Stone Gardens and Golden Trout

Driving up Highway 168 from the arid little town, our view expanded. A colossal range of high peaks arrayed dramatically before us. The air seemed thinner and more ethereal. There was something to that because Bishop, residing near the northern end of the Owens Valley, is sited at 4,150 feet, and we were continually gaining elevation. Our destination, some twenty miles west, further up the narrow two-lane road, ended with a small pullout and a place to park. We paused at the trailhead and reflected that we had driven some 1,300 miles from Seattle. The next leg would be on foot. We unloaded and sorted our gear on the ground next to the car, both wondering what lay ahead.

Fortunately, we weren’t starting in a storm. That thought was a remnant of Pacific Northwest thinking. The sun shone bright overhead, and the trail was a dusty, rocky affair that climbed steadily up, the heat of the day requiring frequent stops to pull out our water bottles and slake our thirst. The narrow path was well defined and straightforward, crossing through areas of subalpine meadows that hosted wildflowers, native grasses, and gnarly dwarf trees. The surrounding peaks appeared timeless and fractured, their cracked flanks displaying the prominent rubble of their massive talus slopes.

We noticed the dry fragrances of the Sierra, an intoxicating sensory perception of pine needles, tree barks, and hints of wildflowers. The waters of Lower Lamarck Lake shimmered in the sunlight, sparkling brilliantly. Even in the hard light of the Sierra, the azure blue waters and the structure of the surrounding landscape reverberated with a bright intensity painted in visually arresting saturated colors. Significantly different from the light in the Pacific Northwest. We stopped at Upper Lamarck Lake to refill our water bottles. Pushing on, Mt. Lamarck watched over us.

Approaching Lamarck Col, a rocky pass from which we would descend towards our yet-to-be-determined camp, we looked back at the Lamarck Lakes and the tiny trail behind us. A mere thread of dirt. Our goal for the day: to climb steadily upward to the rugged rocky col, at 12,880 feet, and then drop down into Darwin Canyon, hike along the canyon lakes and search out a suitable camp for our first night.

The trail up to the col was steep and rocky, and the sun relentless, but coming from the Pacific Northwest, we didn’t mind. We encountered what seemed to be a permanent snowfield up near the col and, after kicking small steps, gingerly traversed it, and soon gained the col. We paused to break out our water bottles and take in the view. Across the canyon, Mount Darwin and Mount Mendel dominated the skyline, massive gray forms with sharp spines, aprons of snow, and fields of talus and scree at the runouts.

The scale of the landscape was vast and desolate, hard and unwelcoming. We descended, picking our way slowly through the jumble of rocks on a faint and seldom traveled trail. A chain of five small lakes, arguably tarns, all at about 11,600 feet above sea level, was visible at the bottom of the canyon. They led to the canyon exit and out to another small tarn at the Darwin Bench. Our first camp.

The smaller more intimate landscapes by the lakes hosted rough grassy meadows that were quite welcoming. Pitching my newly acquired Omnipotent #13 on a lakeside spot, we cooked our modest dinner and watched the sunset. The days were long, and we’d used most of today's, so we were tired and happy to turn in. After a few words about what might lay ahead tomorrow, we fell into an exhausted slumber.

A new morning dawned bright with the promise of wild places to come. After a quick breakfast, we packed up our gear, shouldered our backpacks, and hiked cross-country to connect with the John Muir Trail. We hiked south down the JMT through the Evolution Basin, passing the sparkling waters of Evolution Lake, and Sapphire Lake, and arrived at Wanda Lake. One of the larger lakes in the basin, flanked by rugged granite peaks, Mt. Huxley, Mt. Warlow, Mt. Goddard, and Mt. McGee, we found it stunning and welcoming. The friendly lake became our base camp.  We pitched our tent.

We hiked up to Muir Pass, to the iconic rough stone Muir Hut, sited at 11,955 feet. Constructed in 1931, it resembled a medieval granite beehive with its vertical octagonal walls and cone-shaped rough stone roof. The design of the monument, inspired by the vernacular 18th-century Trullo Huts of southern Italy, looked perfect in its environment, amongst the granite boulder field on the knoll of its construction. The heavy, weathered wood door seemed out of an ancient legend. I grasped the heavy hand-forged steel handle and pressed the thumb latch. We entered.

The room was dark and empty save for a rustic timber table and a large, soot-darkened, stone fireplace that dominated one wall. While cool inside, there was little more to see. Recessed, in an outside wall, a cast brass commemoration plaque told a brief story of the John Muir Memorial Shelter. Built in 1931 by the Sierra Club and the U.S. Forest Service, the brass plaque dedicated the stone hut to John Muir, ‘Lover of the Range of Light.’ We paused to envision the construction. We were alone, and in the calm of the day, took our time, thoughtfully running our fingers over the surfaces of the stone hut as if paying homage to a sacred place. The silence was absolute.

We explored several more sapphire blue High Sierra lakes, often clustered together in small groups and always beneath rugged towering mountains. We scrambled up the blocky flanks of many of them until we felt the limits of our skills and rested, gazing out over the immensity of surrounding basins and high granite peaks. Alone for most of our journey, we saw only one other group of backpackers. We encountered them at one lake as they passed through. Three, young as ourselves, hiking by day, camping, and fishing for trout.

Lara and I fell in love with the Sierra, destined to return to this same area two years later. We increased the range of our explorations. We’d travel off-trail following the contours of our topo maps, hiking up the drainages of streambeds and cascading waterfalls to fish remote and seldom visited lakes with boulder-strewn shoulders. If you wanted to simply wander and discover, this was a good place. More than good. Sensational.

We hiked along a meadow stream set high amongst the magnificent stone gardens of the Sierra. Meandering through the meadow, framed by shaggy, wild grass banks, the water was clear and clean, gurgling over small polished stones of many colors. I saw movement as dark shapes darted under cover of the banks.

Guddling for trout was new to me, but today I would try. Easing into the knee-high sparkling waters of the frigid stream, I moved slowly towards the undercut banks. I bent low to ease my arms deep under the edge, carefully searching with curious hands. I felt a slim undulating object. Cupping my hands gently under and around the reluctant trout, I eased it out and up to the surface, barely above the water, to marvel at its bright and shining sides, a truly dazzling creature.

A diminutive member of the trout family, the California golden trout are a native fish distinguished by their dark green backs, saturated golden flanks, and bellies punctuated by bright orangish-red stripes along their sides. Visually they are simply pure magic, intoxicating to behold. I held the small trout briefly, reverently, as it took my breath away and then carefully lowered it back into its waters. I practiced guddling a few more times as we hiked along the stream that day, amazed at each unique brightly colored trout. I could not have imagined anything more beautiful.

Those early days of our exploration of the Sierra revealed to me, much more emphatically than I could ever have imagined, the ethereal magic of nature. My experience was profound and the beginning of my deep spiritual communion with the wild places of the mountains. And for that, I would be forever grateful.

This is an excerpt from ‘Stone Gardens and Golden Trout,’ an adventure story from my mountain memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.