Since San G. burned, we decided to do Mount Langley,
the southernmost 14er of the Sierras, for our next weekend.
For various reasons, as Friday approached, the trip
converted instead to a loop of Cottonwood Lakes,
just below Langley.
Lone Pine has an impressive Ranger hut.
We blew away the first 10K by driving up Lubken Canyon Rd.
and the switchbacks of Horseshoe Meadows Rd.
Note the scree and lack or guard rails or shoulder.
The parking lot had bear boxes.
It began to drizzle as we arrived,
accentuating the "golden trout" tones of this old snag.
The Golden Trout camp had High Sierra tents and pack animals.
Do the kids earn their stay by carting gear for PCTers?
After driving all the way from sea level San Diego,
my brain began to feel like this rootball,
so I took a quick power nap.
I felt watched, but never did spot Bighorn sheep above us.
Around the puddles were yellow rings of pine pollen.
By the time the hypothermic sleet changed to hailstones,
I was shivering so badly my hiking buddy popped up the tent
so I could change and huddle in the sleeping bag, then got hot water into me.
We meant to continue to a better view beside one of the lakes, but it's all good.
My lungs had been providing oxygen for leg muscles at my tortoise standard: 1 MPH.
Morning dawned clear, and contemplative old growth
appreciated our donations when we took the shovel for a walk.
Many lightning-struck trees stubbornly survive half-snagged,
like this vulvic trunk.
As we arrived at the 3rd lake junction, there were Cirque and Langley.
The south ridge to Langley looked like a walk in the park,
but from our side the approach seemed a bit gnarly.
We made camp and set off to check out nearby Muir lake.
It was pretty low for this early in summer, but pristine.
Then we went to see lakes 3,4,5. Fly fishers and dogs abounded.
I kept yawning uncontrollably, and
none of my usual acclimation tricks helped.
My scarred alveoli did not seem to care how fast I forced fresh air past.
My fabulous buddy patiently took more photos and ate more snacks
while I toiled up ridiculously simple inclines.
I was envisioning a nifty pair of auxiliary oxygen exchangers
(fake lungs) that I could strap directly to my thighs.
At 4th lake we could see where Old Army Pass had collapsed.
The ubiquitous cottonwood was blooming in places,
triggering hay fever to further complicate my breathing.
The deer and marmots did not consider us much of a hazard.
The daily afternoon thundershowers were building up over Langley.
I was SO glad we were not up there this weekend!
By midnight all was clear and the stars were stunning,
but I could not capture it with my camera.
Morning was crisp, and the early angles of light made Langley more intimidating.
The lake, of course, began its day as a mirror of
skies colored that magical 10K blue.
The very heavens rang out HALLELUJAH!
We broke camp and meandered past lakes 1 and 2,
looping down the far side of the basin for variety.
We passed about a half a dozen women pounding up the trail.
Later we met folks who told us those Amazons
were hiking the full John Muir Trial to Yosemite.
Whitney's summit is the official southern terminus of the JMT.
I like seeing females on trails,
but they were so driven they completely missed these falls.
The remainder of our trail was enlivened by the discovery of
a trash bag leaking over all the remaining snacks in the bear can.
Words got spoke,
but we did make it back to the car without perishing from starvation.
On the drive down the hairpins was a sign that
rocks are only plowed between 9 am - 4 pm.
I love the tenacity of the tree roots in the crumbling granite.
The colors across the desert valley warmed my heart.
As always, the transition back to civilization was jarring.
The freeway signage in construction zones was not very helpful,
but with our fresh set of mountain memories,
we intrepid travelers handled it with aplomb.
