Day 40: Echo Lake and the Desolation Wilderness

From PCT mile 1089.5 to 1104.4 Total: 14.9 miles 8/16

On the 40th day of my PCT Sierra Section trek, I hiked down to Echo Summit to my resupply stash and filled up my bear can, then hiked onward to Echo Lake where I ate civilized food, and continued uphill into the Desolation Wilderness, passing Lake Aloha, Heather Lake, Suzie Lake, and Gilmore Lake, where I set up camp.

I woke up at first light and went outside to check out the view toward Lake Tahoe.  This campsite was excellent, and I got to see the lights around the lake and the blinking lights of the airport.  The air was cool and calm, and there were no clouds, so I expected it to be warm later on.  But this was typical of California, and up here at this elevation I would be fine.  There would be an afternoon breeze, just like always.  And, just like always, my morning routine was unchanged:  Get dressed, eat oatmeal, put snacks in my pockets, and pack up everything.

I was ready to hike out before 7am, and the sun was already shining on my tent, which stayed nice and dry overnight.  My bear canister only had one day of food left in it, and I was about to add four more in an hour or so.  Provided that bears and/or humans hadn’t disturbed my hidden stash of food.  Always a possibility.  But I wasn’t much of a worrier, and what would be, would be.  I took some final photos of camp and hiked out.

I chose this spot because I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to camp near the trailhead where my food was hidden.  I probably wasn’t, but I doubted anyone cared, either.  Echo Summit had cabins nearby, and therefore most likely had bears, which were worse than Rangers to stealth-camping backpackers.  Rangers didn’t steal your food, but both managed to make you move on from an illegal campsite.

I only had a mile or so to go before arriving at Echo Summit.  The trail was pleasant and pretty in the morning light.  Mostly downhill, at least initially, then flat toward the ski area and trailhead parking lot.

I checked my location on the Far Out app and took the correct side trail that led to the Adventure Mountain ski area, which wasn’t open this time of year.  I left the side trail once I saw a direct path to the pavement where I knew my stash was located.

The official TRT (Tahoe Rim Trail) trailhead was located nearby.  There was a small parking area for hikers just outside the lodge’s main gate, and my food stash was inside that gate.  It was within a small BV-450 blue bear canister in a plastic shopping bag, placed down inside a wide crack in some big granite boulders just off the paved road.  I had dates and a phone number written on the bag, in case humans found it, so they would know that it was there for a reason.  Bears can’t read, and have no respect for private property, so they weren’t my target audience.

I put down my backpack on the asphalt and headed for the crack.  Yes!  My bear can was there, exactly where I left it!  This was an occasion for rejoicing, and I may or may not have done a Happy Dance.  Now I wouldn’t have to hitchhike into South Lake Tahoe to buy food.  Doing that, and getting a motel room, a shower, and some burgers to eat wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, but they weren’t part of the plan.  My plan was to resupply without any loss of time, so that I could remain dirty and stinky and unshaven even longer.  Sometimes I wonder about my plans.

Anyway, I sat down on my foam buttpad next to the two bear cans and sorted through the food.  I left my trash in the small can, and anything else I didn’t need to carry, and repacked my big can, which was still empty enough to fit my stove inside.  I only had five days left to hike, and I could easily get seven days in there.  I had cell signal, as I could hear the cars and trucks on Highway 50 whooshing nearby as they topped Echo Summit, and I texted Vicki that my food was safe, and that the hike would proceed as planned.  Then I packed it all up, and stuck the blue can back into the big crack.  I would pick it up later, as I drove south from Donner Pass.

The next mile of trail climbed up above the highway, and paralleled it.  I looked back at the locked gate, and continued hiking into the dead burnt remains of what used to be a lush pine forest.  The Caldor Fire of 2021 burned through here, and it had been heading directly for the town of South Lake Tahoe.  The firefighters put up a massive last stand here along the highway, as the Real Estate losses around Lake Tahoe would have been devastating, not only to the affected residents but also to their insurance companies.  Wildfires are typically allowed to rage largely unchecked through forests when there are no structures involved, while the authorities concentrate their limited resources on what matters most to people.  What else can they do?  At any rate, they stopped this fire in the nick of time.  Good job!

After getting a bit off-trail, or incorrectly-trailed, at a four-way junction, I managed to get back to the road at the official crossing.  There were big yellow-diamond warning signs showing hapless pedestrians crossing a high-speed four-lane highway.  There was also a large PCT sign nailed to a tree on the other side.  You could hear the cars coming so it wasn’t all that bad.

Just across the road were a number of cabins, and also a small creek which I used to filter some water and wash out my dustiest pair of socks.  Then the trail climbed upward, back into the burned zone.  More dead pines were standing up, stark against the clear blue sky.  It was not a pretty sight.  Biologists are currently saying that fire is healthy for forests, that it’s a Good Thing.  Maybe they are correct, from a much-longer-than-one-human-lifespan perspective.  Sadly, I only have the one lifespan, and what I see is total destruction.  I try to find the beauty in everything around me when I hike (and always do, every day), but it was hard to discover it here, unless it’s of the post-apocalyptic-fiction variety.  This isn’t fiction, however.

Once I was over the top of the ridge, the trail headed downhill to the outlet of lower Echo Lake.  There were plenty of people getting ready to go hiking, and returning from hiking, in the trailhead parking lot, which was packed.  Cars circled around, vying for spots.  When Vicki and I trekked north from here, back in 2018, we lucked out and found an open spot along the narrow road to the Echo Lake Chalet.  I nodded Hello to everyone I met, but I admit that my main goal at the moment was scoring some decent food at the Chalet.  I hustled onward.

Well, I was too early for a hamburger off the grill, but I settled for a Turkey sandwich and a Mountain Dew soda.  I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was.  It still tasted great, however.  I ate it while looking northwest across the lake.  The breeze was already blowing strong, directly in my face, and decent-sized waves were coming into the little manmade boat harbor.

I inquired with the guys on the dock about the Water Taxi service.  They would take you three miles to the far end of upper Echo Lake for $22, which was an excellent deal.  It was $15 each back in 2018 when Vicki and I did it, and it was money well spent.  We had a blast.  Backpacking by Boat!  It was a new concept to us.  This time, however, there were no other hikers present to help me get a ride, and I wasn’t about to pay the $88 minimum fee just to save the three miles of trail that would only take me an hour and a half to hike.  So I waited around.  And waited around.  Finally, I gave up, and started across the dam and up the hillside.  I reasoned that I hadn’t hiked this piece of trail yet, and I probably should, just to say I did it.  But I didn’t really like the idea.

Just the same, the trail was pretty, with excellent views of the lake from up above it.  I could see the dead trees across the way where the fire burned down to the shore, where it was stopped.  Lakes don’t burn.  There were lots of tourists day-hiking along here, hoping to visit Lake Aloha.  It was five miles each way.  I passed most of them.  I really was a Hiking Machine now.  I also wasn’t surprised when, about twenty minutes after I started, the Water Taxi blasted by.  There looked to be enough room for one more passenger.  Sigh.  There was no going back now.

There were plenty of really nice cabins along the shore of Echo Lake.  Some had docks and boats of their own.  They are mainly why the water taxi exists, of course, although hikers probably make up a bigger proportion now that the PCT is more popular than ever.  I passed beyond the lower lake and hiked high above the upper lake, which was smaller.  Soon, I saw the little wooden sign indicating the side trail down to the water taxi dock.  I heaved another sigh, and kept on walking.

The trail climbed significantly after that, to the tune of 800 feet in two miles.  It was already 11am when I arrived at the taxi sign, so it was a hot climb in the sun.  I expected this when I planned it, and I wasn’t disappointed in my predictive ability.  My sweat glands felt otherwise.  Soon, I passed the official Desolation Wilderness sign, and continued up the miserably rocky trail.  It was made out of chunks of granite, mostly of a size that disagrees with human feet.  I remembered how much Vicki hated this last time, when she was hiking with a foot that was still healing from an injury after skidding out on a motorcycle.  Ouch!  Poor Vicki.  I’ll bet that she remembers it in graphic detail, and has vowed to never hike this trail again.  So here I was, doing it solo.  And sweating profusely.

I passed Tamarack Lake down in the valley below, and topped out on a plateau.  The trail leveled out and the hiking was easy.  I passed Lake Margery, where Vicki and camped on our way back to the car.  This lake was now fishless, and had been repopulated with the endangered Sierra Nevada Yellow-Legged Frog.  We met a few of the biologists doing this work back in 2018, and it was interesting.  Trout eat tadpoles, so it’s one or the other.  There is a project to help the frogs by removing the trout from a select few lakes in the Sierra.

After that, I hiked down a gentle slope and arrived at Lake Aloha.  This lake could be described as the centerpiece of the Desolation Wilderness.  Vicki and I spent our first night here after taking the water taxi.  It brought back good memories.  She even did a little Hula Dance on shore, purely in the Spirit of Aloha.

I went down to the lake shore, intending to eat my Pop-Tart lunch, even though I just had that sandwich earlier.  I was still plenty hungry.  I knew that I was losing weight out here, eating 2000 calories while burning 4000, every single day.  I also got out my Tenkara fly rod, even though the breeze was blowing into my face.  My PCT Sierra Trout Fishing Guide let me know that there were Brookies and Rainbows in this huge lake.  Last time, I wasn’t a fisherman, but now I had both gear and a license, so it was time to give it a try.  Too bad Vicki wasn’t here, as she would have eaten them.  I had barbless hooks, and merely wanted to catch one and let it go again.  And I really tried, casting again and again, but no trout took the fly.  I blame it on too many other fishermen, and on the wind, and on the shallow water, and on the bright noon sunshine.  Surely it wasn’t me.

Lake Aloha was about two miles long, so it took nearly an hour to hike alongside it.  The trail travelled over the glaciated granite basin, and the footing was mostly smooth, which I appreciated.  Off to the northwest was Mosquito Pass, which Vicki and I hiked over, and across the way was the Crystal Range and Pyramid Peak.  Somewhere down at the lower end was a dam, which controls the lake level, so it gets much lower in Summer.  It was a bit low now, I thought, but I didn’t come here often enough to know for sure.

It was after 2pm by the time I reached the trail junction at the head of the lake.  The trail climbed up on a granite ridge that allowed for fine views both ahead and behind.  I turned at the sign which said “Dicks Pass” as that was the next big item in the future.  It was the high point of the PCT in California Section K, at 9400 feet elevation, and I planned to climb over it tomorrow morning, while it was still cool.  Not all of my plans require uphill hiking in the hot sun.  Like today’s.  Sigh.  Meanwhile, the next bit of trail promised to head downhill past two pretty lakes.  Onward!

Heather Lake was the next stop.  It also supposedly contained several types of trout, some of them quite large.  I would love to say that I corroborated the internet sources used in my fishing guide, but the truth is that I got shut out completely.  I heaved yet another sigh and packed up the rod.  There were other lakes in this wilderness, after all.  Then I hiked along the rocky talus-fall that bordered the lake on its northern side.  It looked like the water was deep down below me, but I didn’t stop to try fishing again.  I really needed to get to camp today.

There was a small hill that the trail went over, even though the outlet stream didn’t have to.  Up on top, Susie Lake came into view.  Ah yes, I thought.  Vicki and I camped on the far side of that lake after climbing over Dicks Pass in the opposite direction.  Good times.

Did I give up on fishing?  Of course not!  I stopped at a likely spot on the calm side of Suzie Lake and cast around for a while.  Sadly, I never even got a hit.  I was beginning to wonder it it was me, but then I came to my senses.  Nonsense!  The trout weren’t rising yet.  I should have come here in the evening, that was all.  After I put away the rod, I followed the trail all the way around the lake, and even checked out the waterfall on the outlet creek just below, but it wasn’t flowing very strongly right then, so no photos will be shown.  Sorry about that.

Then it was time to execute the final stupidity of the day’s plan:  Climb 600 more feet on a west-facing slope in the hot afternoon sun.  Did I do it?  Of course I did.  I remembered how much Vicki hated coming down this slope in the afternoon, and I can state truthfully that uphill was worse.  Sure, there were patches of shade, which I rested in, and the views got better and better, which I photographed, and the rocks were kinda cool, which I enjoyed, but the sweating was real, and extremely profuse.  Still, 600 feet beats 1700, which was the total climb to Dicks Pass, so at least I was making tomorrow a better place.  We should all do that, every single day.

When the climb was finished, I checked out my position on the Far Out app, just to be sure it was really done.  It was.  There was also a creek near the trail.  It drained out of Gilmore Lake, where I planned to camp.  I decided that I would rather drink creek water than lake water, even though they were both exactly the same.  Don’t ask why.  But at least there was shade, and the creek sounded pretty as it tumbled down next to the trail.  I took a break and let gravity do the work, and distributed the gallon of water amongst my many containers.  Then I put on my now-heavy backpack and walked a short distance on the side trail to the lake.  When the water came into view, I knew that it was time to make camp!

I found a campsite at a proper distance from the shore (100 feet minimum per the rules) and put down my backpack.  I decided, like a fool, to try fishing yet again.  I caught nothing, of course, but this time I had a perfect excuse, which was that the lake was far too shallow along this part of the shore.  It really was.  It looked to be much steeper and deeper across the way, but I had no energy or desire left by then.  I’d been shot down too many times today.  My mojo was missing.  The Desolation Wilderness was a desolation of trout, in my mind.  So back to camp I went.

I set up the tent and got everything ready.  I put on my night clothes, and hung the sweaty ones up to dry.  I cooked my boring old ramen noodles and ate them.  I dissolved my tasty Gatorade and drank it.  I munched my salty chips while updating my notes and sending out a text to Vicki via InReach and the satellites.  I read the comments on the Far Out app regarding tomorrow’s hike, so there would be no unwelcome surprises.  It was just another night on the trail, after all, and the trail chores always need to get done.  Then I lay down in my sleeping bag and read a book on my Kindle as the sun went down.  Very peaceful.

Or it was peaceful, until my neighbors started acting up.  There were quite a few folks camping around this lake.  The Desolation Wilderness is very popular among Bay Area backpackers, as it’s much more easily accessible than other parts of the Sierra.  A much shorter drive than Yosemite, for instance.  These Weekend Warrior types didn’t understand about Hiker Midnight and the PCT ethos of respect for your neighbors.  They were yakking away.  Loudly, mostly because they had to raise their voices above the loud music they were also playing.  There were two groups of them, one on either side of me.  It was like a sonic battle.  It was still light out, so maybe I shouldn’t complain, but here I am complaining, like a grumpy old man.  Rather than ruin their fun by accosting them, like a True Grumpy Old Man, I decided to solve the problem on my own.

I decided to remove myself from the source of my problems.  I got dressed and took a short hike away from the lake until I found another flat area.  There was even a fire ring, so it was perfect.  I could barely hear them down there.  I was losing the lakeside view, but that didn’t matter to a sleeping person.  So I packed up most of my stuff by ramming it into my backpack, plucked out the stakes on the tent, then put on the pack and carried the tent, still set up with my sleeping bag and air mattress inside it, all the way down to the new campsite.  I plopped it down, staked it out, and redistributed my gear.  In less than a half hour I was a happy old man.  The best kind.

After that, reading my book in bed was a pleasure.  I set my alarm for 5am, as I wanted to get hiking early.  Dicks Pass wasn’t going to climb itself.  But I wasn’t going to sweat the whole way up it, either.  I went to sleep as the sun went down, a Happy Camper once again.

 

For a topographic map of the hike see my CalTopo Page

For LOTS more photos of the trek see my Flickr Pages: Section J and Section K

 

 

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