Monitor Pass - August 2020

 

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The Escape

 

"It's 111° here," our friend Ted reported as we chatted on the phone late Friday afternoon.

"It's 93° here," I replied. "When it hits 90° here, we consider it gawdawful hot; hotter than the hinges of Hades."

The previous day the temperature had climbed to 95.9°, the hottest we'd ever seen in 30 years of living in our house. The previous record was 95°. To be fair, the coldest we'd ever seen it here was 5°, one of our first winters.

"Is your camper packed?" we asked.

"We're going to start cooling the refrigerator tomorrow," Ted answered. It takes a long time to bring it down when it's 111°."

"We might head to cooler high country Sunday morning," we continued.  "We don't want to see what we might see on a Saturday around here. Maybe the masses will be heading out Sunday morning."

The Lady added, "I've been watching the point forecast for Monitor Pass - high of 77° with 30% chance of thundershowers. I want to sit up high in cooler temperatures. I want to escape!"

"Keep us posted." Ted finished.

 

We packed the truck Sunday morning and arrived at one of our favorite spots on Monitor Pass around 10:30 in the morning. We were pleased that the area was fairly empty. Perhaps school kids returning to school was working to reduce the huge influx of flatland pilgrims we've been hit with.

 

We leveled the truck by driving up on large rocks in front, raised the top, and set up camp. I set up our two camp chairs.

"What are you doing?" the Lady asked. "Let's go climb those high points and watch for the Teds to drive in."

"What happened to 'I want to sit?'" I asked.

 

Away we went through the sage and junipers. We must have missed the Teds as we were down climbing the backside of a summit outcropping. We noticed they had arrived and were setting up camp as we circled back.

 

After lunch, the sky darkened but the storm skirted us to the west and then dropped into the Carson Valley to the north.

 

 

Later in the afternoon we noticed that smoke from the Loyalton fire had filled the Carson Valley.

 

 

With the active cloud cover, we hoped for nice evening light as we enjoyed our dinners.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The show started as darkness came. Songs from coyotes around us announced the beginning. The storms were too far to the east into Nevada to hear thunder, but the flashes of lightning lit up the sky. Lightning played across the tops of clouds. It was spectacular but we could not help but worry about all the possible fire starts. We climbed into our campers around nine and fell asleep to the continuing flashes outside.

 

The overnight temperatures for sleeping were glorious. Cool mountain air at 8500 feet fit the bill perfectly.

 

The next morning started out in our usual fashion. I climbed out of the camper early as the Lady commenced with her well practiced "fussing". This covers getting up, washing up, getting dressed, etc., and happily ends with two steaming mugs of Peets Coffee.

I usually wander away and time my return to intercept delivery of one of those mugs. This morning I wandered the dirt road back toward the pavement, curious if anyone had moved into one of the other dispersed sites during the night.

 

Ted was up when I returned. The Lady exited our camper with the coffee and announced she wanted to walk the road toward Leviathan Peak. Off she went. I followed a few hundred yards behind, working to catch up. The Lady's tracks were in the left track. I quickly noticed new bear tracks in the right track, going the same direction as the Lady.

 

 

 

 

 

The tracks were not there the night before. I was surprised the Lady had not commented on the tracks. She does not miss much. Had the bear stepped in behind her, followed, and then quickly stepped off and disappeared? I found the spot where the bear moved off the road and entered the sage. I caught up to the Lady and we returned to the tracks. It would be fun to figure out the puzzle and where was the bear? We returned to camp but on the way I returned to look at the road I had walked earlier. Sure enough, new tracks showed the bear had followed me, but turned on the other road as I turned up to camp. We had just missed seeing it.

 

Upon hearing our story, Julie & Mrs. Ted wanted to track the bear. Off we all went. The bear had not initially turned up the road toward Leviathan Peak, but had moved past our camp and then turned toward a small hill.

 

 

 

 

 

Through their see mores, the girls saw a possible cave in the rock outcropping and volunteered my services to go over, crawl inside, and see if ole fuzzy face was home. I obliged them. The depression was empty and not a den site. But, the junipers in the morning were beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

Ted, still fighting fatigue from chemotherapy, returned to camp. He had done well on this walk. Mrs. Ted continued on with us, wanting to check out a large aspen patch for the bear. We did our best to locate the critter, but without success. The Lady wanted to hike up to the top of Leviathan Peak. I joined her as Mrs. Ted also returned toward camp.

 

 

 

 

 

Just a hop, skip, and a jump and we were on top with the Lady busy checking all the views with her see mores.

 

 

 

 

 

Three quarters of the sky was blue, but we had the other one quarter to be concerned about.

 

 

 

 

 

The storm was coming from the southwest and it was time to get off the top.

 

Hail hit as we reached the base of the peak and started cross country back to camp. The cold hits on our shirts were wonderful but we hoped the storm would pass before soaking us or driving us to seek shelter. Thunder cracked overhead with cloud to cloud lightning. We returned to camp at noon and climbed into our camper. We stretched out in the bunk and listened to the rain and wind. The scent of wet sage and wet earth hung in the air and filled the camper. The rain turned to hard driving hail. The Lady read. I dropped off into a deep afternoon slumber.

 

The storm eased around dinner time. The Lady climbed out of the camper and said, "There has to be a rainbow. We must see the rainbow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rain returned and we ate dinner inside. The rain slowed and we again exited the camper and hoped we could take a walk before dark in the cool freshly washed air.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sweetwater Mountains to the southeast were hit with ghostly light just at sunset.

 

 

 

 

 

We did walk in the evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Long pants, wool shirts, fleece hats, and rain coats signaled that we had accomplished our task of escaping the heat.

 

The night was wonderful with all the windows open. We slept so well and woke to delightful morning temps in the mid fifties. After a lazy morning, we packed up and thanked our good friends, the Teds,  for a wonderful quick two cool nights up high so close to home.

 

We took an alternate route home to do some exploring and be reminded of other possible quick getaway spots when the need arises to escape again.

 

Unfortunately, this line of thunderstorms pummeled the entire state and ignited wildfires across California that continue to rage. Be safe out there everyone.

Fly Fishing - August 2020

 

The summer heat wave has descended on us. We woke  yesterday morning, Friday, and I surprised the Lady with, "Let's go fly fishing today." Thigh deep in a cold mountain stream, fly rod in hand, was an irresistible notion. And why not? A 30 minute drive from home and a two mile hike in put me on new water, water always on my list, patiently waiting its turn.  And, we knew the trailhead area would be insanely packed on the coming weekend, especially a hot weekend with the crazy masses flocking to any kind of water. This would be only at the trailhead, the two mile hike pretty much eliminates others getting into our spot.

 

This water is the mountain stream of your dreams. Old growth sugar pines line the bank, their earring like cones dangling from the tips of long branches shading the water. I expected the Lady would make a nest along the river and read and nap and close her eyes and listen to the sounds. She did not. She waded behind me enjoying the hunt, watching the study of insects and trout lies and making the cast. She only had to climb two alders to retrieve the snagged dry fly from an errant backcast. She loves to see the rise of a trout and the take. The small rainbows danced and pranced across the water before coming to hand for their careful release. The Lady insists on the careful release. Her enthusiasm more than matched mine.

 

I have never seen another angler on this stretch of water. I fly fished three hours and covered maybe 400 yards of water. I worked on my technique on the quiet long runs where a gentle presentation was key. The rhythm was there. I can still hear the sound of flowing cold water in my mind and feel the pulsing cold on my legs.

 

There is no better exercise for balance and strength than wading in a mountain stream, climbing over logs and rocks, watching each foot placement, fighting the current, staying low in the shadows, making a cast. The Lady got extra points for tree climbing. I used one fly, a well dressed size 18 caddis dry. I still have it, a bit torn up but now a treasure to stir up memories.

 

The day was perfect, the only mar the fact we forgot and left the camera on the counter at home when we left.

 

And where is this stream? Locked properly away with so many other secrets.

Carson Iceberg & Hoover Wilderness Areas - July 2020

please remember you can click on a photo to see a larger version & highlighted text are links to additional information

Social Distancing and a Tale of Two Fishes

We left home early Wednesday morning. It was an easy drive to Monitor Pass on highway 89 where, mid morning we drove into where our friends the Teds were camped. They had been out for a couple of days watching bald eagles and breathing high mountain air. Adhering to safe social distancing protocols, they agreed to follow us to another eastern Sierra high point and a trailhead for the Carson Iceberg Wilderness.

We arrived at our high spot around noon. The horse and mule stock from the nearby Pack Station were uphill from us. They moved down to greet us. A large dark mule walked up and put his head against my chest. Mules love to have their ears scratched. I made a friend. Other mules lined up with the Lady and the Teds. They all wanted attention. All the stock was well groomed and in very good condition. This was good to see. Ted opened up their camper and grabbed a carrot as the herd was leaving. The last mule walked over and took the carrot leaving all of Ted's fingers intact. Now Ted had a friend. This mule no longer cared about any of his buddies. He followed Ted everywhere. The Lady asked, "Hey Ted, do you have a extra bunk in your camper? It looks like that mule would love to move in with you two."

We sat out and got caught up with our friends. Mrs. Ted joined us for a walk down to the pack station and we looped back on the access roads.

The Lady and I took a nice walk after dinner to watch the changing light.

We had last been up here in 2015. 2015 was a very dry year and amazingly we had driven up here on May 1st of that year.

The Lady and I left the next morning on one of our favorite hikes in this area.

The East Fork of the Carson River and its tributaries inside the Carson Iceberg Wilderness is protected home water for the native Lahontan Cutthroat Trout, listed as a threatened species. But we were not going to visit the East Fork, we were headed into visit Silver King Creek, home to one of the rarest and endangered trout species in the world.

Cut off from its Lahontan Cutthroat ancestors by an uplifted steep gorge on Silver King Creek above Snodgrass Creek, the Paiute Cutthroat Trout evolved and existed in only a few miles of Silver King Creek. It was a beautiful trout with purple sides and it lost the dark spots of other cutthroats.

The Paiute Cutthroat survives today because of Basque shepherds. In the early 1900's shepherds introduced Paiute Cutthroat Trout into the fishless waters of Silver King Creek above Llewellyn Falls and also into nearby tiny Corral Creek and Coyote Creek.

Paiute Cutthroat in its original range was lost due to planting of non-native trout into Silver King Creek.

We dropped in Corral Valley, a beautiful high open meadow.

The highest point of our hike was the divide between Corral Creek and Coyote Creek.

It is a steep drop into Coyote Valley on this old trail.

Huge Western Junipers thrive here.

We took a short break along Coyote Creek, as we always do. We enjoy this place and have never encountered another person here.

After our break, it was up and over the next divide and down to Upper Fish Valley on Silver King Creek.

This is the section of Silver King Creek above Llewellyn Falls where Paiute Cutthroat remained because of the accidental efforts of the shepherds.

Looking up Upper Fish Valley we immediately noticed something new -

 a large landslide.

If you'd like to have fun with Google Earth, enter these coordinates - 38°25.614'N 119°35.950'W and go back in the historical images. The landslide first appears in the August 2019 image.

We were alone here as we looked north down the valley.

Our favorite backpacking camp is hidden in the timber back from the meadow and creek. Alas, our last several day backpack into here was July 2009.

We headed over to the old cow camp.

  

For years volunteers with Trout Unlimited held an annual summer work event here fencing off the creek to try to limit damage by grazing cows. Fishing was stopped in 1934 but it took an additional 60 years to halt grazing to save the rare trout.

Our hike was a loop. We headed down along Silver King Creek. We made our usual stop at Llewellyn Falls, the barrier that saved the Paiute Cutthroat and dropped into beautiful Lower Fish Valley and entered the original range of this rare trout.

We continued downstream and stopped at the bottom end of Long Valley. The wind was blowing.

It was a controversial and hard fought effort to restore Paiute Cutthroat to its original range in this reach of Silver King Creek. I strongly supported the effort and took the time to attend the meeting of the Lahontan Water Board in South Lake Tahoe and stood up and voiced my support for the permit needed to remove all non native trout.

The permit was issued and a multiyear project followed that successfully removed all non-native fish. The reintroduction of native Paiute Cutthroat Trout to its home waters began on September 18, 2019. Now you know why we wanted to walk along Silver King Creek once again.

We continued our hike downstream. We completed the circle (15 miles today) by climbing back to the trailhead and camp.

It was a wonderful quiet night as we enjoyed the Teds company and friendship.

The next morning we moved to another favorite high point and trailhead into the Hoover Wilderness. After a relaxing lunch, the Lady and I did the short but steep walk up to Emma Lake.

Emma Lake holds non native Brook Trout. I do not like Brook Trout because of the impact their introduction into western waters has caused to native trout species (Paiute Cutthroat) and native amphibians such as the Mountain Yellow Legged Frog.

Emma Lake is a nutrient rich lake, yet the Brook Trout remain small. I watched the little bastards swimming around and decided I'd worry them the next day, chase them around a bit. I would do some fly fishing.

We headed back down to camp, dinner, and our friends.

We distanced during dinner and then sat out near our truck on the point to watch night come. The near full moon rose. This was our last night with the Teds. They would leave the next morning.

We waved as the Teds left the next morning. We were ready to return to Emma Lake.

Last year when we were at Emma, it was a zoo with numerous groups at the lake. It was the kind of day that included loud people and two or three dog fights. We sure hoped this Saturday would not be a repeat and remain quiet. We found our spot on the far end of the lake, far from the arrival point of others. I put my fly rod together and was pleasantly surprised how well I could see with my new glasses and bifocals to tie on a size 18 caddis dry. The wind was calm, the water still. A Brook Trout was holding still under the dwarf willows lining the shore. I put the fly and long tippet in front of his nose.

The day was like this. I had to come up with something to hold my interest, something to keep me motivated, something I could do to work on skill and tactics. I watched how the little bastards were cruising out from shore, almost invisible, only a shadow in the water. I'd spot one and then make a long cast to drop the fly carefully in front of the brook trout. Close enough to get an immediate charge to the fly, but not too close to spook the fish.  This was enjoyable. I have no idea how many char (Salvelinus fontinalis) I caught and released; as many as I wanted.

It remained quiet at Emma Lake. The single male backpacker who had spent the night left in the morning. One middle aged couple arrived just as we did. The man was talkative, the woman not so much. The Lady gave me her thought, "I think they're computer dating and they are spending the weekend camping. They are not going to make it together."

"Why's that?" I asked. "Because she did not join him skinny dipping?"

"Yes, there's that," the Lady said and added, "All her body language says she's not interested and he doesn't have a clue." That couple left just after noon and we were alone at Emma Lake until a young couple arrived with their dog and two small sons. The boys may have been twins. Although the father was a hardware chunker (spin casting with lures), he spent time teaching his boys how to fish. Perhaps one day they will rise up and embrace the noble fly rod. Mom stayed close by and took part and watched over her family. It was fun to watch the interactions of this young family that obviously likes to spend time outdoors. Mid afternoon another couple showed up with their large water dog. The loud baby talk began as "Precious" frolicked in the water.

"Your such a sweet girl!"  and kissy sounds echoed back and forth in the cirque. "Oh, look at you!"

I wanted to yell across the lake, "The dog looks like an adult, probably out of preschool. Could you at least teach it to kill and eat brook trout?" Ah, but the Lady is always correct in admonishing me to model good behavior. I kept my thoughts silent. There was not a dog fight when the young family approached. So, all in all it was a good day at Emma.

We were the last to leave in the afternoon. It had been a good day at Emma.

We returned home the next day. We were so happy we could spend time with our friends the Teds with social distancing. It was indeed inspiring to walk along Silver King Creek and witness the beginnings of its rebirth. Adding in Emma Lake did make our adventure a tale of two fishes.