My father's brother (yes, that would make him my Uncle, but now you know HOW he is...), Jim Gallien, sent me an email late last year, suggesting that we recreate an overnight backing trip that he, my father, my cousin Jimmy, and I made when I was around 7 (read that: 40 years ago!!!).
The original trip consisted of a short hike up Little Lakes Valley, near Bishop, CA in the Eastern Sierras. The lore of the trip is that Jimmy and I (8 and 7 at the time) got about 200 yards into the 2+ mile hike, doffed our seven pound packs, and sat down in the dirt in protest. An auspicious start.
The opportunity to recreate this trip was very appealing to me, not just because the Eastern Sierras are spectacular, but because it represented one of my "own" memories of my father. I say "own" to differentiate between the many mental images I have of him that are largely, if not entirely, created by pictures, films, or others' stories of his life. At any rate, the memory is of him fly fishing (a recently acquired hobby) from a large rock that protruded out from shore. He was using his new fly rod and flies that he tied himself (he was like that...). The funny thing about the memory though is that he kept catching the same four inch trout, over and over again, and he got increasingly frustrated until he finally gave up entirely. In the meantime though, Jimmy and I caught a full string of beautiful trout using a bobber and salmon eggs... We tried not to gloat over our trout dinner, but I am not sure how successful we were.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Details, details, details...
As the time drew near, we settled on a date in July (about the only one that would work for me). I took a look at the planned site and realized that it was not far from the place where my father died while climbing 37 years ago: Temple Crag.
This planted a new thought in my mind. For the last couple of years, I had been considering making a pilgrimage of sorts to the place where he died. I was not sure what the "pull" was, but it just seemed like a reasonable thing to do, and certainly had a lot more appeal than visiting a cemetery.
As fate would have it, once we started the process of getting permits, we found that we could only get a wilderness permit for the Little Lakes Valley for the Saturday night. This left us "homeless" Friday night, so I started exploring camp sites within striking distance of Temple Crag. The thought that was emerging was visiting Temple Crag on day one, then proceeding with the originally planned hike on Day 2.
This is what settled: We spent Friday night at Upper Sage Flat campground along Big Pine Creek. Friday afternoon we hiked to Temple Crag, or at least as close as we could get (we were delayed significantly by the fact that I failed to see the clearly written instructions for putting up our tent, costing us a lot of sunlight...). We broke camp Saturday morning and drove to the Little Lakes Valley trail head (Mosquito Flats in case you are interested in the details), then hiked in and spent the night at Chicken Foot Lake, and hiked out Sunday.
This planted a new thought in my mind. For the last couple of years, I had been considering making a pilgrimage of sorts to the place where he died. I was not sure what the "pull" was, but it just seemed like a reasonable thing to do, and certainly had a lot more appeal than visiting a cemetery.
As fate would have it, once we started the process of getting permits, we found that we could only get a wilderness permit for the Little Lakes Valley for the Saturday night. This left us "homeless" Friday night, so I started exploring camp sites within striking distance of Temple Crag. The thought that was emerging was visiting Temple Crag on day one, then proceeding with the originally planned hike on Day 2.
This is what settled: We spent Friday night at Upper Sage Flat campground along Big Pine Creek. Friday afternoon we hiked to Temple Crag, or at least as close as we could get (we were delayed significantly by the fact that I failed to see the clearly written instructions for putting up our tent, costing us a lot of sunlight...). We broke camp Saturday morning and drove to the Little Lakes Valley trail head (Mosquito Flats in case you are interested in the details), then hiked in and spent the night at Chicken Foot Lake, and hiked out Sunday.
The road to nowhere
The hike up to Temple Crag from the Big Pine camping area was longer than it needed to be. I should have trusted the topo over the advice from the campground manager. Five of the seven of us took the hike: Uncle Jim, Jimmy, me, and Alex and Zach. My uncle's grandchildren (a long and telling story about the loving person he is) stayed at the base camp and fished and painted (Nick and Brandon respectively).
For me, the hike itself was meditative. I suspect it is a lot like walking a labyrinth, something I've never done before. The overwhelming emotion for most of the hike was the realization that my dad had walked the very same path to get to the base of the mountain.
My contemplation was interrupted by the beauty of the place itself. Deep valleys formed by massive, steep mountains. Wildflowers still in bloom painting the mountain sides and creek beds with vibrant colors. Verdant paths cut by the creek, topped by a gentle series of waterfalls. At the top of the cascades, I was rewarded with a wonderful aspen grove, which brought Lisa along for the trip (they're her favorite trees up there).
For me, the hike itself was meditative. I suspect it is a lot like walking a labyrinth, something I've never done before. The overwhelming emotion for most of the hike was the realization that my dad had walked the very same path to get to the base of the mountain.
My contemplation was interrupted by the beauty of the place itself. Deep valleys formed by massive, steep mountains. Wildflowers still in bloom painting the mountain sides and creek beds with vibrant colors. Verdant paths cut by the creek, topped by a gentle series of waterfalls. At the top of the cascades, I was rewarded with a wonderful aspen grove, which brought Lisa along for the trip (they're her favorite trees up there).
Standing in awe
We decided to stop about a mile or so shy of our desired goal because we were running out of sunlight and did not feel comfortable making the trip down in the dark.
The place we stopped gave us a nice view of the mountain and most of the Sun Ribbon Arete, the most likely path my dad took up the mountain (this particular climb is a popular one on Temple Crag, so I am assuming this is what he did as well).
Seeing the mountain myself was very satisfying. It answered the main question (why the hell?) by its simple beauty: It is a mountain begging to be climbed. It was also a relief to replace the image I had constructed over 30+ years with the reality. This turned out to be a very settling thing: from imagined to real. I am not sure what that is all about, but it was certainly very real. Not that I ever doubted that the mountain existed, but something about seeing it grounded me in a way that I did not at all expect.
Our viewing of the site generated some very touching moments. My uncle just kept shaking his head and saying, "I still just can't believe it." And my sons both looked at me and said "we'll never take you for granted Dad."
What hit me the most staring at the mountain is that very likely his name is written in the little climbing log at the top. I am not sure how long those things persist, but it would be so cool to have a picture of it. It would be, as it turned out, his sign-off: August 20, 1972.
The place we stopped gave us a nice view of the mountain and most of the Sun Ribbon Arete, the most likely path my dad took up the mountain (this particular climb is a popular one on Temple Crag, so I am assuming this is what he did as well).
Seeing the mountain myself was very satisfying. It answered the main question (why the hell?) by its simple beauty: It is a mountain begging to be climbed. It was also a relief to replace the image I had constructed over 30+ years with the reality. This turned out to be a very settling thing: from imagined to real. I am not sure what that is all about, but it was certainly very real. Not that I ever doubted that the mountain existed, but something about seeing it grounded me in a way that I did not at all expect.
Our viewing of the site generated some very touching moments. My uncle just kept shaking his head and saying, "I still just can't believe it." And my sons both looked at me and said "we'll never take you for granted Dad."
What hit me the most staring at the mountain is that very likely his name is written in the little climbing log at the top. I am not sure how long those things persist, but it would be so cool to have a picture of it. It would be, as it turned out, his sign-off: August 20, 1972.
The path not taken
As meaningful as the time spent viewing the mountain was, the walk back to camp was unexpectedly impactful. I realized about halfway down the path, that while I shared the path up to the mountain with my father's dust, he never made that walk down the path. His trip off the mountain was in a helicopter, a ride he also never experienced.
Overall the pilgrimage to Temple Crag was a deeply meaningful and fulfilling experience for me and everyone who went along. It was great having my uncle and cousin with me and wonderful to share the experience with two of my children.
Overall the pilgrimage to Temple Crag was a deeply meaningful and fulfilling experience for me and everyone who went along. It was great having my uncle and cousin with me and wonderful to share the experience with two of my children.
Little Lakes Valley
Day 2: Here is the collective memory of where we camped 40 years ago: Uncle Jim - "I remember walking past Long Lake, and then your dad pulled out his map and said 'I think we should turn here'" No trail, no names, just a scramble up, then down, to an unnamed lake. We all remembered what the lake looked like more or less, but, being that we were hiking through a valley of little lakes, it became clear pretty quickly that the likelihood of finding that 40 year-old campsite was pretty slim.
That, plus the fact that there were seven of us, led us to Chicken Foot Lake, where we were the only over-nighters, and far enough in, and over, that we encountered very few people in spite of the heavy (justifiably) traffic at the trail head.
This time out, Jimmy and I (and Zach, Alex, Nick and anyone else who attempted) did precious little catching even though there was plenty of fishing. In fact, I think we had a total of maybe about three or four nibbles at best and zero fish.
The scenery was amazing. The valley is lined with crumbling granite cliffs, rising steeply off the valley floor. The valley itself is a series of steppes, with a set of lakes every 200-300 feet in elevation climb, with the Little Gems at the top.
That, plus the fact that there were seven of us, led us to Chicken Foot Lake, where we were the only over-nighters, and far enough in, and over, that we encountered very few people in spite of the heavy (justifiably) traffic at the trail head.
This time out, Jimmy and I (and Zach, Alex, Nick and anyone else who attempted) did precious little catching even though there was plenty of fishing. In fact, I think we had a total of maybe about three or four nibbles at best and zero fish.
The scenery was amazing. The valley is lined with crumbling granite cliffs, rising steeply off the valley floor. The valley itself is a series of steppes, with a set of lakes every 200-300 feet in elevation climb, with the Little Gems at the top.
The elusive body (of water that is...)
Having seen just about every lake the valley had to offer, none of them satisfying our collective memory of our historic camp site, Jim and I scrambled up a faint trail over to an unnamed lake. We are pretty confident that this was indeed the lake of yesteryear, but we must have accessed it from another direction, because we could not see the exact spot where we had camped, though it seemed clear that there was a place that would have fit our memories nicely had we taken a different route over.
As satisfied as could be expected under the circumstances, we hiked out and enjoyed hospitality and good eats at Tom's Place before heading north and south on 395 to end the weekend.
As satisfied as could be expected under the circumstances, we hiked out and enjoyed hospitality and good eats at Tom's Place before heading north and south on 395 to end the weekend.
About the blog title...
So, what's up with the title of this blog?
Well, on the way back from Temple Crag, I kept thinking how wrong it felt for my dad's remains to be in a tin can in Chatsworth, CA (not that there isn't some nice local climbing/bouldering there, but still...). I talked with my uncle about it he agreed: we should broach the possibility of spreading my father's ashes at the base of Temple Crag.
My Mom and sister were thrilled with the idea as well, so here is the deal: consider this blog half done.
My current thinking is that this time next year, we will hold a reunion/memorial service at Temple Crag, and liberate my father's earthly remains to the environment that held such appeal for him. I am envisioning taking over one of the group camp sites in Big Pine Creek, parking a few RVs and trailers for those of us who'd rather NOT sleep on the ground, and make a weekend of it. Arrive Friday, get an early start on the hike Saturday so we can take it easy and enjoy all of the beauty the site has to offer, spread his ashes, then come back down and celebrate life.
Stay tuned...
Well, on the way back from Temple Crag, I kept thinking how wrong it felt for my dad's remains to be in a tin can in Chatsworth, CA (not that there isn't some nice local climbing/bouldering there, but still...). I talked with my uncle about it he agreed: we should broach the possibility of spreading my father's ashes at the base of Temple Crag.
My Mom and sister were thrilled with the idea as well, so here is the deal: consider this blog half done.
My current thinking is that this time next year, we will hold a reunion/memorial service at Temple Crag, and liberate my father's earthly remains to the environment that held such appeal for him. I am envisioning taking over one of the group camp sites in Big Pine Creek, parking a few RVs and trailers for those of us who'd rather NOT sleep on the ground, and make a weekend of it. Arrive Friday, get an early start on the hike Saturday so we can take it easy and enjoy all of the beauty the site has to offer, spread his ashes, then come back down and celebrate life.
Stay tuned...
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