There’s not much more you can do to escape a hailstorm in the wilderness than to hunker down and wait for it to pass.
A half hour earlier, dark clouds threatened to drench us. Our crew of five backpackers — my partner, Jeff, and I, our guide, John, and his two young assistants — had stopped just before our final stream crossing of the day to fish rain hoodies out of our backpacks.
Our campsite for the night (meaning, any reasonably flat spot that is free of large stones, as there are no designated sites in remote sections of California’s eastern Sierra Nevada mountains) was a mere 400 metres ahead but, at arrival, hail began to pelt us. The wind kicked up; the temperature plummeted.
A typical alpine hailstorm.
Jeff yanked our tent out of his pack. My four hike mates quickly fastened the frame’s bendy poles, unraveled the tent and fly fabric, hammered the pegs into the ground with rocks, and attached the fly. Fast work!
Jeff and I slung our packs into the tent and scrambled in after them. Too exhausted to inflate our sleeping pads, we stuffed our chilled, wet bodies into sleeping bags to wait out the weather.
Safely huddled in our just-barely-enough-room-for-the-two-of-us vestibule, we look up and listen. The pellets are small, and the hail turned to rain. Lulled by the tappity-tap of the droplets, we drift into quiet contemplation.
I am grateful for the tent’s protection, albeit damp because it collected water. Shivering inside my bag, I ponder how many people get to experience a random hailstorm in the middle of a wilderness. I am slightly giddy.
We had just finished a strenuous up-and-down trek through seven kilometres of some of the most jaw-droppingly beautiful, rugged terrain I have ever encountered, the first of a three-night guided backpacking adventure in the Eastern Sierra’s Hoover Wilderness and Inyo National Forest.
HOW WE GOT HERE
Jeff and I adore hiking and craved a remote wilderness experience but lack camping gear. Jeff’s desire: to visit a vast expanse of land and water where no other person was in sight.
One option was a pre-established group tour with a mule train carrying everything.
Then we found John. We’d carry our own packs, but he’d provide all gear, food, cooking and cleanup duties and, most important, trail expertise. A former U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service marine researcher and experienced guide, John assessed our physical capabilities and desires by email and phone, and we agreed on a loop trail noted for its mountain peaks, myriad lakes and moderate elevation gains as opposed to strenuous climbs.
ROAD TRIP!
We began our journey on a road skirting Death Valley National Park in a desolate landscape reminiscent of old Western sitcoms. I imagined teams of cowboys on horseback galloping down the side of the scrubby hills.
A series of switchbacks brought us through expansive meadows leading to Highway 395, the north/south route paralleling the Eastern Sierra. Our first glimpse of the Sierra crags.
Our first stop was the Eastside Guest House in Bishop, California, a command post for through hikers. It had the relaxed feel of a youth hostel with its community kitchen and free-for-the-taking collection of unused hiking gear. A note on the fridge said to label food with your name and “even better, your trail name.”
One young hiker aimed to log 20 miles a day on the Pacific Crest Trail. I couldn’t fathom such mileage. She quickly reassured me, “You hike your own hike.” Wise advice that would serve me well over the next days.
CONVICT LAKE
Buttressed by natural supplements to allay altitude sickness, we committed to a series of short day hikes at 9,000+ feet to acclimate.
Convict Lake is a stunner. With this one hike, my sojourn would have felt complete. Enormous peaks towered over a sparkling blue-green lake. Swathing the undulating trail in violet-blue were thousands of wild lavender plants that lent a musty sweetness to the clean air.
It was here that I begin to appreciate the tens of thousands of years of evolution, volcanic explosions and glacial upheavals that formed these mountains.
LITTLE LAKES VALLEY
The next couple of nights we acclimate at Rock Creek Lake Resort, chosen for its proximity to Mosquito Flat trailhead, the entry point to a string of shimmering lakes surrounded by jagged peaks. John Muir’s writings about his forays into the awe-inspiring majesty of the Sierra Nevada always sounded slightly exaggerated to me… until the day we hiked from Mosquito Flat into the Little Lakes Valley. At 10,300 feet, we figured we’d get plenty of bang for our buck because of the terrain’s diversity and its modest elevation gain, 200 metres over nine kilometres.
Mack Lake, Heart Lake, Box Lake, Long Lake, Chickenfoot Lake… each seems more gorgeous than the last. They glisten like emeralds or sapphires, blue and green. Look ahead, turn a corner, look behind you, it’s as if you are seeing the entirety of the massive peaks and valleys for the first time, each scene entrapping you with mesmerizing beauty, like Alice through the looking glass, in a place that is nonsensically lovely and yet so overpoweringly magical that it makes complete sense.
Beneath the rocky peaks we pass fertile meadows, gurgling streams and impromptu waterfalls fed by melted snow drifting from the pinnacles, feeding into the clearest lakes I have ever seen. At Chickenfoot we slip our feet into the icy water and are rewarded with a calm wind and a warming sun, waves gently lapping against the boulder-strewn shore, rimmed by spectacular sheer mountains caressing us in utter peace.
Nature has rolled out its red carpet for us and introduced us to a wild, wondrous kingdom.
RUBY LAKE
Next day we return to the trailhead to hike the 244 metres of elevation upward to Ruby Lake. Below, the richly textured valley is a wonderland of grasses, flowers, streams, marshes, reeds, lakes, and stones, all nestled against an azure sky, with the Sierra holding court above. A panoply so perfect in form, texture, and colour that it would certainty defy the imagination of any Disney set designer.
The lake is magical… a place of solitude and dreams.
TWISTS AND TURNS
Day one of backpacking begins with a bumpy, 40-minute drive along a twisty, dirt road to the Green Creek trailhead out of Lee Vining, California.
The first day’s hike is hard but doable. At several stream crossings, I shed my pack and let one of the others take it as I gingerly balance myself from rock to rock. By the third day, embarrassed at my lack of nimbleness, I keep my pack on and slosh through streams. Shoes and socks will later dry in the sun.
I think about the misery endured by explorers who trekked through these rocky wilds. They never had lightweight tents, sleeping pads, and cooking utensils; quick-dry clothing; freeze-dried meals; or water purifiers. Nonetheless, I endure my share of a few personal annoyances.
Arising is a process of odd twists and turns. I squish out of my sleeping bag, scooch on my knees to fiddle with the tent zippers, slip my legs out from under me to search for shoes, finagle them on from a squatting position, crouch on the ground on hands and knees (carefully avoiding pinecones and tripping over tent stakes), and finally stretch to an upright position. Thereupon I rummage through multiple pack compartments for my toothbrush and an extra layer of clothing, then seek out a rock outcrop or leafy tree clump where I can pee in privacy.
Ready for the day!
Our hosts filter water from the streams each morning and prepare oatmeal and coffee. I don’t miss hot showers or soap (prohibited in the pristine alpine lakes). And while I don’t sleep well, I am never too tired to hike, and nibbling on nuts and raisins keeps hunger at bay.
JOY AND TRUST
Every lake we pass offers exponential pleasure. Sure, my legs ache, my back is in severe pain, my shoulders hurt and with every step my pack seems heavier, but, as in life, there’s no turning back. Nothing disrupts my overriding joy!
A couple of gear-packing mule trains cross our paths. My back would appreciate this option…
There is also the aspect of trust. Before any adventure I conduct extensive research to assess every facet of travel and trail, but this time I left everything to John.
“I’ve been doing this for 45 years. I get to be out here all the time. I’m a lucky man! I told my wife if I died tomorrow, I would die happy. For me it’s not the journey, it’s the destination.”
For me, it’s both. Even if that journey is a sweaty, dirty, mosquito-ridden, calf-burning, foot-slamming, back-aching slog, where the unevenness of a rock-strewn trail requires such intense concentration to avoid tripping over a boulder or falling in a stream (which I did) that you miss the sights around you.
Glancing up, you see the path evens out and sculpts a smooth, well-worn saunter across a wildflower-covered meadow against a panorama of grandiose peaks. Although you are technically not “there,” the scene before you is so spectacular that it might as well be “there.”
ENCHANTED EVENING
At Return Lake, a blustery, 50-km/h wind gust howls, dies down, then whips up again with a force that makes the tent flaps yip-yap.
Jeff and I wake before dawn and creep out of the tent. The moon is low, casting bright shafts of light through a row of trees, elongating across the vast meadow, meeting high mountain crags beneath which sits Return Lake, beyond which no marked trails exist. The end of the line. I wish we could have stayed one more day in this silent place, exploring its sprawling wonders.
The final morning, John and an assistant take off to scout out the route back, as it’s often covered in snow and ice. He’s half right; it’s also timber-strewn, deeming it too treacherous for novices. After perusing a map, he proposes a new route. At 12 km, it was long and tough, but lent breathtaking, long-range views of the Eastern Sierra. Near the highest point, we traversed a narrow, precarious, scree-covered path overlooking steep cliffs. Thrilling!
I felt so lucky. The wilderness had showered me so generously with its beauty, a gift so fragile and diverse. Can’t wait to go back. Saddle up, mules!
For IF YOU GO information, visit For IF YOU GO information, visit www.seniorlivingmag.com/articles/hoover-wilderness-hiking
IF YOU GO
- Overnights stays in the Hoover Wilderness require permits, limited by quota. Visit recreation.gov for advance reservations.
- Backcountry hikers should obtain a U.S. Forest Service trail map, or use a reliable trail app, since many trails are unmarked.
- Take precautions to avoid altitude sickness. Give yourself a few days to acclimate; consult a doctor for advice.
- Seasonal swarms of mosquitos can make a Sierra backpack trip miserable, so bring a strong bug repellent containing DEET.
- Guided backpacking treks of varying distances and levels of experience are available from tour companies you can find online.
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