Sunday, July 20. Thousand Island Lake. 6 1/2 miles. 9,880 feet.
The time of year a person chooses to walk in the Sierra involves some fundamental trade-offs. Early or mid-season, visitors like us enjoy the fresh wildflower display - a variety of penstemons, a couple heathers, Leopard lilies, paintbrushes, Monkshoods, delphinium and on and on. Breathtaking beauty. The price one pays is mosquitoes, and we are growing damn weary of them.
Drew and I have pitched camp here in a beautiful spot just above Thousand Island Lake. The view over the lake to Mt. Ritter and Banner Peak - a classic Sierra Vista - is spectacular. The island-studded lake looks like the creation of a Japanese landscape architect - too perfect to be natural - with gardens of granite and wind-sculpted whitebark pines. But the cloud of mosquitoes that constantly surrounds each of us almost spoils our enjoyment of this site. We chose this spot above the lake and away from a running stream to lessen their impact, but to no avail. Our only defense is to pickle ourselves in DEET that keeps the swarm from landing. It is tiresome and annoying. So far, the only relief is at the highest elevations, above the meadows and streams.
After signing off last night, while Drew and I were in our bags writing and sketching, Drew got frustrated and down for the first time on the trip. Drew takes some regular medications for ADD and depression. He has noticed that a side effect of the drugs is the loss of his creative energy - a high price for a boy who was born a gifted artist and used to draw constantly. He has been trying to draw and just can't. He was frustrated to the point of despondency. "I feel soulless," he told me, "I have no passion for anything."
We talked about stopping medication and discussed homeopathy. "What about the 'lows' that the drugs fend off?" I asked him. He said he would gladly endure the lows in order to relight the fire inside.
Drew rarely opens up and I was pleased at such a substantial talk, but seeing his pain and dealing with the frustration and futility of being a parent wanting to make things right is, and has been, hard for Renee and me.
Last night's dismal weather passed by and this morning dawned bright and clear. The beautiful setting at Lyell Base Camp is even more impressive lit up by the sun. Sleepy Drew Van Winkle and photo opportunities delayed our start until a shameful 10:00 once again.
The first mile or two was a steady climb to Donohue Pass at 11,000 feet. With the help of a little Diamox, we were fresh, strong climbers the whole way. The climb is above timberline on open granite past cascades and lakelets fed by Lyell Glacier. Mt. Lyell and Mt. Maclure were an impressive backdrop.
At Donohue Pass, we lunched and looked across the Rush Creek drainage to gentle Island Pass a few mile south. The short portion of the trail between Donohue Pass and Island Pass is the only place the John Muir Trail crosses the Sierra crest onto the east side.
To my eye, the area just south of Donohue Pass is supremely beautiful. Though barren and treeless, it has the feel of an expansive friendly countryside rather than indifferent wilderness - cascading creeks, glacial pools, and short grass meadows.
A brief climb to Island Pass brought is to one of the classic Sierra views. Here Banner Peak and Mt. Ritter are first revealed in their full splendor to the southbound hiker. Wow. In the foreground, prime Sierra lakelets, granite outcroppings and twisted whitebark pines completed the postcard.
Here in camp, the sum effect of heat, mosquitoes and fatigue are sapping our enthusiasm. The housekeeping chores of backpacking; getting water, cooking, washing dishes, personal hygiene, setting up the tent, properly storing food and equipment for the evening seem tedious and endless. Where is the communing with nature part? It seems like we do endless chores, then hide in a nylon casket to avoid mosquitoes or rain.
Tonight we are eighteen miles from Red's Meadow where we will meet Renee and Vanessa for resupply. Our plan had called for walking most of the way there tomorrow and getting an early start the following day in order to meet them around noon. Drew and I have decided we will start very early and hike all the way to Red's Meadow tomorrow. Restaurant food and showers are available there, and it would be nice to linger there and awaken at our rendezvous point. I'll need a stick of dynamite to wake Drew before sunrise.
Five days into this adventure, Drew and I are getting along very well. At home, the main job of the parent of a teenager seems to be setting unwelcome limits and enforcing rules. Will the constant and inescapable father/son intimacy of this trip exacerbate the tension that comes with battling over boundaries at home, or will we unite to achieve our simple common goal and deal with our common difficulties? We are 10,000-feet above and two hundred miles away from the things we battle over at home. No father and son here. Just two smelly tired guys dealing with bugs, rain, and discussing whether or not to hike all the way to Red's Meadow tomorrow. So far, it seems we have left behind the difficult feelings that sometimes attend those home battles. So far. So far.
Cumulus clouds all day and thunder in the distance, but no rain on us. Glad to see it was 30% chance of rain somewhere else. Hope that the stormy weather has all passed. The tent is up but only for bug protection.
Drew has trouble falling asleep at night. Reading aloud to him is effective anesthesia. Reading aloud to my eighteen-year old son - this is great stuff.
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