Trinity Alps Wilderness
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The Trinity Alps Wilderness is an
undervisited place tucked away in the mountains of Northwestern
California. It is a gem of a place, far enough away from major
metropolitan areas that one is more likely to encounter the
everything-organic, laid back, Birkenstock-wearing,
harmonic-convergence oriented backpackers from Mendocino, Eureka
or Redding than the Jeep Cherokee-driving, everything
Gore-Tex-wearing,
I've-got-all-the-toys-so-I'm-prepared-for-everything city types
(like me?). It's several hours' drive from Sacramento, Portland,
or San Francisco. The place is designated a
"Wilderness," so don't expect manicured campgrounds or
find the Curry Concession Company's general store in here. The US
Congress defines a "Wilderness" as Federal land
"where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled
by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not
remain..." 'Nuff said.
Sick of sitting on the couch
watching the Atlanta Olympics, I loaded the Civic one summer
morning and headed north on the I-5 to check out the peaks that
had looked so inviting as viewed from the Shasta slopes. I
stopped in Redding to pick up food and water, and got to the
Stuart Fork trailhead at 5PM. My trip would be along what was
supposedly one of the busier parts of Trinity, but perhaps owing
to my late start, most of the dayhikers are on their way back as
I hit the trail. My destination for the night is Morris Meadow,
almost 9 miles from the trailhead. The first 2 miles or so were
quite boring, winding through a dense but nondescript forest of
Douglas fir. The trail follows the eastern bank of the rushing
Stuart Fork, whose sound got more and more mellifluous as the day
wore on and the landscape opened up. Every now and then I saw
wide gravel bars where backpackers are setting up their tents
getting ready for the evening's approach.
(Right): With the last traces of daylight steadily receding, I
finally emerged into a wide-open area about a mile long and 200
meters wide. And there, grazing about the waist-high grass, were
about a dozen deers all staring at me as if I were an uninvited
guest who dropped in at dinner time. In fading light I knew that
a flash would be necessary to capture the scene, but I resisted
the temptation to disrupt them even more than I already had. I
put down my backpack, sat down and took in the scenery: there was
I, on a warm summer evening, surrounded by sawtooth ridges
towering 2,000 feet above the meadow, backlit by the setting sun,
wildlife around me, and not another human soul in sight...
I suddenly realized I have 15
minutes or so to find a spot to spend the night. But darkness
overtook me before I can find a place suitable for bearproofing
my food. I found a small clearing at the edge of the meadow and,
without a place to put my food out of bears' reach, decided to
take my chances. I knew the weather would be warm enough--I
wanted to sleep out under the stars, and so didn't bring my tent.
A nightmare! No, I wasn't attacked by anything, but I kept
getting awakened by rustling leaves and grass, and by the
crackling sound of breaking twigs and branches. It was so dark I
couldn't see a thing--I had visions of hungry, big, black bears
greedily devouring my poppyseed bagels and candy bars and getting
mauled in the process. With trembling hands, I groped for my
mini-Maglite, twisted it on, and ever so slowly turned over to
where the sounds were coming from. Aaaaaahhhhh! Three pairs of
devilish, red, glowing eyes were staring at me--but they're
deers'. I wasn't sure, but I think they were after the dried-up,
salty sweat crystals on my body. I breathed a HUUUGE sigh of
relief. Daylight couldn't come soon enough...(In retrospect, the
dangers were probably more imagined than real, but
nonetheless...)
(Below):
Sawtooth Ridge, as seen from the trails above
Morris Meadow. Not visible are the 90 or so steep switchbacks on
the Caribou Trail leading to the south face of this ridge, my
destination tomorrow.
I set off early the next morning. I
have 6 more miles of mostly uphill trails before I reach Sapphire
Lake, where I intend to spend the night. The terrain became
progressively more rugged, the higher up I got. The wettish
sections are covered with lush ferns, and a few streams
carelessly spill their water across sections of the trail. The
slopes turn brushy.
I met a group of about a dozen
8-to-10 year old boys and girls and their adult guide halfway up.
They'd spent last night up at Sapphire Lake and are now hiking
out. The group was very animated. They excitedly pointed out a
rattlesnake that's retreated into the brush. The troop leader
borrowed my walking stick and poked at the snake the better to
show the poor, terrified rattler to his excited city kids.
(Left):
Sapphire Lake is the second in a series of three
glacial lakes reached following the trail along Stuart Fork
(Emerald and Mirror are the other two). It is quite a sight to
behold the steady march of sunrise as it starts from the peaks
and hikes steadily down the slopes and touches the still water of
the lake and on down the valley.
After a couple of hours of steep
hiking, I heard the sound of water falling from the outlet stream
at the south end of Emerald Lake, a beautiful bowl made of solid
granite. A couple of people were sunbathing, sprawled on the
granite slabs by the lake. As inviting as the water looked, I
went on as Sapphire Lake is just above Emerald Lake...(continued
next page)
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