Sierra Redemption

There's no camp site more special than the one I visit with Dad every year in the Sierra. I've been going for a lot less time than he has - though he assures me that I'm gaining on him, as a percentage of my age to his - but we've both come to enjoy the time we spend there each summer.

It was a shock then, when we found our favorite spot inaccessible last summer! With 459 trees down over the road - some of them more than 4 feet in diameter - there was no way we could clear them all, and we resigned ourselves to a backup site. Still good, but not the wonderland we wanted.

In a stroke of luck, we ran into the USFS road crew on our way home. After exchanging contact info, six weeks later we got word that they'd cleared the road! Immediately, we made plans to visit the following week.

Just before we were going to head down, I got a call from Pops. He was worried about smoke from the Garnet Fire making camp unpleasant and so - 15 minutes before I was set to start my 18-hour drive down - he bailed!

I still went, Solo in the Sierra, and spent a day cleaning up a dozen trees in camp. I wonder now, if that was his dastardly evil master plan all along. If it was, it was brilliant.

This year, we're going to try again to both get to camp. Hopefully, it will be a Sierra Redemption!

Part 1: Arriving

I was headed to our little spot in the Sierra immediately following a couple of Sky High climbs on either side of Owens Valley, so I passed through Yosemite after dark in order to avoid the traffic jams that can often be found through that majestic National Park. After finding a spot to camp along the banks of the Merced River, I deployed the tent, banked a few hours of mediocre sleep, and then went to wait in the parking lot at ████████████ - the traditional pre-camp lunch spot - for Pops to arrive.

Lunch, as always, was mediocre at best - the kind of meal you remember because it looked so much better than it tasted. But that's not the point. The point is that the tradition was upheld, and we were soon on our way. Excited to see if we could make it to camp. Nervous that we might not.

As we gained elevation - our trucks climbing toward the thankfully smokeless blue sky - we remarked about the condition of the road. For years, this road has been an absolute bear to drive. Decaying asphalt and landmine-like potholes meant that the drive took the better part of the day. But crews have been hard at work after the Creek Fire, and nearly the entire road is now freshly paved. A blessing and a curse, for us.

With the road in great shape, it was just before 5:00pm when we reached the spur that would lead us to camp. There, staged at the entrance, was a sight for sore eyes: a skidder! And its operators!

Naturally, Pops had been in touch with the road crew prior to our visit - and the crew lead had hoped that he would have access to the road-clearing equipment prior to our arrival - but we never expected to see them wrapping up their work just as we arrived! It was fantastic, and we were sure to thank both men about a thousand times as they related the road and general forest status after the (relatively mellow) winter of 2025-26.

And then, full of confidence that we'd be able to get to camp without incident, we were off. Of note here:  Dad led the way, which had never once happened in the entire history of our trips. For years his argument was "airtight": it's simply smarter for the guy with the more capable truck to be in front. Sitting there in the cab of my Tacoma, watching the cloud of dust from the back of his trail limo, the gig was up. Our tradition had nothing to do with the road, but with what we might find over it!

After a few dusty miles, both of our trucks were parked in the spot that they would remain for the next several days. We'd made it. We'd cleaned up camp. We'd set up the chairs. Almost everything was looking... traditional. And that was just the way we liked it.

Part 2: Relaxing

Soaking in the surroundings, we enjoyed the sound of the birds as the sun filtered through the charred landscape behind camp, chatting about this and that, conversations that would easily carry us through the entirety of the trip.

Having eaten a lunch a little later than usual, it was 8:00pm - and the sky was changing colors - when we finally decided it was time for dinner. I'd put in a special request for this trip, and my mouth watered as Pops prepared the Chinese Chicken Salad he'd picked up at Comforts Cafe.

I don't know if I could have stuffed my face any more than I did. As it had been the first - and only - time I'd had it before, the salad was delicious. It was even better knowing that Dad had brought an entire second round of the stuff - for dinner the next night!

And then, after that, we'd eat Chicken Marbella. Between dinners, we'd eat fresh mozzarella, tomato, and basil sandwiches. We'd nap. Life doesn't get much better than this.

Part 3: Finding

As usual, no trip is complete without a jaunt over to Lost Knife Knoll. This used to be a quick affair, but every year since the fire has seen the trail become more and more "suggestion" rather than a well-defined path.

This year, extremely warm mid-day temperatures would make the climb a little less enjoyable, so we decided to get an early start. Rather than eat lunch on the Knoll, we hoped to be back in camp to enjoy our chips and sandwiches under the cover of shade as we watched the sun lazily inch across the sky.

One might have even called the first part of our hike "cool" as we made our way along the stream under the cover of shade. It was pleasant, and we stopped frequently to enjoy some of the late-spring foliage along the way.

In addition to admiring the flowers and listening to the birds around us, we used our plentiful stops to scout the best way to navigate the route. Most of the trail had been obliterated by falling trees or buried under shrubs that were taking full advantage of all the sun that now made its way to the forest floor. The place is becoming a jungle, though one without a canopy.

The climb to the ridge on which Lost Knife Knoll sits is only about 700 vertical feet. A mere pittance compared to the hikes I'd undertaken earlier in the week, it's still no easy task to climb the decomposing granite hillsides, and by the time we reached the saddle that signals the final push to the summit, the sun was out and it was warming up quickly!

The views - as we got to the top - were as wonderful as they've ever been.

And of course, there was the reason we'd come here in the first place. Would the not-so-lost knife still be where it belonged?

We spent a good 45 minutes up there on the summit, taking in the views in every direction. Pops had brought along an excerpt from a book he was reading about early (European) explorers to this part of the world, and he recounted for me the absolute insanity that these guys went through in order to scout routes for those who would eventually follow.

We are again back here, stopping over a day, and I will go on with my story. And yet I have a mind to pass it over, it is so like the rest. Rides over almost impassable ways, cold nights, clear skies, rocks, high summits, grand views, laborious days, and finally, short provisions—the same old story.

Yet one item is worth relating. A very high peak, over thirteen thousand feet, rises between the ███████████ and █████ rivers, which we call Mount ███████, after an old surveyor in this state. It was very desirable to get on this, as it commands a wide view, and from it we could get the topography of a large region. Toward it we worked, over rocks and ridges, through canyons, and by hard ways. We got as far as horses could go on the ninth, and thought that we were within about seven miles of the peak.

We camped at about ten thousand feet, and the next day four of us started for it - Hoffmann, Dick, Spratt (a soldier), and I. We anticipated a very heavy day’s work, so we started at dawn. We crossed six high granite ridges, all rough, sharp, and rocky, and rising to over eleven thousand feet. We surmounted the seventh, a ridge very sharp and about twelve thousand feet, only to find the mountain still at least six miles farther, and two more deep canyons to cross. We had walked and climbed hard for nine hours incessantly, and had come perhaps twelve or fourteen miles. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Hoffmann and I resigned the intention of reaching it, for it was too far and we were too tired.

Dick and Spratt resolved to try it. We did not think they could accomplish it. Dick took the barometer and I took their baggage, a field glass, canteen, and Spratt’s carbine, which he had brought along for bears. Hoffmann and I got on a higher ridge for bearings, and then started back and walked until long after sunset - but the moon was light - over rocks. We got down to about eleven thousand feet, where stunted pines begin to grow in the scanty soil and crevices of the rocks. We found a dry stump that had been moved by some avalanche on a smooth slope of naked granite. We stopped there and fired it, and camped for the night.

We had brought along a lunch, expecting to be gone but the day. It consisted of dry bread and drier jerked beef, the latter as dry and hard as a chip, literally. This we had divided into three portions, for three meals, a mere morsel for each. This scanty supper we ate, then went to sleep. The stump burned all night and kept us partially warm, yet the night was not a comfortable one. Excessive fatigue, the hard naked rock to lie on - not a luxurious bed - hunger, no blankets - although it froze all about us - the anxieties for the others who had gone on and were now out, formed the hard side of the picture.

But it was a picturesque scene after all. Around us, in the immediate vicinity, were rough bowlders and naked rock, with here and there a stunted bushy pine. A few rods below us lay two clear, placid lakes, reflecting the stars. The intensely clear sky, dark blue, very dark at this height; the light stars that lose part of their twinkle at this height; the deep stillness that reigned; the barren granite cliffs that rose sharp against the night sky, far above us, rugged, ill-defined; the brilliant shooting stars, of which we saw many; the solitude of the scene—all joined to produce a deep impression on the mind, which rose above the discomforts.

Early in the evening, at times, I shouted with all my strength, that Dick and Spratt might hear us and not get lost. The echoes were grand, from the cliffs on either side, softening and coming back fainter as well as softer from the distance and finally dying away after a comparatively long time. At length, even here, sleep, “tired nature’s sweet restorer,” came on. Notwithstanding the hard conditions, we were more refreshed than you would believe. After months of this rough life, sleeping only on the ground, in the open air, the rocky bed is not so hard in reality as it sounds when told. We actually lay “in bed” until after sunrise, waiting for Dick.

They did not come; so, after our meager breakfast we started and reached camp in about nine hours. This was the hardest part. Still tired from yesterday’s exertions, weak for want of food, in this light air, it was a hard walk.

At three in the afternoon we reached camp, tired, footsore, weak, hungry. Dick had been back already over an hour, but Spratt had given out. Gardner and two soldiers, supposing that Hoffmann and I also had given out, had started with some bread to look for us. We shot off guns, and near night they came in, and at the same time Spratt straggled into camp, looking as if he had had a hard time. Dick and he did not reach the top, but got within three hundred feet of it. They traveled all night and had no food - they had eaten their lunch all up at once.

Dick is very tough. He had walked thirty-two hours and had been twenty-six entirely without food; yet, on the return, he had walked in four hours what had taken Hoffmann and me eight to do.

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The Journal of █████████████████

So, those guys walked thirty-two hours, froze on bare granite, and rationed a chip-hard piece of jerky into three meals, just to scout a peak they didn't even summit. Meanwhile here we were - on a comparable pebble of a hill, having neglected to bring a snack. If we'd brought lunch, we could have stayed much longer, but as it was, it was nearly 8:00am and we were starting to get a little peckish. It was time to start heading back to camp.

Part 4: Leaving

Eventually - after four days and three nights in this little slice of heaven - it was time to go. I'd been a week without a shower, and we each had a few "at home" things that we wanted to take care of. So, as much as we'd have liked to stay even longer, we were also ready to start working our way back to civilization.

This, naturally, was not a straight-there operation. First, we headed to ██████ Meadow to check out the volunteer station situation - a couple of trees had used it for target practice the previous winter.

Then, it was off to my favorite Mexican Restaurant - La Morenita - for a tasty "this is the only meal I'll need all day."

It had been another great trip. One that was in fact, a Sierra Redemption!

 

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