Hoover Wilderness - June 2014

please remember you can click on a photo to see a larger version

We were cresting the Sierra Nevadas late Friday afternoon. The sky was dark with storm, the thunderheads building directly above us. Hard chucks of hail blasted against the windshield, the storm's first onslaught. This quickly turned to huge raindrops and the Lady and I raced each other to get our windows down to fill the truck cab and our lungs with the smell of summer rainstorm in the mountains. This was the perfect start to a quick trip.

Our next two upcoming weekends are work and teaching. I had put off the Lady on getting away this last free weekend as we got a handle on prep needs for the upcoming field class. Thursday afternoon I asked the Lady, "Want to go somewhere this weekend?" I got the happy hand claps, a big grin, and "Really!" It is amazing how quickly the truck can be made ready, a few items in the dry goods bin and a few things out of the home refrigerator placed in the chest fridge in the camper. Our packs are always ready, a habit from the Search & Rescue days.

Early Friday evening found our chairs set up along Green Creek at one of the dispersed sites.

With the dissipating storm clouds, we wondered what was in store for sunset colors. We walked along the creek. A beaver moved away from us in deep water. The birds were busy with their spring time activities. A bright yellow flycatcher remains to be identified. A muskrat scooted across the creek, its nose high, out of the water. The mosquitoes were a pleasant surprise. Yeah, they were around but really not too bad.

Both the Carson and Bridgeport districts of the Humboldt Toiyabe National Forest have wisely gone into fire restrictions on May 30. The signs are up.

Restrictions include other activities besides campfires -

 Fire Restrictions Prohibit:

1. Building, maintaining, attending or using a fire (using wood, charcoal or any other material), campfire, or stove fire except a portable stove using gas or pressurized liquid fuel, outside of a developed fee campground or picnic area (except by permit).
2. Smoking, except within an enclosed vehicle or at a developed campground or picnic area.
3. Welding, or operating an acetylene torch with open flames, except by permit.
4. Using or causing to be used, any explosive, except by permit.
5. Possession or use of fireworks (always prohibited), or any other incendiary device.
6. Use of tracer rounds, steel-core ammunition or exploding targets including Binary Explosive Targets while recreational shooting.
7. Open burning (e.g. weeds, brush, and yard debris).

I believe the current fine is $375 for a campfire and each person at the camp can be cited, not just the person who built the fire - as in "maintaining, attending, or using."

The Green Creek area is heavily used throughout the summer. We were pleasantly surprised it was fairly quiet this weekend. The small campground at roads end was full, maybe because they could huddle around campfires here.

We walked back down the road past our campsite. A shooting barrage unleashed further down the valley. It was violent. No one in the Green Creek area was untouched by the noise of the muzzle blasts. It sounded like mostly large caliber semi-auto handguns. (As an aside, it amazes that people are so dumb. It is easy to count and figure out the size of the clips being used.) They could have been legal with their shooting in this area but it was way out of line insofar as being a good neighbor. We felt for the young father on an evening walk with his toddler daughter through the meadow close to their camp when the unexpected barrage began. 

Early morning was quiet and just right at our creek side camp.

We set off on our adventure, hiking into the Hoover Wilderness. We soon arrived at the major intersection.

This is all familiar country. We  backpack in the heavily used Sierra areas only in the early season when most are still waiting for the snow to clear. In 2007 (with a pretty normal snowpack) we got our overnight permit for the Fourth of July holiday. Ice axes allowed us to easily climb up to West Lake and spend several days in relative solitude. The lake had just cleared of ice. The lakes in the basin above, including Par Value and Begonia, were still snow covered. We explored everywhere our legs and skills could take us.

We were going back to spend the day at West Lake. A cascade of falls mark the outlet from West Lake, high above Green Lake.

The route up to West Lake is one of our favorite trails, a well laid out series of short switchbacks that work their way up steep terrain always keeping to a nice grade that allows easy breathing and soft conversation. The rock work is excellent with the trail bed across talus filled with small cobble. We planned our upcoming summer adventure as we climbed.

"How 'bout we return to the Wind River Range?" I asked the Lady.

She smiled as I continued, "Remember that lake that held brook trout, big brook trout, heavy brook trout shaped like footballs?"

"Your cousin wrote about it in his book," she answered.

"It's about a day and a half, making good time, hike in with backpacks," I went on. "That would make a nice five day backpack with explorations to some of the other high lakes nearby."

"I would not have thought about returning there. I like that plan!" The Lady was cheerful. "Let's do that."

"I was thinking we could explore some new areas for us in the Winds with day hikes from the camper and also throw in another short backpack if we felt like it."

It was settled. It took only four or five switchbacks and our big adventure was planned.

We arrived at West Lake's high basin.

West Lake's inlet also is a series of cascades.

Just before leaving home Friday afternoon, something drew me to going online and purchasing my yearly fishing license. West Lake is mentioned in Bill Sunderland's book. I had spent a couple pleasant evenings in 2007 casting flies and catching trout. We dropped our packs, the Lady got comfortable, pulled out her book, and made her nest. I readied my fly rod and tied on a small scud pattern under a strike indicator. A little movement and a skinny long brook trout was carefully released. The third brookie was the largest but still not much meat on the bones.

As I released this brookie I saw what I had been watching for - a group of  six nice heavy rainbows; heavy for their size, from about 13 to 15 inches long. I took on the challenge and studied. They methodically moved from the depths into the shallows. Occasionally one of them would violently explode out of the water right in front of me. I could not make out what they were taking. I tried four different dry fly patterns, had it waiting for them as they returned from the depths. No takes, ignored. I returned to the scud pattern. They were interested but their takes so gentle I missed setting the hook time after time. Any time you get to feeling cocky about your skills, just pick up your fly rod and be humbled. I tried two nymph patterns with no interest at all. The third pattern got attention and I had a nice fat 14 inch rainbow to release.

I hadn't moved from my spot for an hour and a half and I finally had success, a perfect afternoon in wonderful country. I fished for a while longer and returned to the Lady. She was sound asleep, her book on her chest, completely relaxed, completely at home. Some high mountain days are made for fly rods and books.

We started our journey back with Dunderburg Peak in the distance.

The panorama unfolded before us as we reached the edge of the basin with Green Lake below.

The length of Green Creek Valley stretched off to the east.

I focused in on Dunderburg Peak and Kavanaugh Ridge. We spent one memorable evening sitting atop the rocky columns on the far left.

We enjoyed the drop down the trail to Green Lake.

This is one of our joys in having our camper. There is never a need for a rush to get back to the trailhead. We get there when we get there. Those hands on the clock or those digital numbers are put in their place - meaningless. The day is ours, the whole day.

Dinner was my favorite for camping, macaroni and cheese. We throw in extra ingredients like good cheese and some chicken breast. It's a camper staple.

We slept well. Our muscles felt warm, used, happy. Morning came the way we felt, unhurried and refreshed.

As the sun hit the water the midges came to life.

Breakfast was the Lady's favorite, pancakes with fried eggs. We could not think of a more beautiful place to sit in the morning's quiet and dine.

Why do we keep heading out with the camper? Why can't we stay home? With a world like this to travel through, to live in, to get lost in, how could we ever stay home?

Back to the Spark Plug Mine - June 2014 Part Two

 please remember you can click on a photo to see a larger version

 

We started our climb.

The trail climbs very quickly.

Sections of the original mule trail are also missing on this route.

Further on a large rock slide has carried the old and the current trail away. Care is required crossing very steep, exposed, loose rocky ground. This may unnerve some hikers. In places the trail is merely small indentations less than boot sole size, a series of stepping spots crossing the most dangerous terrain. Find your inner peace and continue up. We finally crossed over and around the steep rocky ridge that is crowned with the prominent spire seen from below. The trail switch backs up a steep gully on the other side. "I see holes! I see holes in the mountain!" the Lady said.

We had arrived.

Vistas opened around us.

A small bench had been carved out of the gully. Remains of foundations and equipment littered the small area. The treacherous drop off at the edge was always in our minds. The Mine Manager's building perched above us.

The view from our rest spot.

We snacked, hydrated, and prepared ourselves for exploring this remarkable place. It is mind boggling to grasp the amount of effort it took to toil up here, all the mule trains up and down. Every piece of equipment, groceries, cement, everything was carried up by mules, even the long power poles supporting the wires carrying power from the mine's hydroelectric plant in the Chalfant Valley below. Amazing to think that this almost forgotten place, suspended high in impossible terrain,  played a key role in the young automotive and aviation industries supplying material for spark plugs. This was one of the most amazing places associated with modern man we have ever visited.

edit: I have found this 20 mine video with archival footage of work at the Spark Plug Mine - Champion Spark Plug Mine, The Mines/Ranch 

This piece of equipment had a central place on the main concrete pad. My guess is the air supply to power the drills?

A strong word of caution. Although we visit many old mine sites, we do not run around and explore deep into tunnels. Bad air, cave ins, rotten timber, etc., are very real risks. This mountain is honeycombed with tunnels and shafts, a potentially very dangerous place.

The long balconies carved out between adits were tempting. The Lady spotted a rock climbing route we could maybe use to  reach this ledge. We did not do it.

Many tunnels showed connections to shafts, most pretty scary.

We found a series of short tunnels with windows we could access - not the one pictured above.

These led to a long balcony.

Another tunnel brought us to "The Window."

 

Almost straight down was the Black Eagle Camp.

Far down canyon was our tiny camp.

We did notice what looked like an alternate trail up on the north canyon wall. Next time!

This was a place you can easily get lost in thought as you try to take it all in.

 

What an amazing place. Now we had to make it back down. We relaxed, talked to one another through the difficult sections and were very careful not to knock anything loose. There were friends to meet along the way like this collared lizard.

We soon were back to Black Eagle Camp.

Mom and daughter and Ringo were relaxing the day away. We did not disturb them. We quietly wandered about the buildings - the previous photos - and took a break at the Champion Hilton.

We headed back down the trail.

Well, where should we head to? The world was ours. The Lady had spotted a high point with a possible camp up at Chidago Flats. We headed that direction but didn't make it. "Look at that road!" the Lady said as we traveled Benton Crossing Road. "Drive down that!" It certainly looked like this small double track led to the kind of spot the Lady likes. I'll just let the photos tell the story...................

We spent a perfect evening alone at this spot, perfect except for the no see ums. Our repellent did nothing to stop them. Their appetite was ravenous. We persevered.  It was worth it.

Early Monday morning we had the trip home ahead of us. We figured the Long Valley series of hot springs ought to be quiet right? Wrong, and we were, apparently, going to liven things up a bit.

Little Hot Creek was packed including a guy with a tent camped in the meadow right at the pool. A young European couple with their shipped over motorhome happily showed us their young baby. A group of young people with four vehicles had a large camp just to the north. Too crowded, way too crowded. We decided to head back out to Hot Creek Road, the shortest way to 395. At the intersection we decided to see if anyone was at the rock tub at the turn off by the tree, it was close.

The rock pool was filled. There was a man in an overloaded Toyota SUV with Oregon plates, the only one here. Two bikes, one a motorcycle, hung on a receiver hitch. The vehicle was packed full. I could not see the driver from my vantage point near the passenger window.  The loaded roof rack was covered with a tarp. The Lady went around the vehicle and politely asked if he was using the pool and would he mind if we soaked. She said he was pleasant. I only heard part of his response, "I'm working on something now!" We went down to the pool. The inflow was stopped, the water warm. The pool was dirty with scum and a layer of algae. no way would we climb in. We had filled the tub before and found it filled fast. I found the tennis ball plug on a rope, it had a brush tied to the other end. I suggested to the Lady we clean the tub up. It was nice and clean the only time before we had visited. I pulled the tennis ball up. It was caked with algae. The tub did not drain. The water level did not change. I found no outflow. I told the Lady the drain was broken, we could not clean the tub. Another couple drove in and I motioned to them that we were done and the pool was theirs. I expect they also did not stay long. The fellow in the Toyota never left his vehicle.

A few minutes later we were at the developed overlook at Hot Creek when the fellow drove up and threw a bunch of trash in the dumpster. He approached me and asked if I pulled the drain on the tub. I said yes, we wanted to clean it. I could get no further. The middle finger on both hands were in my face, an amazing and practiced display.  He was an artist at it. His hands and fingers pumped the air. It was wild. He screamed at us, his language filled, littered, with profanity. Our attempts at apology or explanation were worthless. We immediately figured that out. It was obvious, in my experience, from his body language, eye contact, etc., this was all just for display. But, I hoped to god he would not be stupid, charge, and force us into physically defending ourselves.  I was very confident he would not. We stayed calm. This seemed to piss him off more. He  told us, "we have a website," and he was posting our license number. We calmly told him to do whatever he thought was right and would help him. He made a show of squatting a foot away from the back of our truck and taking notes. He told us he was reporting us to the sheriff as vandals. He continued hollering and marched around the parking area. This all probably lasted no more than five minutes. I felt so sorry for the couple, within earshot, getting ready to flyfish, who witnessed this display. The Lady was starting to reach her breaking point. This poor fellow had not a clue what would happen if the mother bear was unleashed. I kept her calm. "He's about done. In a few seconds he will be in his car and leave."  He did.

So we could now be enjoying our 15 minutes of fame as evil incarnate on the hot springs soakers' forums. Mono County deputies still may be arriving at our doors. But we are happy. We know we have great friends who would post bail!

It was upsetting. How could it not be? In the big picture, in all our adventures we have met so many neat people. They far outnumber the bad. It is good to keep that perspective.

We journeyed forth toward home. Our moods improved as we stopped along Hot Creek again.

So that's the trip. That's the story. And, giving it further thought, being the simple people we are - if the need arises we'll take the file in the cake!