Return to Kings Canyon

11/05/08
A long day driving. From 100 Giants I got down to Springville for lunch at the city park, and after an hour in the library there I drove all the way to Kings Canyon and found myself sitting alone in the dark at Convict Flat Campground. It felt spookier now for some reason.


Lovely hike the next morning to Cedar Grove Overlook and the Lewis Creek Loop. More a forest hike, with bright low light coming in from the south. I was surprised how green the forest was. Was this a result of the recent rains? The river was a glare. Not the great overlook I'd hoped for; too far upstream to see the real canyon. Upper Kings Valley, really. It would be better later in the day when the sun angle improved, I assumed. Birds. Deer. Snow dusting up high. Back to Convict Flat at noon hoping for a few restful hours in the sun. The afternoon was short: the sun dropped below the canyon wall at 2:00PM! 7:30 PM came slowly and I still wasn't tired. I wished I had a working Walkman. I would write instead. I would write this: two free nights camping before my motel and then five straight free night afterwords. That made seven. So even with a $50 (including tax) motel, I spent less than $7/night over the previous eight nights.

The next day I hiked along the South Fork Kings River to Mist Falls. Almost four and a half miles one way yet only a 650’ elevation gain. “In June and July the river can be a raging torrent” said my hiking book, but on November 7 it was a gentle stream indeed. Excellent rugged forest. Some bright autumn colors. Sizeable erratics. The falls were not at their raging best, but they were creditable, throwing in a rainbow and plenty of the namesake mist. A great day to be there. Sunshine. Exercise. Water.

Lunch at Road's End, where a closing-for-the-season feel prevailed. Nap/coffee/read in the sunshine along Kings River. One divine afternoon. Funny, as I picked up and drove out, stopping briefly at Zumwalts' Meadow, thinking just how good I felt, I told myself to hold off on declaring victory until I got "home" - home being my tent - as for some reason I had a premonition of trouble. Specifically I was imagining some people coming to bully me out of my site - even though that had never happened to me before.


Instead I came back to the campground and saw my tent was simply gone. I was enraged. Partly because some dirt bag would steal someone’s tent, someone’s soaking wet tent, and let them come back after a long hike to maybe no shelter. And partly of course because I had broken my own rule in leaving the tent where I did and had immediately paid for it. The fact is I wasn’t all that discomforted. I had taken my sleeping bag and ground pad with me and had two spare tents in the car. I could have camped right there at Convict Canyon but there was no way I was going to camp alone in the same site where someone had just stolen my tent. Plus I was too angry. I needed to move, to act. I wanted to report the crime. I wanted to personally stop and search all the cars leaving the park. But when I got to Grant’s Village the Visitor’s Center was closed for the day. I talked to the Forest Service employee staffing the entrance booth and his reaction bordered on catotonic, almost like he was hiding something he knew about the theft. The clerk at the hotel acted like a human being and put me through to the park ranger, who in turn put me through to a Forest Service ranger as the campground is on forest service land. He was very good on the phone and almost convinced me I'd get my tent back, illusory, but at least it helped me sleep that night.
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I camped back at Big Meadow in my really old REI tent, broken zipper and all. I drove down to the foothills forest service office the next day, but they knew nothing and the fellow down there told me that tent was gone for good. $250! I don't like the feeling of being victimized. I suppose few do. On the bright side, gas was down to half what it cost when I started my trip, and the warning light on my dashboard was just telling me it was time for an oil change, which I got while I sat on the lawn of an auto shop in Squaw Valley reading in the sun.


That night I was back at Big Meadows, which is 3000' higher than Convict Canyon, with a forecast that called for cold rain, or even snow. It was quiet for a while and then a rash of 4x4s came by. My fifteenth free night of the last twenty. I needed my new tent in that kind of weather but I had never set that tent up before. It had a complicated pole structure I wasn't quite able to figure out, so it ended up looking a bit more like a camel than a tent should look.


The 20% chance of rain Saturday night manifested itself as eight inches of snow and still falling when I awoke Sunday morning. Inside the tent was eerily quiet, like being buried alive. I had to dig my way out. Covered with snow my tent looked even more ridiculous. It held though. At first I thought this made my planning more difficult, but then I realized it simply made my planning moot.

I get despondent so quickly in situations like this, so I needed to think
　　　　1) Do they plow this road? I would guess they plow it at least once before closing it, to get everyone out.
　　　　2) They would probably wait for the snow to stop
　　　　3) It would be a fairly low priority, no?
　　　　4) Would they plow it on Sunday?
　　　　5) If they do plow the road can I make it to the road?
　　　　6) If they plow it and it's no longer snowing, some 4x4 would likely tow me to the road. 

It was absolutely beautiful so I went for a little stroll. The sky was brightening and a decent amount of blue sky was showing. But it was still snowing lightly and a blue sky wasnt't going to melt the snow on the roads. I needed sunshine and lots of it, and the forecast said that wasn't coming for another day. Then the sun came out and I decided to make a go of it, and....I succeeded! My car moved just fine through the still wet snow. Back along the forest service road a ranger driving the other way waved me down and told me to stop at the end of the road and wait there, as the highway road was closed and they would be leading a convoy out. A half dozen cars waited for a while at the end of the road and eventually a ranger came along and told us to just go on our own. I briefly considered camping at Grants Village but the forecast was for highs in the 40s and lows in the mid-20s and that just didn't sound pleasant enough. So I drove out toward Fresno and in less than a minute of downhill driving there was no sign of snow at all. It was suddenly just a rainy day.

Soon I was down in Fresno in a Motel 6 sitting on the balcony in the sun, filling up on bread, peanut butter, and 7-11 coffee, the cars and strip malls bothering me not one bit. I decided that I would stay one more night at the motel and head west to Santa Cruz the next day. My “first summer” (it was now actually half-way through fall) in the Sierra had come to an end. When I was planning my trip I said I would stay in the Sierras until the snow drove me out. I didn't think I would fulfill this quite so precisely.