I drove from Schulman Grove straight down the highway to Independence. The town had a desolate feel to it, typical I guess of small downtown business districts late on Sunday afternoons. Heading up the Onion Creek Road back into the Sierras, I stopped at a campground along the way to try their water, and it too was foul. I continued on to the Kearsarge trailhead, the only eastern Sierra portal I'd yet visited that did not have some form of resort. A big parking area hosts loads of backpackers, most of whom are using Kearsarge Pass to access the John Muir Trail through Kings Canyon National Park.
Starting a hike late in the afternoon is not my usual method, though lots of backpackers do it. I still had to put my pack together. Happily, the trailhead pump yielded fresh tasting water. I talked to the campground host and he told me this parking lot had not experienced any vandalism. So up the hill I went. I arrived at the first lake that I had ostensibly reserved and saw a couple of guys feeding an enormous fire at the only evident campsite. I figured it was a big wilderness and continued up the trail. Evening was descending and I hadn't found an appealing site so I decided to settle for an adequate one, a flat-enough spot tucked amid enough granite to protect me from the stiffening winds. It was pretty late and I still had to cook and eat. Oatmeal laced with trail mix. Nice view out Onion Valley.
I got up early and resumed the ascent to Gilbert Lake not much further up trail and settled in to a nice wooded spot barely 50 feet from the creek. I set up camp and continued with lightened load up to Kearsarge Pass. Nice granite. Blue skies. As soon as I crossed the pass I came upon my friend John. Since this was the third time I'd bumped into him, I beared down and got his last name: John Dittli. He and his wife were coming back from a week long backpack along the John Muir Trail. He had his tripod and was working on photos for a book on the Eastern Sierra. The text by the guy I'd just seen at the book reading, Mark. Published by Mark's wife, I do believe, who did the slide show. Sort of a small world I'd stumbled into. (Walk the Sky: Following the John Muir Trail, by John Dittli and Mark Schlenz, was published by Companion Press in 2009)
I had to tell him about the Bristlecone Center fire and the trailhead vandalism outburst, and as I was telling him of my conversation with the White River Ranger John delivered the same hypothesis: anti-wilderness sabotage. Only when his wife arrived and joined the conversation did I learn that John was in the forefront of the wilderness campaign and could easily become a target should a real terror campaign emerge.
Of course John (never even taking off his pack the entire time), also gave me some hiking tips, and I was once more on my way. I stopped for a luxurious lunch down at Kearsarge Lakes, beneath the Kearsarge Pinnacles. My filter was once again not working so I had to boil water for tea, the only way to hydrate but also kind of civilized. I realize now why these outdoor guys were always drinking tea.
I wandered over to the next lake and found spagnum. Spagnum! Then on out to an overlook John had recommended, and it was indeed swell. Big clouds mix with smoke from fire over in Kings Canyon. On my way back it actually started raining, a light rain, a pleasant rain, and the first rain I'd experienced on a trail the entire summer.
Back to camp. An easy enough night, though at one point a gang of four showed up clearly scoping out my site and putting me in fear of being driven off. I wondered if that sort of thing ever happens. Early morning out. First, though, a preposterous sunrise over my lake, fire smoke adding visual power, the sort of thing that makes backpacking worth it.
Back down to trailhead. I was beat. I had backpacked five of the last six nights, which sure helps my average. I grabbed a site at the Onion Valley Campground and spent a wonderfully desultory Tuesday lounging about the campground. I felt like I'd earned my down time. My site was great, a three-room site, with parking. It was totally surrounded by aspen, giving me complete privacy. Above me is Kearsarge Ridge, one of my favorite mountain ridges ever.
By 7:00PM it was getting chilly, a condition that I realized would become increasingly frequent. I got into my tent and sleeping bag for warmth, bringing all sorts of media to keep me occupied. Of course now that I'd secured such a fine spot some singer-songwriter camps at the next site begins tuning up at 9:00PM. But soon I was saved by a strong steady wind, the rustling of the aspen drowning out the balladeer. The night was not as bad as Labor Day weekend at Lake Sabrina, but was second to that. Then a beautiful and peaceful morning at the campsite. I was feeling very contemplative. It looked and felts like rain, and I figured this would be a good day for it. I put on jeans for the first time since I left Seattle.
I drove down to Independence and saw the news. Early Saturday morning, the day I was up at the Schulman Grove in fact, Lone Pine police had arrested a man and found “hard evidence” in his stolen car linking him to the trailhead vandalism. More significantly, the man reeked of gasoline and had cans of gasoline in his car, raising sturdy speculation that he was responsible for torching the Visitor’s Center as well. He was not charged with this, as that investigation had not yet ascertained it was arson. Many months later he would confess and provide information leading to him being charged with the arson, as well as to destruction at Summit Laboratory.
The suspect met no one’s hypothesis of the likely culprit. He was not a local man; he lived in San Francisco. He was reportedly a serious mountain climber, supposedly having climbed the highest peaks on all seven continents. He also made inspirational speeches. He did have it in big time for the federal government, but was not motivated by wilderness or any other issue. He believed the US had put chips in his head and was monitoring and manipulating his dreams, which even the morons at the Bishop Library would have rejected as wacky. He was later ruled incompetent to stand trial, not because of his beliefs but because of his insistence on confessing. This is not something I understand.
I drove down to Lone Pine Visitors Center, had lunch at a picnic table in a Lone Pine park, made a quick stop at the Eastern California Museum, and then a longer visit than I expected at Manzanar National Historic Monument, site of the Manzanar Internment Camp for Japanese-Americans during WWII. It was stirring place, particularly the grounds outside. High desert between two mountain ranges. Lots of stormy clouds and a few storms. A day of big clouds and lightning causing new fires on the west slopes of the NP. Back to Bishop for supplies, and then in the middle of the biggest storm yet, up to the White Mountain CG for another crack at the Bristlecone Forest.
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