2 Jul
(Wed) Plan: Walk to Fremont Lake and
greet the fans. Decided to take a “fun” route, via the Old River Trail, and go cross-country
from there. ◦◦◦◦◦ Heard “dueling thrushes” down the trail a bit and realized
that this is something I’ve likely heard many times and either forgotten or
paid no attention to, perhaps focusing on listening to the notes of one bird’s
song only (which can be completely mesmerizing). Anyway, like earlier this
summer, I could hear three birds simultaneously (one, much farther off). Though
this wasn’t such a synchronized event as last time, at one point, two of the
thrushes were doing the echo-thing for a few bars. It really is an amazingly
beautiful sound to hear in the forest. ◦◦◦◦◦ Also: watched a male Cassin’s
finch making this crazy, acrobatic flight.
It was earnestly attempting to chase down a big Noctuid moth, which was doing loopy evasive maneuvers with the
finch hot on its trail. Quite dramatic. (Moth got away….) The bird was likely
catching food for always-famished chicks and this fat moth would shut up one of
his kids for a few minutes. ◦◦◦◦◦ Paid a visit to the biggest Sierra juniper I’ve
found in this drainage: trunk about 11 feet wide just a few feet off the ground. It’s on an open slope NW
of Bill’s Creek. Wanted to check it out now that I’ve seen the Bennett juniper
[“champion” (record holder) for its species, which I’d recently visited, across
the crest over in Alpine County—not many air-miles away]. No comparison, but this is a striking individual. (Previous to the
Bennett tree, I’d only seen one—up in Carson-Iceberg Wilderness—that’s larger.)
◦◦◦◦◦ Continued cross-country to Fremont. Visited Debra [camp cook] who was
alone in the pack station’s basecamp. That big group had left (which was one
reason I chose to come here today) but there was a new batch of six guys, all
out hiking. But, there was a party of 15 down at the lake’s far end so I went
and did my full ranger-shtick to captive audience. ◦◦◦◦◦ On a whim, decided to
visit “the Hellhole” [an isolated valley on the other side of a nearby ridge]
and follow the West Fork south through one of its gorge-y sections. (Had only
been there once, way back in 1990.) A fine jaunt through TRUE wilderness; no trash,
no signs left by man—white or red.
Mostly had to stay well above the little river. The best passage was a flat ledge
of clean, solid granite cutting across a near-vertical cliff only eight feet or
so above the froth in a place where the West Fork was only yards wide. The
ledge was maybe 50’ long and was mostly like a narrow sidewalk but—for a few
body lengths—was less than a foot wide. I took a short rest seated on the
sidewalk portion with back resting against the wall, all comfy, with feet
dangling over a minor torrent. On my left, a columbine grew from a damp crevice
and one flower by my elbow had seven petals
instead of five. ◦◦◦◦◦ Somewhat below where Kennedy Creek came in there was one
of the finer little slots: a 40’ sheer drop into a long, deep pool with a noisy
fall at its head. There was a small promontory directly overlooking the slot so
I eased down to it and peeked over the edge. ◦◦◦◦◦ Resting my body against a
boulder and gazing into the defile, my reverie was interrupted by a furry
creature appearing at the edge of the cliff, only 5 feet away. It was a mink (although I didn’t fully grok this
‘til later) with dark, shiny eyes that met and held mine for maybe 3½ seconds. It
had a dead vole in its jaws! Both of us in stunned shock. Then it was gone, poof! I dodged uphill to see where it’d
gone and saw the sleek phantom disappear under a dense bush. Then, as I came closer,
it darted to another bush (having abandoned its dinner). When I circled around
to try and catch one last look, it dashed straight down the steep slope, down a
smooth slab, and—I couldn’t believe it!—leapt
right into the swift & foamy. The little river was really moving through
this narrow fissure. The mink leapt through the air, hit that river running, and
seemed to hydroplane across its surface. This all happened so fast I’m not sure
if the critter was partially or fully submerged but its trajectory sent it
straight across. Legs a blur…tail whipping, body wriggling: a brown bullet
shooting through water. In a flash it had vanished into a rockpile on the far
side. ◦◦◦◦◦ This show lasted maybe 15 seconds, at most, but I got great looks
of its face (those eyes!), the way it ran, the way it swam, and a glimpse of
that universal weasel-family intensity.
Yet another display of amazing natural athleticism. After it was over I finally
realized what I’d just seen: a mink! Mink in the drink! And, once again, my
timing was perfect; had no idea I was coming this way ‘til I left that group at
Fremont…and look what I got for a present! Christmas in July! ◦◦◦◦◦ Passed
through a lovely park-like area (while being swarmed by ‘skeeters) just south
of Kennedy Creek, flat & open under mature lodgepole pines. Tore out a little
firepit there, an old one; sweet place to camp with a feeling of true solitude.
◦◦◦◦◦ Hit the trail and walked home. Too late to really get going on trailwork
or pits…I’d been having too much fun exploring. Had myself a yummy slice of
Piute pie today.
→ 16 visitors → 12½ miles
Quote copied
inside the cover of this volume of Piute
Log:
I spent more hours than I can count a quiet
witness to the highly mannered, manifold expressions of life that grace our
planet. It is something so bright, loud and weird and delicate as to stupefy
the senses.
—Yann Martel, Life of Pi
©2015 Tim Forsell 3 Nov 2015
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