High Sierra Backpack 7/22
Back in summer 1970 scout leaders Jack Higar and Jack Perkins guided our troop up into the North Fork of Big Pine Creek for a week-long wilderness adventure. After that one trip I knew what I wanted to do every summer vacation until I can no more: backpack The Sierra. We camped and fished Black Lake and toured the Palisades Glaciers and the other high country lakes.
I never really had a reason to return, as this drainage attracts large crowds. After all, I already discovered my own secret lake containing large brown trout without the yahoo intrusion. What changed my mind was that Eastern Sierra Back Country Fishing Guide I found last year. It says Black Lake contains brook, rainbow and brown trout, so it could be possible for the tarn to house something big. Maybe whatever browns are in there have been fattening themselves on brookies all these years.
The easy five-mile hike to Secret Brown Trout Lake starts at 9,900 feet, climbs to 10,270 at the halfway point, then descends to 9,820. Quite contrarily, the five-and-a-half mile trail to Black Lake starts at 7,650 and climbs the whole way to the 10,650 campsite. I’m at that age now when the first lake I ever packed to might be my last!
The hike will challenge all of this year’s conditioning runs: the January hike to Sitton Peak, the March climb up Holy Jim, the April 10-hour summiting of Mt. Baldy, two full-on Sierra backpacks in May and June and the final prep last week, an eight-hour tissue teardown up and down Mt. San Jacinto via the Marion Trail.
Tuesday morning I zoomed up the highway in a pre-packed Li’l Miracle and was in Bishop shopping for supplies by two. Meadow Farms Smokehouse -- the famous jerky vendor -- added on and now has a full service sandwich shop. I brought their creation called The Smoky back to camp to serve as dinner. Normally I would barbecue a steak with other fixin’s on hike night but leaving a wonderful smelling charcoal grill in the back of the truck all week at the trailhead could invite wildlife troubles.
Earlier this year I used Recreation.gov to reserve a campsite at Upper Sage Flat in Big Pine Canyon near the trailhead. In the evening, after assembling all the necessary gear and six-night food supply into and onto my pack, I laid down on my Coleman cot under the stars and all night slept soundly to the gentle roar of the creek.
Wednesday morning I could have laid there all freakin’ day I felt so relaxed. I looked at my watch showing 6:30 and said crap, I’ve got to get going, I’m already thirty minutes late. I rolled up my bag, folded the cot, threw everything into the shell and was back in Bishop munching two waffles with butter and syrup, sausage and eggs at Jack’s for the carbo-protienic power cell fueling needed to sustain the impending and dreaded major climb.
At the trailhead, there was plenty of parking space despite the predicted thirty-plus autos stationed there. I locked everything, strapped on my 70-lb pack and took my first step right at 9:30.
Owens Valley temperatures into the hundreds were breaking records all week. What is saving me today would be the altitude and its relatively cool breeze working together with my long sleeve white T-shirt and sweat to deflect enough heat to be comfortable. The first mile-and-a-half traverses a sunny treeless sagebrush dusty slope exacerbated by intense unfiltered rays burning trough a cloudless sky.
Nonetheless, beauty could be found. To the right was a splendid peek up South Fork Canyon to Middle Palisades Glacier, to the rear Big Pine Canyon, and straight ahead Second Falls with Sky Haven as a backdrop. Past the falls the forest thickened and tried to conceal its inner lushness. Countless multi-colored jewels were dazzling amidst the emerald, of which a camera can do no justice.
I took advantage of the trail skirting the creek and filter-pumped 70 ounces to refill, as already I’d consumed most of the water from my Camelbak 100.
Marching on… and on and on and on and on, at 3:30 I finally made it to the branch trail to Black Lake, and as I remember it from 43 years ago, the toughest two hours remain. At Secret Brown Trout Lake, I would have had camp set up by this time.
From the empty feeling in my stomach I felt the need to refuel before the next segment, which is over one mile of steep switchbacks. For this purpose I wolfed down a whole eight-ounce buffalo sausage from Meadow Farms. Handy nearby was the perfect flat log in the shade where I laid down and was out in seconds. Ten minutes later I groggily awoke and wondered where I am and said oh yeah, I better get’er done before dark.
Now that I’m in the 9,000 foot zone, the climb up the was twenty steps, break for forty breaths, another twenty steps, ad nauseam. What wasn’t sickening was how the view above First Lake improved morale. First, Second and Third Lakes are an opaque turquoise color caused by fine dirt called flour scoured out of the peaks by the glaciers and deposited via the inlet creeks.
Huff and puff, this tough had his first glimpse of the lake at 6:22, eight minutes shy of nine hours after departing the trailhead. I felt worn out but no pain or other discomfort and I could have kept going for another few hours. All that training worked.
First thing is to set up camp. Luckily there were no other adventurers present and I was able to stake out the best campsite with a large flat rock and level tent spot. Once sleeping quarters were set up I made the few steps over to the lake 8006 to fill my Reliance five gallon collapsible jug with cook 'n wash water.
A good/bad sight was fish heads in the water 8007. Good because they were larger than most brook trout heads I’ve seen this year, bad that some fisherslob polluted the lake. Dumping entrails into the ocean is ok because there are crabs, fish and zooplankton to munch it down fast. In a lake it could cause disease. I came back later with my net to scoop them out and bury them down the hill.
Thursday morning after 14 hours of sleep I was up at eleven fixing the usual morning breakfast of freeze dried scrambled eggs with ham and green peppers, two Quaker chewy bars, a cup of Tang and a vitamin tab. The only thing on the agenda today is an easy investigative tour around the lake.
First, to avoid having to drink lake water for a week, I must find a spring. There is no flowing water anywhere around camp. The last water I heard yesterday came from inside a boulder pile about a hundred and something yards back down the trail. Right where the water emerged was a killer view of First Lake over an onion meadow to gawk at while I laboriously pumped the precious pure liquid. I filled my 32-ounce Nalgene bottle and my Camelbak, then sat there and drank so much it hurt.
I stopped by camp to put things away then proceeded to my circumnavigation of the lake. The footpath around was faint, hardly any of the bushes were trampled. This tells me most visitors to the area just hang out and look and not fish, which is good for me. At the northwest corner you could hardly tell anyone has come this way. Very unusual since I must have seen thirty people from ages 10 to 60 on the trail coming in or going out, and already today I have seen over 15 people pass by the lake along the mail trail. It’s like Disneyland around here.
Right where a fallen log crosses the path that you either have to climb over or duck under without a pack, I found what I was looking for. Until now all I saw were your basic brook trout. I see it right there, a brown trout! Ok, now we know they’re in here and the lake looks to have the depth and acreage to produce at least a five pounder.
After lunch and a nap I hiked back over to the fallen log and got down to the main business of the trip, fan casting the five-inch brook trout pattern Rapala J13 during the prime brown hours from six until ten thirty but had no hits.
Field test:
This year instead of my usual fishing line Trylene XL 12 Clear, I used Trylene Fluorocarbon 12 Clear. It has a slightly smaller diameter with the same stretch but the cast is neither as smooth nor long as the XL. The lure was flying out there far enough to do the job but I won’t use fluoro again. The line slapped the rod between the spool and the first guide and left white powder streaks along the graphite and in general felt rough.
Friday morning after water and breakfast I went exploring in the direction of the next body of water up, Summit Lake. The guide says it has golden trout. The map suggests you have to take the main trail back to Fourth Lake then turn right up into a steep canyon to the lake. That’s quite a long way considering the lake isn’t even a mile from here. As I started out, a man and his son were resting on a rock along the trail near the lake. We said hey, I mentioned I’m heading up to Summit. He clues me in that I should take the ridge instead of the trial. He continued, you follow this here main trail right up there where it crests then turn right and go crosscountry along the main ridge until you reach the lake.
A convenient thing about the Inyo Forest is there is the ample amount of space between trees along the ridges. As long as the terrain isn’t too steep you can navigate by the sight of the peaks and guide yourself to wherever your pleasure takes you.
For the moment that would be Summit Lake. It’s so small some maps don’t even show it. As I descended I could see descent golden trout surfacing along the shore. This sight has enticed me to return tomorrow with all my gear. The reason I’m not fishing today is if I catch them now they won’t keep very well until I leave on Tuesday. If I catch a big brown at Black Lake, I can keep it alive on a cord tied to a tree until I leave. The fish I catch here would have to be killed and cleaned and kept sealed in plastic bags in cold shady water until it’s time to go. This year there isn’t any snow or cold water around except for the drinking spring.
With the scouting mission accomplished, I went out the back way, down the now-dry outlet shortcut that descends to Black. Resting on a rock jutting from the trail-less slope I heard voices. Two dudes were making their way up the exact way I was going down. Once we met they asked if I was at Summit. I said yes, it was a lovely place, have you guys been up this way before? They say no, so I gave them a couple tips: you angle up that way, cut across your left above that gap, then veer right near those trees and head straight back through the draw to the lake. They said thanks and motored on. I remembered and shouted back, oh yeah once you reach the lake at the end of the draw, turn left and go up a little then you come down a lot along the ridge back to the main trail.
I carefully boulder-hopped back down to the tamarack grove nearing base camp to find twenty feet before my tent were another two tents and a camper in my face. I said oops, sorry for the intrusion, ma’am. After lunch a nap was in order.
For tonight’s casting of the Rapala I chose a set of rocks not far from camp that resemble a large chair, perfect for sitting and casting while enjoying a gorgeous sunset, as my back is real sore by now. It won’t be easy to stand and cast for four hours. Straight out there is deeper water and to the right and left are breaklines to the shallows. In the evening the bigger browns come up from deep to hunt along such lines. Another good sign is I could see multiple brook trout surface rings on both sides; plenty of fodder available for the great brown trout I am after. The effort I gave until 10:30 produced no hits.
Saturday morning at 7:30 I was up relatively early and down the trail for the daily water chore before hiking back up to Summit Lake to try for golden trout. Along the trail I said hey to my neighbors, who were packing out to their next destination. Up the ridge and down to Summit Lake I spotted two flyfishers over to the left. I set up in a mud flat now exposed due to the lake being four fee low. That I could see good sized goldens surfacing along the shoreline, I knew this would be a good day. I saw the flyrod guy carry three beauties back up to his camp.
I set up the 4-lb outfit with the usual floating bait rig with a ¼ ounce weight. The past few years I noticed when I mold the Gulp dough onto a #18 treble in the elongated shape of a small maggot I catch more.
While the bait soaks as far as I can put it out there, I flung a hot pink rainbow trout pattern 1/8-ounce Kastmaster, letting it sink to the bottom. The first cast with the lure hooked up. As I reeled in I saw through the clear water it was not a golden but possibly a silvery rainbow? As I lifted it out I was stunned to see it was a ten inch Lahontan cutthroat trout, with large spots spaced out all over its body.
I admired it too long. It fell off the hook and flopped back into the lake before I was able to snap a pic.
Out of twenty fan casts I made with the lure at least half produced a hit. I checked the treble hook by sticking my fingertip with the points, it was plenty sharp.
I reeled in to make a bait check and found both the weight and small treble were tangled in weeds. The jar of Gulp I was using was kind of crumbly, I figured if a fish didn’t steal it before getting hooked, I probably just fell off. I molded on another chunk and cast out.
The lure trick wore out its welcome fast. In the next hour I felt no more hits. Another bait check pulled up more clumps of weeds. The conclusion is this lake is not one to be mastered by visiting at noon.
Back to Black for lunch and nap before the all night Rapala blitzkrieg starts. This is vacation after all. I cast from the same rocks as last night. They also served as a sort of loge seating for the nightly sunset show. A little after seven a miniscule amount of rain fell for which I was ready with my rain suit already donned. Back at camp I fully zipped the tent and enveloped my pack with a large trash bag. Four hours later not one hit. This lake doesn’t compare to Secret Brown Trout Lake, where at least I would land one or two twelve-inch browns each night using the five-inch lure.
Sunday morning after water I made my first major effort to fish Black Lake, as whatever I catch today will not spoil by the time I walk out Tuesday. I went around the lake to the fallen log where I spotted the brown trout on Thursday. I started with the same set-ups as yesterday, one bait and one Kastmaster, both cast to the deepest part of the lake. I nailed several brookies with the lure in an hour but noticed the bell on the bait rig never rang. The reason was there is so much underwater plant growth a basic weak brook trout doesn’t have enough power to pull the ¼ weight through the strands. I ended up reeling in five pounds of weeds with a six-ounce fish hidden inside several times.
I heard some rumblings coming from the distant trail. Look at that! A pack train is moving through my camp. Looks like they dumped off a bunch of equipment and supplies for hikers who will walk up later.
The other day I thought by the size of the fish heads I found in the water the brook trout will be larger than average for around here. Every one I reeled in today would disproved this, as they would be worth about two-bites each after cleaning had I kept any. I saw that same brown trout swim by again. I didn’t even try for him hoping he will soon start eating all these dam brook trout vermin and grow to obese proportions.
At three while walking back to camp I pondered tomorrows plan. All I will be able to catch from Black are small brookies. If I want something substantial to take home I would have to go back to Summit with a different strategy. At camp while waiting for lunch to rehydrate I opened a new jar of Gulp, which was perfectly sticky and gooey, unlike the crumbling crap in the old jar. That will help a lot, as the bait won’t come off when the Summit goldens toy with it. With my six pound rod, instead of the Kastmaster, I will tie on five feet of two pound leader and flyline a half o’ nightcrawler to any surfacing trout as I walk around the lake. No doubt this improved process will net me five.
Back at camp the new neighbors began to move in, and boy did they. There were ten of them asking if I saw where the packers set up their stuff. Of course one had to say, ya know, you’re camping in the spot we get every year, but over there is pretty good too. I just smiled.
At nap time I heard it coming, loud thunder from a big black cloud moving in from the north over Sky Haven. Soon the booms were overhead and the rain turned to pounding hail. My Eureka Solitare tent was holding up nicely keeping me warm and dry as the thunder moved south over Palisades Crest. The skies cleared right at six, following the standard Sierra afternoon storm pattern.
And all the books you will read about brown trout will tell you they become more active during and after a good storm. The one that just passed was so good, when I crawled out of my tent I was knee deep in three inches of water. The precipitation came down so fast the dessicated ground was unable to soak it up.
Under now clearing sunset skies I gathered my Rapala rod and some necessary gear and walked back around to the fallen log. Even with the cell that passed through I haven’t needed to use my jacket all week. The cool calm air with the fresh ozone scent was refreshing but not cold. As I cast around and watched the water I heard a splash that sounded much bigger than most I’ve heard lately. I looked over but only saw the surface ring. Moments later about five feet away I heard it again and saw what looked to be a brown trout of at least two pounds, another good sigh, although the sky was too dark for a picture. As the fish moved from left to right I cast the lure a ways out then dragged it slowly over its head. The brown feigned interest and carried on its merry way but ths proves they are more active during and after a disturbance.
At seven thirty some sprinkles moved in and then turned to downright rain in ten minutes. No problem, as I am waterproof and prepared to stay out in any weather for as long as I want. If it storms all night I will cast until the witching hour. Many years ago I had a great night of fishing during a hail storm at nine o’clock, catching a two pound then another three pound brown trout within the hour.
Soon I could hear the distant whoosh of air moving through the trees. I saw across the lake the tamaracks start to dance as the wind blew up the canyon in from the east and in seconds the water rippled and I was casting straight into it. Then came the deal killer. Normally the storm cells accumulate in the afternoon above the mountains, they move through at four and are gone by six, just like today’s. What was coming in now was different. Looking east a massive cloud swiftly rose above the tree horizon and soon engulfed Sky Haven in a thick fog. Still no big deal but only minutes later the first boom echoed off the peaks as lightning bolts shot skyward.
This is when the fun ends. At 10,700 feet a big strike could hit anywhere and there you are with a seven-foot fishing pole in your hands! I folded it up and ran as fast as I could over the slippery muddy trail rocks back to camp just in time to boil water, pour it in a bag of dinner and wiggle back into the tent.
On average, every thirty seconds lightning struck the ridges around the lake. The flashes and booms were only two seconds apart. Rain poured down the whole time. This went on all the way until one in the morning, the longest electical storm I have ever endured up here. At first I laid there with my ear buds in listening to Yankees at Red Sox on The Mighty Ten-Ninety. After Napoli’s homer finished off the Yanks in the eleventh, I installed earplugs to be able to get any kind of good sleep the rest of the night.
Monday morning I awoke to Agassiz and Aperture peaks aglow with rising sunlight pouring in under the upper level monsoon. I wanted to go back to Summit to harvest some meat to take home for the smoker. How one predicts the day is to see if the skies have cleared in the morning. If you have blue and only a wisp of clouds here and there, we will only have a minor thunder cell move in at 4pm. If, like today, you awake to dark gray wet skies the possibility of day-long lightning strikes starting at eleven in the morning as the sun warms the air is great. My main issue is that at 11,000 feet, Summit Lake will be a dangerous venture. Since we are going to have bad weather all day and night and I don’t want to catch puny brookies to take home, the decision was made to cut off the trip a day early. If this were day one through three, you stick it out.
I rolled up all my gear – which by now weighs more thanks to the soaking – strapped on the pack and ambled over to where the other hikers were camped. Hello hello! You guys can have the spot you want now. They said nah, we’re too lazy to move our gear over. I said ok see ya, and was back down the trail and in sight of Li’l Miracle in a mere three-and-a-half hours.
Once out on the highway looking back into the mountains the thunderheads were the worst I have ever seen over The Sierra. At the 14/395 split I drove into a flash flood over the desert. It poured for thirty miles and at one spot in the road a mud river ten feet across paralleled the highway, with one meander coming across the pavement. Thirty minutes later there might have been blockage.
*****
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