Piute Log...Adventures With Brian 1996

2 Oct (Wed)     Last tour. Brian and I riding to Piute from Sonora Pass!—first time for me. Brian coming in for a visit on his days off. My horses just got shod and, since Greta was going to help move ‘em back out to Leavitt she offered to take us up to the pass. (I was telling her last week I’d always wanted to do this ride; she was the one to come up with the idea.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Stopped by the pack station to pick up my tack. I was greeted by Doc—one of his uglier selves, this time. He walked up with a questioning gaze (me carrying tack to truck parked on road) and I told him Brian and I were riding in from Sonora Pass. His face contorted into that bitter full-facial-frown of his and he shook his head, said, “What’re ya gonna do that for? Why you wanna beat up those old horses?” Of course, I was stunned but just smiled and explained, “Doc…this is my job, to ride these trails. I haven’t been on the PCT south of Sonora for years. We need to know what’s going on up there.” He started in again, ”Whattya wanna do that for?” and I curtly cut him off and said, “Doc: go tell Margaret about it” and walked off. Don’t remember ever being quite so curt with him but right then I just wasn’t up for it; when he’s like this you know the man is brim-ful of angst and his routine is to randomly dump bile on anyone he meets. ◦◦◦◦◦ To the pass, bye to Greta; saddled and loaded in the trailhead parking area with drifts of swiftly melting snow all about. Rode at 11:30. A perfect day to do this stunningly scenic cruise. ◦◦◦◦◦ It’s 9 miles to the top of Kennedy Canyon (another 8 or 9 to Piute) and the trail contours the brown, barren slopes of volcanic mudflow up to the crest and as high as 10800’ and then winds back & forth from Toiyabe to Stanislaus—all above 10000 for miles. Every time you cross a ridge there’s a dramatic new vista. Chill winds blowin’ through the gaps (I had a vest but added my slicker and wisht for gloves) but often it was still and felt warm. Both of us happy as clams to be sittin’ horse-back up in the sky. And I was getting paid to be doing this! The new snow was soon gone but, once, we rode up on a huge drift (leftover from winter before last) which was hard snow in August but ice now in October. Had to scramble through the scree to get around it. Through “the keyhole” [a narrow notch in a ridge], traversed under the big north face of Leavitt Peak and above tiny-little Latopie Lake to finally hit the Snow Lake “road” above Leavitt Lake and cruised on down to the top of Kennedy Canyon. What a tour! But no PCTers at this time of year. (From mid June to early July it would be a non-stop stream of thru-hikers.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Well down into Kennedy Canyon we crossed the stream and our ponies finally got a drink. Just standing in the creek, slurping it up, Red—for no discernable reason—suddenly just fell down. Fell to his knees! I yarded on the reins, pulled his head up and he got his legs back under him again. What was that all about, Redtop!?! See a water demon? Your reflection? Some 4” troutlet? ◦◦◦◦◦ Down to Walker Meadows. Had to show Brian “the waterfall” and we climbed to its top. From that vista we saw smoke rising through the trees…a lotta smoke. “What’s that?” asked Brian. “Oh, that’s a campsite…somebody there. Hmmm…that’s a big fire they got goin’ and it’s only afternoon.” Then we both noticed the flames on the ground. “That’s an escaped fire!” sez Brian, all pumped up. So we rode down there. Sure enough, someone had built a new fire-ring on deep duff and didn’t put it out when they left and it’d gotten into the roots of a big clump of lodgepoles. One tree had burned and fallen over and the stump and trunk were flaming vigorously. Smoke rose from a ring of burning duff. Brian somewhat excited: “Wow! This is my first ‘wilderness fire.’ What’re we gonna do?” “Nothing,” replies the ranger. Brian stopped cold; distinct anticlimactic response inducing disappointment. I explained: “This fire is going nowhere. See how all this is just gravelly washout from the mudflow? It’s all rock with a few grasses and flowers. This fire couldn’t go anywhere, not in October with the cold nights. If I called this in we’d have to try and put it out and come check on it and I only have a few days left. If it was July I’d call this in before some backpacker took the tale to town but no one is back here. So we’re not gonna do anything.” Brian seemed fascinated by my renegade-ranger line of reasoning. ◦◦◦◦◦ Headed for the barn. We walked down the last steep hill (to give horses a break…) in deepening dusk and I showed Brian the 1935 “naked lady with boots” sheepherder carving. “That was cut into this aspen six days after my mother was born.” Got to the cabin after 6:30, two tired pups. Brian held up really well today. ◦◦◦◦◦ To make this day even more spectacular, my guest made dinner. And not just chili from a can and crackers, no. Brian prepared a French peasant dish called “chicken Véronique,” which was simply sautéed garlic and scallions and chicken breast and tons of mushrooms with sherry and, at the last, he poured about a third cup of heavy cream over all. Served with rice. It was way yummy! Wow. Awesome, tasty genuine peasant fare after long day in the sky and wind and sun, looking down on the wide world from horses’ backs. Thanks so very much for these extra-good days!

                        
                                               →  17½ miles      →  no tourists       →  1 lb. trash

3 Oct (Thu)     No rest day: Brian had plans to climb Tower Peak (then ride out over Kirkwood Pass and down Buckeye Canyon tomorrow…ah, youth!). Had to go with him; ashamed to say, I think it’s been 4 or 5 years since I last climbed Tower. ◦◦◦◦◦ Made fine pancakes. Saddled up and we rode to the meadow below the lake. At the first creek-crossing we smelled smoke. Oh, yeah! The escaped-campfire Diane found! I figured she maybe hadn’t gotten it out all the way; once those things get deep in the duff it’s hard to put enough water on. So Brian was re-amazed. I’d remained totally calm and seemingly unperturbed at both these idiot-caused scenes and, from the way I was taking it, he must’ve thought I get these things all the time. I hastened to assure him I’ve never had two escaped fires burning at once. In fact, I’ve had a rash of these in the last few years. A number over in the Hoover, too. Are backpackers getting stupider? Wouldn’t surprise me. More likely, it’s just a greater proportion of inexperienced people. ◦◦◦◦◦ Parked ponies and waked after snack. Past noon already. Skipped the lake and took the “mountaineer’s route” to save time and energy. More fun, too. Up to the crest and went over to the watchtower where I initiated our young ranger in the gentle art of trundling [Rolling rocks off cliffs]. Cut loose some big ones that got airtime before disintegrating to powder against the far wall of that deep chimney. Small stones clattered down the icefield and into talus 800’ below. ◦◦◦◦◦ Took a new route (for me) up to the top: followed the final knife-edged bit of the ridgeline proper rather than bailing into the final gulley (laced with new snow and shadow). It was fun—some very exposed moves. Met Brian just below the final steps up to the big view. Spent an hour on top grokking the universe at large and reading old register entries. Calm and warm it was, totally silent and somewhat vast. ◦◦◦◦◦ Headed down the Rainbow Canyon side, contouring around the east side of the Watchtower, down interminable grassy ledges that I’d have appreciated much more had I not been so tired. Showed Brian where Larry had been stuck and told the story of the big rescue operation. Took me right back…amazed yet again at the odds that my only true S&R [search and rescue] in 12 summers was for a guy who was on our trailcrew and was to be my dinner guest the very day he pulled his big-whoopsie stunt. [Poor decision-making led to becoming stuck on a cliff] ◦◦◦◦◦ Ponies had rested well—no digging! Chino, who I’d let follow along, was just standing there as well. I’d been a little concerned that Pokey and Red, having to stand and watch while Chino roamed and ate freely, would be ticked-off and dig frustration-pits in the alpine meadow. ◦◦◦◦◦ Rode home, grateful for the free ride. Did some pruning from the saddle. ‘Nother excellent, long day. Brian had a great time as well.

                                    
                                      →  no visitors        → 10 miles          →  bit o’ lopping

4 Oct (Fri)     After this season’s final batch of buttermilk pancakes, Brian washed dishes, saddled his horse and rode away. He was a bit nervous about this long ride, alone, through new terrain. I reassured him: “Hey, no problem! The worst thing that could happen is your horse could fall down on slickrock and crush you to death. But that won’t happen if you pay attention and get off to walk through the bad spots.” Brian had himself a fine weekend up here. I like him and will be glad to see his return next year as Robinson Creek ranger. He’s pretty tough (Margaret says he worked lots, and hard) plus eager and curious. Fine qualities all. He climbed most of the peaks in his drainage his 1^st season—a good sign. Of course, Brian’s still very green and entirely too self-conscious. (Just like me when I was his age….) ◦◦◦◦◦ Glad to be alone again and hung around the cabin for awhile doing piddly chores. Before noon I walked down to and up the Long Lakes trail and finished cleaning waterbreaks. Dozens; full of sand they were. Did way more than I shoulda but that manic desire to finish the job came on me. Well—it’s a done deal. ◦◦◦◦◦ From Bill’s Creek I took a fine walk home on new ground. Went for the ridgetop rimming the canyon. I’ve eyed the steepish walls and big junipers up there for years. And—surprise!—I “found” this stupendous bluff bordered by broad, flat slabs. The bluff itself was over a hundred yards long, dead vertical and nicely featured, from 30 to 60 feet high. The finest little rock wall I’ve seen in this country in terms of aesthetic configuration. The broad expanses of slab bordering it were also really sweet to stroll upon. What a nifty “secret spot”! Completely invisible from most vantage points excepting Beartrap Ridge. ◦◦◦◦◦ Continued on, contouring and hugging more brushy cliffs and eventually ran into the Harriet Lake trail just at Cascade Falls. Crossed the still-flowing-pretty-good creek and checked out the gorge from that side. Contoured towards Piute, battled the jungle-y groves of fir saplings and hit Cranney’s Meadow at “75 camp.” [old camp so-named for an 1875 tree carving] Home at 5:30, back screaming. Wrote in this log up in the tree: hammock therapy.

   
                      →  no visitors           →  5 miles            →  71 WBs            →  1 firepit 

   © 2015 Tim Forsell                                                                                                  23 Oct 2015