunt because of the stiff notebook in my right pocket. Which I removed but apparently too late to make a difference. So today, the tenderness slowly increased to where it felt like that sensitive bit of utterly useless flesh was in the grip of a pair of vice-grips. The pain usually stops after I warm up but the soreness can persist for a day or two. The only relief was manually pressing down on it with my fingers to keep it from rubbing. ◦◦◦◦◦ Started out a normal summer morning but right after leaving the wind came up and it turned downright cold. And was cold all day. After awhile, had to put on my duster—only extra clothing I had—and for some hours I rode with my left hand down my shirt pressing on that raging nip. Finally got this brilliant idea and put a piece of cloth athletic tape (I carry a roll in my ten-essentials bag) right over it. It helped lots; didn’t have to ride with my hand down my shirt no more. This all sounds ridiculous, I know, but it was borderline excruciating—way beyond mere irritation. ◦◦◦◦◦ Five occupied camps at Fremont total, mostly folks I’d contacted yesterday ‘cept one party of four. Talked with them all. ◦◦◦◦◦ Bart’s basecamp occupied by a big extended family group I’d met on their way in. When I spoke to Gordon [one of the packers] yesterday he told me that the group leader, an older man, was “really nice but totally clueless.” After talking awhile and drinking a mug of the weakest coffee (looked like tea when the lady poured it) he got out his map and started in. “We were thinking of climbing Tower Peak tomorrow. I guess the best way would be to go back down to the river, walk up to where you live and then on to Tower Lake?” He was more just telling me their plan, not seeking advice. No ice axes but they had trekking poles. Told them there was still a lot of snow up high. “Well, we could go over to…what’s it called?…Mary Lake? There’d be less snow on that side.” I whoa-ed him and said, “No, no—you don’t wanna cross the crest and drop all the way down to Mary. It’s eight and a half miles from here just to Tower Lake. You’re looking at, uh…seventeen miles of hiking, not counting the climbing part. Maybe you should think about something a bit closer.” Gordon was right. This fella’s a long-time mountaineer from the sound of it but apparently not so hot with his map-reading skills. ◦◦◦◦◦ Next camp: two young ladies who were obviously fascinated by ranger-types. Didn’t even ask my horse’s name! Last camp I visited was occupied by two young couples. Currently three firepits in this site. One was full of trash, obviously not theirs. Scattered paper and plastic bits and burned foil all around. One fella sez, as I start filling my sack, “We were gonna take all that out,” and he helped pick stuff up. They were just then packing up camp and moving on. One poor girl was putting tape on some full-on-raw heel blisters. Bad ones…way beyond help. Right before leaving, I asked to see their permit. The guy who’d helped with the trash got that blank look on his face (oh, I know it so well!) and says—wait for it!—“Uhhh…permit?” He claimed to have no idea, offering the lame excuse: “My book said we didn’t need a permit.” He’d never gotten one before…didn’t know he needed to. Liar liar liar! Asked him, thinking surely he’d met a ranger somewhere during his travels, “Where do you usually backpack?” … “Oh, uh, mostly here. And Cinko Lake. My dad used to bring me.” At this point I saw crimson. “Wait a minute! You’ve been coming here for years?! Do you hear what you’re saying?! That you’ve never once bothered to read my ‘ranger sign’? Or the sign in the parking lot saying you need a permit and the one right at the trailhead? Oh, and that big one by the highway that says ‘Wilderness permits required’? So, what, you just don’t bother to read signs?!?” … Eyes downcast, hangdog expression: “Uh, no, generally I don’t.” So I read this goober the riot act and reduced him to a sweaty, cringing mass of guilt. Really lit into him while the others watched. Brought up the concept of personal responsibility as a feature of adulthood. Even trotted out my old standby line, “Try telling the Highway Patrolman, ‘I didn’t see any speed-limit signs, officer!” By this time he’d visibly withered. Fetched him a copy of “The Rules” from my saddlebags and told them all to read it. Phew! I was pretty riled up. ◦◦◦◦◦ Still all gusty, chill much enhanced by wind. Finally put on my duster after leaving the lake and rode along with my hand down the front. (Someone spying me through the trees would’ve been mystified….) ◦◦◦◦◦ AS USUAL I seem to have made the wrong call by patrolling the higher areas on day #2. Pressed on to Chain and Long Lakes; saw no one. PCT to Cinko Lake: no one. At Cinko, one unoccupied camp. Jogged over to the West Fork (Emigrant Pass junction signs still down, Tim!) and back to Cinko. Nobody about. ◦◦◦◦◦ Headed home via Cascade Creek thinking I’d meet people coming up but…no one. Stopped to explore a little tarn (properly speaking, a “kettle”) a third of a mile from the Harriet Lake junction that I’ve ridden past a hundred times and looked down upon with mild interest. But today, noticed lovely glacier-carved outcrops at its west end and decided to check ‘em out after a quick initial patrol of the pond’s shoreline. Discovered that this typical Piute Country kettle pond extended a good 150 yards southwards through a dramatic, narrow cleft. What had appeared from the trail to be a shallow pond a hundred feet across and maybe three feet deep proved to be an L-shaped body of considerably larger proportions and depth with striking character: a bona fide Secret Place. The “cleft” was scarcely twenty feet across but it took a while to make it all the way around the shore. Fine flat slabs at the back and bumbling creeklet spilling through gaps and cracks, keeping the thing brimful. No sign of anyone having ever camped here. This wonderful discovery reinforces my long-held notion that Piute country is full of surprises! and that I need to get out and see as much of it as possible before I’m gone. Don’t have much time to lose. ◦◦◦◦◦ Spoke with a very pleasant family I met yesterday. When I came back from my exploration, found them getting acquainted with Redtop. Two adorable girls, about ten and twelve…a fiddle-fit, cheerful mom & dad. Both girls: clothes filthy, bright eyed, stoked, completely game. Everybody at ease and in the mountain groove. Had a real nice talk and showed them the wonderful Stonehenge rocks nearby.
→ 8 visitors → 1 firepit → 3 lbs trash
→ 100 lbs rock → 5 trees → 19 miles
©2021 Tim Forsell 17 Dec 2021
