Mitt liv som Tobin

We made a leisurely departure from our campsite between Pika and Duck lakes, then hiked back up to the trail and around the lake to its outlet, where the lake's stream cascades through meadows and down into the valley below. Here we got our first peek at Cascade Valley, something like 2000 feet below.


Bree looking southwest from near the outlet of Duck Lake, elev. 10500 feet

Here we had a choice to make: take the John Muir Trail / Pacific Crest Trail directly to Red's Meadow (by Devil's Postpile National Monument), only 11 miles; or commit to a much longer trek that would take us to the Iva Bell Hot Springs. By the time we reached the junction, we were feeling energetic and ready to go, and so we veered to the left, on the trail towards Purple Lake, committing to the longer trip, and a very long day's hike: 14 miles to the hot spring!

Now we saw no more day hikers (many of whom had populated the trail up to Duck lake, almost all of them, inexplicably, with little pet dogs). Instead we encountered only the occasional backpacker or pack train. With them we had conversations like:

"How long you been out for?"
(wild eyed response) "Since May!"



Of course we went swimming. (But only for a minute—it's cold!)


Swimming in Purple Lake, elev. 9928 feet.

From Purple Lake we began the plunge into the valley below. The trail drops nearly two thousand feet in three miles—I'd dread having to hike in the other direction!—ending at a creekside meadow.

We were already worn out from the descent, but determined to continue onward to the hot springs, motivated both by the alure of observing the Perseid meteors from a steamy pool and the desire of shortening the next day's hike. Besides, what else do we have to do?

From the meadow the trail is relatively flat, following the creek which plunges over cascade after cascade. The light was fading, though, and now we spent little time admiring the scenery. Already tired, we had six and a half miles to go!

In the fading twilight we began to climb up out of the river valley and then another thousand-foot descent into the next valley over. At the summit we felt relief: here a flashlight, there a campfire, twinkling lights in the wilderness indicated others camping at our destination in the distance. It was now without question night, but the quarter moon provided sufficient illumination enough to cast shadows, and, for the most part, hike.

"Wouldn't it be great if we could share their campfire," one of us commented to the other about the flickering orange star in the distance below.

At long last the trail flattened out and entered the dark cover of forest. Almost immediately we gave up the idea of finding the hot springs that night in the dark and instead set about finding a good place to camp. A few more minutes down the trail we again saw the flickering glow of that campfire. As we neared, we heard a friendly shout: "Howdy!" We approached.

"Know any good places to camp around here?"
"Yes I do, how about you join us right here!" The reply, exuding friendliness, was exactly as we had hoped.

And so we strolled into the campsite, the dark forms of gear and horses and people coming into focus as our eyes adjusted and the veil of mystery over a foreign campsite in the darkness evaporated. There were strewn about various pieces gear, I assumed something for the horses. There was a campfire equipped with grill and some food grilling on it.

"Hungry?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Hey Ron, throw on a few more steaks for our guests!"

I cannot describe the surrealness of this scene. Somehow, effortlessly, we had become guests of a party of honest-to-God cowboys who were right then sawing off a steak from a huge piece of beef.

"Are you folks drinking folks?"
"We are."
"Well grab a cup and let me pour you some bourbon!"


Cowboys Dee, Jay, and Chris; and us. Near Iva Bell hot springs. Elev 7140 feet.