Meadow Ed, in
conversation with several other hikers, recommended an early start from the
campground, as the trail heading up the mountain on the other side of the
highway, ran in an easterly direction, meaning one will be walking with the sun
in their eyes for many miles if one were to leave the campground any time after
six in the morning. I knew I was going to be on the trail early, so that
wasn’t going to be a problem for me.
As usual, I was up at
four in the morning and ready to start hiking by 4:30 a.m. I consumed one
of my three sandwiches for breakfast, plus a soda pop, and snagged another soda
pop from the cooler as I departed the campground. No one else was even
beginning to stir, and again I felt proud of myself for being the first one out
of camp, but it won’t make any difference; half of the group will pass me
before the day is over with.
I had five liters of
water with me, enough to hike up to twenty miles if need be; thus, I’m not
focused on getting to any one particular water source, but will take water when
I find it. I’ve hiked 650 miles so far, and have only fifty-two miles to
go to reach Kennedy Meadows, my next resupply point, the end of the Southern
California desert, and the beginning of the High Sierra Mountains.
Walker Pass and Highway
178 is a route across the southern Sierras originally used by Native Americans
for centuries. It connects the Mojave Desert on the east to the San
Joaquin Valley to the west. Native Americans befriended Joseph Walker in
1834 and showed him this route through the mountains. Explorer and
mapmaker, John C Fremont, proposed that the pass be named in Walker’s honor.
After I crossed the
highway named in tribute to Walker, the trail began a gradual ascent of a sandy
slope that in the springtime was covered in blue chia, the seeds of which can
be roasted and eaten. Six switchbacks later, I was walking through groves
of Pinyon pine trees mingled with golden oaks. The trail, true to its
name, climbed to the crest of the mountains and maintained this position as
long as geographically possible.
The mountains were high and the peaks
were higher; before the day was over, I would pass Morris Peak, Jenkins Peak,
and Owens Peak. As I walked along the crest of the mountains, I saw off
to my right, Indian Wells Canyon and a road by the same name that led down to
Highway 395 and the town of Ridgecrest, while off to my left, the bumpy dirt
Canebrake Road came into view, a road that I will cross farther up the trail.
The men of the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) built much of the trail
in this section and they gained access to these high mountaintops via these
dirt roads, some of which have been taken out of service.
I passed Joshua Tree
Spring, but bypassed it as it was a quarter mile off the road. However, I
did go for water at Spanish Needle Creek. This water source was off in a
meadow, but it was not obvious exactly where to find it. I followed the
trail leading into the meadow, but quickly lost it as footprints scatter in all
directions. I made my way through the calf-high grass to a marshy bog
that abutted against a tree line, but found only small trickles flowing through
the weeds and grass. As I backtracked through the bog, off to my right I
spied a small ravine and concluded that if there were water anywhere in this
meadow, it would have to be in the ravine – and it was.
It was a small stream
with crystal-clear cold water flowing through it, and to my amazement, I found
small fish darting in and out of the shadows formed by the overhanging sod banks.
I could not imagine how these fish ever found their way to this remote
location. I was sure the Forest Service would never plant them in such
small streams, which could only mean that their predecessors had been here for
eons. I filled my bottles and pushed on.
The trail stayed on the
crest of the mountains as it continued north. Occasionally, it would dip
into a valley to gain access to flowing streams, but would immediately climb
again to maintain its position along the ridgelines. There were a few
patches of pine and fir trees on the northern side of the slopes, where
moisture lingered longer, but in this dry climate, the vegetation was mainly
scrub oak, rabbit brush, sagebrush, and Mormon Tea.
Of great interest to
me was the small, white, three-petal flower called the Sego Lily, whose white
petals were tinged with lilac (occasionally magenta) and had a purplish band
radiating from the yellow base. At the bottom of the stem was a
small bulb that was said to be eatable. Native Americans utilized the
bulb as a food source, and it helped to sustain the Mormon pioneers in the
Great Salt Lake Basin in 1847-48 when food stuffs were scarce. In 1911,
the state of Utah adopted it as its state flower. (Sego) I decided to
try them and gathered a handful of the bulbs, brushed the dirt off of the
bottom ends and popped them into my mouth. They weren’t bad; in a pinch,
they would do just fine as a food source.
No comments:
Post a Comment