A local beauty-spot, known to few: the minor gorge of Cascade Creek, which starts its brief journey at Dorothy Lake Pass on the Yosemite border, flows through several lakes in short order and then down a steep slope (a lateral moraine, actually) before dumping into the West Walker. The High Sierra holds literally thousands of these little creeks, named and nameless, fed by springs and snowmelt. Each and every one sports picturesque waterfalls and frothy torrents, hidden glades…countless scenes worthy of long, appreciative gazes. Cascade Creek’s half-mile-long gorge, cut through ancient metamorphic rock, is paralleled by a well-used trail. To most hikers, this dusty stretch of stock trail is an annoyingly long hill to surmount on one’s way to the lake destinations above or a compulsory grind along the route into The Park. For those inclined to explore, though, it’s easy to get pulled off the too-beaten path in those few spots where tumbling water can be heard nearby. The reward is a pleasant stroll along the gorge’s edge (or, in times of low water, to actually get down in it and scramble/climb up the numerous cascades and short waterfalls). During the course of a season, I’d usually amble up or down it once or twice…just for the joy.
22 Oct (Tue) A tremendous wind blew up in the night—that’s what last evening’s orange glow in the west was all about. Perhaps the last good weather for awhile. Actually, it was pretty cold and windy yesterday—I already forgot!—but nothing like this. ◦◦◦◦◦ So I hunkered right by the stove in my little folding chair and read, Rip insisting on being in my lap. It wasn’t so very cold—only got down to 43° last night—but the wind was streaming through all the cabin’s cracks, chinks, and gaps and I had to duct-tape the cat-door shut. The howling wind made the cabin an inviting sanctuary but, finally, hit the trail with hands a-pocket at around noon. ◦◦◦◦◦ From the main trail, crossed Cranney’s meadow and followed the east side of the river down to Cascade Creek. It’s a tangled jungle in there compared to most of the forested areas hereabouts. ◦◦◦◦◦ Up Cascade Creek again. Not so windy in the creek bottom. All the little trout-holding pools that were glassy-calm the other day are now covered with twigs and willow leaves and fir needles. Makes them even more lovely in a way; reminds me of back east…very autumn-ey. ◦◦◦◦◦ A sweet treat at Lower Cascade Falls. Was just getting ready to climb through the marble slot when I spotted a tiny rufous-colored critter out of the corner of my eye: a winter wren! First one I’ve seen in the drainage, though they must be summer residents. I froze and it obligingly flew into the folded marble at the base of the falls. While it was out of sight I rushed up and crouched behind a little wall of rock. It eventually came out of a crevice and started inching its way up the wall. Winter wrens are the tiniest of birds, little round fluffy feather-balls, mouse-like, a darker brown than most wrens, the color of shadowed forest floor. They bob and twitch and, like other members of their family, are exceptionally tame. The tail is ridiculously short and stubby, maybe 3/4” long, and it sticking straight up at almost a right angle to its back. For some reason this is smile-inducing…reminds me of a happy kitten’s tail held aloft. ◦◦◦◦◦ The little critter climbed right up the vertical wall picking minute somethings from the seeps and mossy clumps, clinging to rock or moss with its tiny-tiny claws. It “walked” up the rock, occasionally fluttering higher. Watched the him/her/it for ten minutes ‘til I started getting stiff (needed to press on, anyway) so I stood up to go. But the mousebird, instead of flying or scurrying off, just went about its business. I tip-toed within six feet while it calmly took a quick bath in a little pool at the lip of the fall. When it disappeared from view I rushed up and climbed the marble wall. Peeking over the lip, there’s the sassy little character only four feet away. It glanced at me over its shoulder a few times, checking me out, but showed little concern for my presence. Tiniest glittering black eyes, a delicate little bill, with subtle patterns on flanks and wing feathers you can only see up close. It hopped into holes and tunnels in the marble, constantly picking up tidbits, things invisible to my eye. Another outstanding nature show, the sort of thing you see in holy places like this one. Thank you! ◦◦◦◦◦ I was back up on the trail shortly and retrieved my cached shovel. Cleaned waterbreaks to past the Cascade Creek crossing (including ten new drainage dips—I’m still learning to see the trail run-off patterns) and rebuilt a defunct number using one giant slab. Moved much loose stone off this always rock-filled rocky trail with wind howling all the while. Grit in the eyes, alas. ◦◦◦◦◦ Stashed shovel and headed home. Took the old trail from the Cascade Creek bridge down as far as the Cinko Lake junction. Noted western blueberry growing in those marshy flats with red heather and Labrador tea. Also found a “new” really old camp, used since we hairless apes started coming here, one I’ve cleaned out several times without noticing the profusion of oldcarvings on lodgepoles: 1888…95…1902. A “JFG 188?” (This is the guy who carved the one from 1879 that’s on the downed log near Point Camp, the only other carving I’ve seen of his.) I’ll definitely explore in there some more, hopefully find others. A cool find as I’ve not noticed any other arborglyphs along the Cascade trail. ◦◦◦◦◦ Reversed my route aside from getting back on the main trail sooner. Home a bit after six, wind still howling. No bath toooo-night, nope! It is October, after all. Fired up the stove and got warm. Later, it started to rain and continued off and on ‘til sleeptime. ◦◦◦◦◦ Before hitting the sack, walked to the firewood log [a nearby fallen log I was cutting up for firewood] in rainy dark to retrieve the crosscut. (Glad I remembered—would hate to let Fang get rusty.) Rip came along and didn’t seem to mind the rain at all—he raced and romped in the dark! Some cat he are!
→ 4 ½ miles → 1 lb trash → 17 WBs cleaned → 1 WB built
©2019 Tim Forsell 14 Oct 2019
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