he says:
It’s funny how emotions can shade an experience. Rolling east out of Eureka, headed toward the Trinity Alps, the road was miserably windy, faithfully following the Trinity River to the Pacific. None of the ranger stations were open, so we were not able to get a detailed hiking map of the area. Add to that a series of forest fire closures in the area which were making it seem as though we would have to by-pass the entire region. The end of the day, still no map, and despite being in a national forest we had a difficult time finding a side road to find a suitable camp. Then Mo wakes up in the middle of the night with serious stomach issues (you do the math)... so far, not a good start.
The next day, we drive into the half empty Trinity Lake (a years long drought is starting to have an effect) and make breakfast along the tributary stream that is now crawling along the lake bed. With resolve brought by the new day, we make a plan. We’ll drive up the nearest road, park at the trailhead there, and hike using the topo map in the Gazetteer. I pull the staples from the spine, and remove the appropriate page. The scale is 1:150,000. A mile is the width of my pinky nail. Not a lot of detail, but it will suffice. The major trails are shown, and we’ll bring a gps for back-up.
By noon we are walking. Elizabeth has packed enough food for 3 days +2. That means we are planning on a three day trip, with two days of emergency food. She is great at planning trail meals, so I seldom interfere.
That night we camp along a creek in a deep valley. A small flat gives us a great camp, and we can swim in the deep pools. We hang the food in a tree, because we have entered bear country. At dusk, as we sit and talk by the creek, I sense motion out of the corner of my eye. Across the creek valley, about 100 feet away, a black bear is making his way down the valley. We shout and bang pots, Mo looks at us like we’re nuts. About 30 minutes later we hear, but can no longer see, something moving across the creek. We repeat the noisy drill, and hear nothing more. Perhaps it was enough, perhaps we were just hearing things. We sleep soundly.
The next day, we start climbing in earnest. Our planned destination is a mountain lake about 12 miles away and at approximately 7,150 feet above sea level. We start the day at about 2,400 feet. We are getting used to the map scale, and we mark each trail junction with the gps. In a worst case scenario, we can backtrack using just the gps.
By early afternoon, we have entered a granite cirque, with no where to go but up.
We climb dusty switchbacks in the hot sun, until a deep green lake in a bowl of rock appears before us. We’re home.
We set up camp, swim, and lounge in the sun. We decide immediately that we will be staying in the wilderness for longer than three days. We figure that if we ration carefully, we can stay for six days... but it means living on less than 1000 calories a day. Well worth it.
Sunset lights the granite walls on fire. Bright red light in a darkening sky. Beautiful.
Sunrise slowly creeps down the opposite wall, and makes it’s way across the lake to camp by 9:30. The alpine meadows come alive with he buzzing of insects, the snapping of grasshoppers, and hummingbirds whipping from flower to bush.
We rest. The climb the day before was tiring. We do laundry, swim, read, and just sit still. A great day in the mountains. We also notice the altitude. We get winded easily, light headed when we stand up too quickly. The rest day will give us a chance to acclimatize.
We climb. Siligo Peak is a grayish granite spire that rises another thousand feet above the lake. We climb with ease through the thin mountain air, and explore the summit ridges, the other alpine lakes, and the passes between peaks that exit to the south and west. We save the peak for last, and climb the last 500 feet or so quickly. Huge views. The white granite peaks of the range to the west shine brightly. Mt. Shasta to the north. And the smoke plume from the fires to the southwest.
An explosion of mayflies has drifted in on a thermal, and we watch them swarm in the light of a setting sun. Thousands have had the misfortune of landing on the lake, and the trout are having a field day. The lake is alive with feeding fish.
Eventually we must say goodbye to this place. We pack our loads, significantly lighter now, and head down the valley. We know where we are headed, and camp along Stuart Fork Creek beneath a water-slide with several deep pools. We swim in the sun, and dry off quickly in the near zero-humidity. Our last night in the Trinity Alps, the sound of the rushing creek puts us to sleep.
One of the big highlights of Bishop for me is the Eric Schat’s Bakery. A bakery that looks like it was plucked from Epcot Center’s Holland section. There are figurines and plywood cutouts of bakers and Dutch woman with braids and wooden shoes. There is an old fashioned car outside decorated to the nines with advertisements for the bakery. The entire bakery looks like it was transported straight from Disney world, straight down to the stained glass windows and the woman who greets you with here lace hat on. Once in the store there is a bounty of bread that almost makes me fall over there are so many delicious looking options including an Eric Schat’s original, “Sheepherder bread” the only thing that can compete with the abundance of bread choices is the copious bakery selection, including apparently the award winning, best glazed doughnut in 1998! I can barely contain my excitement, I feel like I am floating around in store in a cloud of confectionary goodness. Jeff decides we should get a loaf of bread. I agree and secretly decide that we also need to sample a pastry... or two!!!! Come on this place is a baker’s dreamland. 
The west feels so alive to me. As we pass through the rolling granite of Tuolumne Meadows you can almost imagine a sea of liquified granite flowing freely, eons before in this very place. The frozen statues of cresting granite waves now greet the visitors of Yosemite entering from the east. The meadows are punctuated by the clearest of lakes (which Moby whines at as we pass, begging for us to stop so he can go for a swim.) From certain points in the meadows you can capture a glimpse of Half Dome, the 8,836 ft granite dome that explodes out of the 4,000 ft valley floor. The dome that is famous to all rock climbers and most outdoor enthusiasts, a goal for some, demanding respect from all.
We decide that after rarely paying for a campsite it is time to fork over some serious cash to the National Park to stay within the park boundaries for a few nights. Cold hard cash is hard to part with, but if I think of the fun serves that it allows us to partake in I am okay with it. At 7:30 with Moby in tow we head to the ranger talk campfire. The ranger talks are a big tradition at Yosemite, one I hope will continue. The rangers talk on a variety of topics; sometimes about their love of this land and how they became a ranger or their scary encounters with predators to interesting tales about the traits and characteristics of some of the animals found in the park. It's the kind of wholesome entertainment I have always loved and I hope I can always seek out. In the morning we grab our coffee mugs and head over to the the campfire circle for a free cup of joe and some mingling with some fellow campers. Chatting amongst the Yosemite campers is a great way to start the day, with the free caffeine running through my veins and stories of other's adventures in the states and around the world I am invigorated for the day.
So I LOVE the big towering trees of the Redwoods but overall I think Yosemite wins out and my favorite National Park thus far.
The route overlooks a beautiful mountain lake and the Tioga Pass Road. The crack is steeper than I expected, but the moves are solid and is easily protected. Two hanging belays (belay stances on steep rock that require you to sit and hang in your harness) make it feel even more exposed than would big comfortable ledges along the route. Elizabeth impresses me by using the non-verbal communication I taught her when the wind and distance make verbal comms impossible. We use short, sharp tugs on the rope, much like morse code, to communicate “off-belay” “on-belay” “climbing”, etc. We top out, and do two 180’ rappels, followed by a rather steep granite ‘walk-off’.
That night we camp along a creek in a deep valley. A small flat gives us a great camp, and we can swim in the deep pools. We hang the food in a tree, because we have entered bear country. At dusk, as we sit and talk by the creek, I sense motion out of the corner of my eye. Across the creek valley, about 100 feet away, a black bear is making his way down the valley. We shout and bang pots, Mo looks at us like we’re nuts. About 30 minutes later we hear, but can no longer see, something moving across the creek. We repeat the noisy drill, and hear nothing more. Perhaps it was enough, perhaps we were just hearing things. We sleep soundly.
By early afternoon, we have entered a granite cirque, with no where to go but up. 
We climb dusty switchbacks in the hot sun, until a deep green lake in a bowl of rock appears before us. We’re home.
Sunrise slowly creeps down the opposite wall, and makes it’s way across the lake to camp by 9:30. The alpine meadows come alive with he buzzing of insects, the snapping of grasshoppers, and hummingbirds whipping from flower to bush.
We rest. The climb the day before was tiring. We do laundry, swim, read, and just sit still. A great day in the mountains. We also notice the altitude. We get winded easily, light headed when we stand up too quickly. The rest day will give us a chance to acclimatize.
We climb. Siligo Peak is a grayish granite spire that rises another thousand feet above the lake. We climb with ease through the thin mountain air, and explore the summit ridges, the other alpine lakes, and the passes between peaks that exit to the south and west. We save the peak for last, and climb the last 500 feet or so quickly. Huge views. The white granite peaks of the range to the west shine brightly. Mt. Shasta to the north. And the smoke plume from the fires to the southwest.
