Abort! ABORT!

Ok, for my second solo backpacking trip, I was going to go to the backcountry wilderness of Sequoia/Kings Canyon National Park. To Seville Lake. Not too far of a hike, not too difficult. And easy trails.

But, it didn't quite go as planned.

Of course.

So, I start off at the Rowell Trailhead. A bit of a bumpy ride, but still doable in the truck.

It was a sunny warm-to-hot climb up to the wilderness boundary where everything changed.

After this sign, the trail curves into shaded forest along a creek. It was beautiful if you could see through the damn thick clouds of nuclear-strength mosquitoes.

I had to stop and use the picaridin and zip on my pant legs and inhaled at least three mosquitoes in the process. I hiked faster. Hoping to out-run the cartoonish clouds. I was mostly successful.

Found a spot to camp and quickly, quickly set up my tent. It was the only place to escape the flying critters.

But, at least it was pretty.

I had to wait until it was long after dark to get out of the tent so I could boil water for my dinner. Even then, I was occasionally bugged (HA!) by the 'skeeters.

But, dinner was good, Mountain House Beef Stroganoff, I believe.

And I lay in my tent reading about how to forecast the weather in the backcountry by the light of my inflatable Luci light.

I went to bed.

Then I woke up.

That's me!

The campsite in the morning was mostly mosquito free. It wasn't until I had to, uh, "do my business" that the 'skeeters turned on me in places I'd really rather not talk about in polite company.

But, I packed up my stuff, trying not to scratch the mostly inappropriate places now sporting new 'skeeter bites. I envied the other backpackers and their bug net hats. Oh, how I envied their previously-scorned-by-me fashion choices...

But, I had a lake to get to.

I got to the border between the Forest and the Park and took a break. It was pleasantly mostly bug-free.

I'd made it. I was in the Wilderness of a National Park for the first time.

The lake! It was waiting for me!

After a rest, I shrugged and strained into my backpack again and headed down the hill. Down. The map said the trail forked; one trail directly to the lake and another down the canyon to a trail junction and then up a third trail to the lake.

I hiked.

I hiked some more. I passed a meadow. I thought, "I wonder if that's the meadow I've seen on the map." So I get out my GPS device and check.

It wasn't the meadow I'd seen on the map. I wasn't on the right trail. The right trail was west by a couple hundred feet.

So, after hemming and hawing and wondering if my bloodied corpse would be found by another wayward traveler years down the road, I traipsed off into the underbrush and debris-ridden forest floor to find the trail.

I followed the compass bearing. Checked the GPS device to see when I got close to where the maps (by the US Forest Service, mind you....) said the trail I wanted was.

It wasn't.

There was no trail.

I plopped back down in my camp chair and, with the bug and flies and 'skeeters pestering me, I decided to abort my trip.

I could get to the lake, sure, but it was not the trip I had prepared for. It was better for me to have a pretty hard day that day rather than a really too hard day the next.

I messaged my partner on the InReach I was coming home and why and headed back UP the steep trail to the Park/Forest boundary.

But not before I set a waypoint in the GPS where the maps said there was a fork in the trail but that I somehow missed.

The GPS alarm went off when I got the the "fork" and I looked around.

No trail. Only a run-off channel from the too-steep trail. Sure, it might have been a trail at some point; but not anymore.

That's allegedly a trail.

Still there was some beautiful scenery and nice, green forest stuff.

I ended up hiking about 8 miles from my campsite, to the border, to the "trail" to the meadow, back to the border, back past my campsite and then down to the truck. In the grand scheme, it's not a particularly long nor hard day.

And, in the end, I learned a few things:

1. I can hike 8 miles in a day going up and down hills with a 30 pound pack on my back and not hurt too much.
2. Check with the Forest Service (Or Park Service) to make sure the trails I see on a map--even if published by the Forest Service or Park Service--exist.

So, it was a good trip.

SUCCESS!

Well, I survived my first overnight backpacking trip!

Hurray!

Here's how it went down.

Pack in the truck; starting at about 3pm

Since all of the Sierra was still socked in with snow and other assorted weather-related problems (down trees blocking roads, etc.) and I needed to get out and try backpacking, I ended up at Henry W. Coe State Park near Gilroy, CA.

I didn't know how well my knees and back would handle the trip so I planned on walking a nice, easy 3 mile road along a nice valley.

Plenty of water, to be sure. Here, anyway.

A couple of pretty flowers along the way.

Ooh! A new friend!

My plan was to hike the three miles along the old road to right before it started an ugly climb up a steep hill to get to the pond near the top. I would evaluate whether or not I could continue on. If I didn't feel I could continue, the map seemed to indicate I could camp fairly easily at the end of the road and then just return the next day to my truck.

Well, I got to the end of the road and felt fine. It was about 4:30 and I decided I could get some of this bug-filled water and continue!

Getting water from a bug filled horse trough without bugs is hard. I should have remembered I had a bandana with me.... Good thing I'm pretty.

I was thrilled to feel good enough to try for the pond two miles further. But it was up hill. Like steeply uphill. It was brutal. 

I told you it was really just an old road.

The junction to Redfern Pond. I actually whooped with joy here.

The views were pretty, to be sure.

Redfern Pond. My stop for the night!

My first backpacking camp site!!!

The sun setting at Redfern Pond. It was delightful.

I didn't have a water filter yet (didn't know if I was gonna like backpacking enough to buy one) so I boiled the water I got at the bug-filled trough. I made dinner with some of it and left the rest in the pot covered for morning coffee.

I called my partner 'cause up on the ridge I got cell service. Yay!

And that night, at about 10pm, an magnitude -7.0 Irridium Satellite flare occurred. That doesn't mean much, I know, but it was nice and bright.

The next morning was foggy and a little cold. And I was a little paranoid about the water and whether or not I had boiled it all. Like maybe there was one molecule of unboiled water harboring some man-killing bacteria or something. So I boiled the water again for a minute before making coffee with it.

I took a walk around the lake in the fog in the morning.

I sat in my chair. Sipped my coffee. Had another cup. I watched the other campers leave. Finally, I was alone.

But I had to get moving. I guess.

I packed up my stuff, took a last look around and headed off on the trail back to the truck.

But not the trail I had taken to get to the pond; that would be boring.

The trail continued to be an old road, nice and wide and relatively easy. But then.

Then.

It started down hill. Like a lot. A ton. About a 18% grade down. I went slow. I had to. Surprisingly, people had come up to Redfern Pond this way the night before.

Right after I stared the steeply downhill section, I met an older couple on their way up. They were out of breath and straining hard. I told 'em that that was the steepest section yet on my way down; meaning, "It's easier from here, guys!"

They didn't tell me how long they'd been climbing up.

Turns out a damn long time. This trail needs switchbacks badly. And I hate switchbacks. Everybody hates switchbacks. But this trail needs 'em.

A mountain biker passed me on the way down. He said he didn't like that particular trail that much. I said, "Hiking it ain't much fun either." And then he was gone.

Eventually, I reached the nice, easy, flat road "trail" I'd walked down the day before. I set up my chair and rest in the shade. I never realized hiking downhill could be as exhausting as hiking up. (Ok, it isn't; the hike up was tons worse.)

I passed other mountain bikers casually biking along the road/trail. I ran into other groups of backpackers. Some looking even more out of shape than I was.

And then I made it to the truck.

My first backpacking trip was done. I liked it and hated it. But I did it. And it felt good to have done it.

There were cows.