We enlisted Grandma Mouge to look after Zane for a week, and started to throw around ideas of where to go. After brainstorming we settled on an ambitious plan. We decided to backpack the Rae Lakes loop at Kings Canyon National Park in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California. Some of you may recall that Dianna, Zane and Gus all did the first leg of this six-day trip on Labor Day weekend 2007 (so far, this is Zane's only backpacking trip to date, which is an indicator of how brutal it is to backpack with an infant/toddler). Gus had daydreamed about being able to do the whole loop, but the reality never quite materialized and kept getting less and less likely - our lives are just too busy to spare that kind of time and energy. After nailing down our decision we realized that by making this trip a priority in our lives, Rae Lakes would be yet another gift we got from Bryce.
The route itself is 46 miles long, begins at 5000 feet at Road's End near Cedar Grove on Hwy 180, and starts to climb up Kings Canyon north through Paradise Valley, east through Woods Canyon, south up the John Muir Trail, eventually topping out at 12,000 foot Glen Pass above Rae Lakes. After the pass the trail descends rapidly, skirting Charlotte Lake, Vidette Meadow, Junction Meadow, and continuing down Bubbs Creek until it drops back to the canyon floor. Rae Lakes is one of the most popular high country Sierra routes in summertime, but 9/24 marked the beginning of the 'off season' when Kings Canyon enjoys few backcountry visitors. Even backcountry park rangers break down their summer stations and leave for the fall and winter. When all was finished, we had seen a grand total of 16 backpackers in six days and were alone on all but one night in camp.
We spent Saturday night at the Cedar Grove lodge, woke up on 9/27 and started hiking. Although we had been humbled by the switchbacks above Mist Falls on the way to Paradise Valley two years ago, on this trip we flew up them despite carrying 40lb (Dianna) and 50lb (Gus) packs. Although it turned out to be a long day of hiking, we made it 10 miles to upper Paradise Valley and camped the first night.
just below the south end of Paradise Valley
On Monday 9/28 we woke up, got camp together, ate some oatmeal and began to climb the trail above Woods Creek, which undulates slowly up the canyon. Whispy cirrus clouds started floating by in the afternoon, suggesting that a storm was building.
We intersected with the John Muir Trail, a 230-mile trail that traverses the high country between Yosemite Valley and Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48 states. The suspension bridge that crosses Woods creek sways when you walk across it.
We continued up JMT until we got to a good spot to camp, between the bridge and Dollar Lake. That night we were visited by some of the local wildlife, who took a few chunks out of Gus' camelbak nozzle (maybe it tasted like toothpaste).
fall colors
Tuesday 9/29 we had a short day because we were a few miles ahead of schedule. The plan was to make it up to Rae Lakes and enjoy the afternoon there basking in the sun, and to take 9/30 off from hiking to let our feet rest a little. The day before, Dianna developed a world-class blister on her right ankle that required some surgery and a lot of moleskin.
The mountains, however, had something to say about our plan...
We got to middle Rae Lake at 2pm, and hastily assembled the tent while snow started to fall. If we hadn't been laying inside of it, we would have lost the tent to the wind, the gusts of which we could hear howling through the mountain passes high above us a few seconds before ripping past the tent, deforming the tent upon us and sucking the modest accumulated heat away. That night it got down to 19°F. Water froze inside our tent. As Gus only had his summer sleeping bag, we improvised and zipped our bags together, spooning to allow our body heat to keep us warm through the night. That's the benefit of backpacking with your spouse.
The wind died down around dusk long enough for us to get a few 'golden hour' pictures:
10/1, Dianna woke up to a freezing but silent morning and snapped this shot:
Then she did some yoga.
On the rest day we explored the lake, laid around and generally did nothing. It was great. That night it was dead silent and the only thing we could hear was our own heartbeats.
The next morning, 10/2.
We got up, ready to power up Glen Pass (1400 feet in 2.8 miles, about half of the gain would come in the last 1/2 mile). Dianna flew up the mountain. She was a good 10 minutes ahead of Gus about half way up.
Dianna was excited
Gus was a little tired
We hiked for 8 hours and made it to Junction Meadow, which sits at 7000 feet. Our feet were tired.
Before she left, Dianna had her toes painted so she could have a 'ray of sunshine' when she took her boots off.
On 10/2 we got up and began the 10 mile hike down to the car. The trail was a thin rocky ribbon that sliced through the brush, but drainage from the peaks on either side of the narrow canyon into Bubbs creek irrigated everything else, which consequently popped with lush green color. We hiked in long stretches without saying much to each other except for the occasional, "that's pretty". This was a common theme throughout the trip and a benefit that we hadn't anticipated. We originally went on this trip thinking we would be contemplative, or visibly sad, unable to think about anything but losing Bryce. Those things turned out, for the most part, to not be true. We did talk about him, Zane and us, but this was mostly at night when we were laying there in the tent. The rest of the time that week, we simply turned off the world and ourselves. Few new insights about death or coping.
Dianna has been reading a book on grief, the gist of which is that coping with loss is like being lost in the wilderness, consumed by uncertainty, the fear of not knowing which way to go, what to do, how to protect yourself. Maybe this simile isn't too far off the mark. We've been in the metaphorical wilderness since Bryce died on May 15th. For the week surrounding his projected due date, it was a gift to be able to transiently live in actual wilderness and, for a change, to embrace it, to become a part of it.
