Expecting a window of good fall weather, in mid-October I headed to Emigrant Wilderness – a place I had never visited. Set between Highway 108 and the northern border of Yosemite National Park, Emigrant Wilderness is nearly the last gasp of the polished granite alpine country characteristic of the High Sierra.
I set out from Kennedy Meadows Resort at the foot of Sonora Pass under sunny skies and perfect fall weather. I was surprised to see cottonwoods and aspens at the peak of their fall color stunningly backlit along the North Fork of the Stanislaus River and in small groves tucked in among the pines and firs.
I had chosen to go to a group of lakes in a cirque beneath Granite Dome. The route there was trail-less, but straight forward. At the beginning of day two, I left the trail and stepped into beautiful open country of granite slopes dotted with pines. Here was mountain rambling at its best: utter solitude, sunny skies, and plenty of landmarks to guide my way.
Soon I stood atop a ridge looking down on Iceland Lake nestled in a large level expanse beneath Granite Dome. Sometimes settings in the wilderness appear rough and forbidding. Other times, like this, the landscape seems to reach out with open gentle arms. I unrolled my bag at a lovely site above Iceland Lake and began exploring the neighborhood.
After awhile, the wind picked up and a layer of high cirrus clouds appeared overhead with more gray stuff behind it. This is when the backcountry tests you. What should I do? Rain is one thing, but if this was the prelude to a significant snowfall, that is a very different thing. The cross country route I traveled was ideal going when dry, but it would be hazardous when wet.
My route back was down a long trail-less granite slope to Relief Meadow. Reluctantly, I left Iceland Lake and started down the slope to a marginal campsite within easy reach of the meadow – or so I thought.
The night passed quietly, but about an hour before sunrise, the first flakes fell. I scampered into my tent, considered my options, and decided to pack up and go. Now, it was really snowing.
What I thought would be an easy drop to the meadow was blocked by an impassable eighty-foot sheer cliff. In the falling snow, by the light of my head lamp, I edged carefully across the granite looking for a way down. No luck. The accumulation of snow was turning the rock solid grip of boot soles on granite into treacherous footing.
A little worried, a little despondent, and a little angry, I decided to try one more traverse to the left – all the way this time. Thankfully, there was a way down. The going was steep; I chose my steps with care, but soon I was on the valley floor looking for the trail home.
Suddenly, my worries gave way to the joy I felt walking safely through a magical scene. Snow covered the trail, but the white U-shaped chute was easy to follow. The snow kept falling. The aspens, cottonwoods, and pines – the entire landscape – was a scene of peaceful beauty.
These are the special moments waiting only in the wilderness. Where else does one go from real despair to real exultation in a morning? Though my situation was certainly less dire than I felt at the time, I had found a way out, and my reward was a hushed walk through an indescribable snow covered wonderland – all by myself.
