Feather Lakes

Of all the things I've ever done, the Feather Lakes were the most... not worth it.

Feather Lakes were one of my main reasons for wanting to go back to the Sawtooths.  I've seen pictures, I've read about how great and beautiful they are.  I've imagined how fun it would be to find them, seeing as so few get there.  And they are a great camping place to make a run at the Warbonnet, one of the world's most impressive mountains, or at least, best named.  The only problem with the Feather Lakes is their main appeal too, probably: they're danged hard to find, or get to.  They are in fact, a pain.  They are a wilderness within a wilderness, hard to attain even by the standards of long approaches and even compared with other rugged places.  Locked in an inner maze of peaks and ridges, above other mountain passes, with no trail possible to them, and no easy way in, they have to be worth it right?  I've never read any word as to the opposite.

Well, so I was going to get to the Feather Lakes, or at least, to look down on them.  Problem was that I had been hiking most of the past week, had already done over 30 miles, 5 peaks, and was getting tired.  Yes I am a machine designed to do hard things, I have a tolerance for pain that makes tough men and blackbelts inch back from me at parties (true story actually, though I think this blackbelt would have whipped me; I had the same kind of deference paid me by an army psycho who wanted no part of me even in play and even while drunk), I can punch myself in the solar plexus for 2 minutes straight without pain, and so forth, blah blah blah, in the Mark Twain style of comic boasting, but there are limits.  However, late in the afternoon I decided to not spend time resting on a warm day, but rather to bushwhack a mile through thick forest to the gully I thought was the way up over a ridge of steep peaks to the Feather Lakes.

I picked the gully I picked because it was the only one that looked conceivable to me, in a "people with a heavy pack might do this each year" sort of way.  The way was covered with snow, so I had to use crampons.  Also it was storming again, all around me, with darkish clouds coming seemingly right over my pass.  Actually they seemed made for me, as blue skies were to my left, and to my right, though there were storms behind.  But it sure seemed like Zeus, Oden, Jupiter, and other lightning gods were determined to make me turn back after some jokes earlier this year about wanting to die by being struck by lightning because in the old world it meant that one was chosen and favored.  Yes the unlucky are sure unlucky these days- considered cursed when they once would have been made silver-haired kings for the same stroke of fate.  The way was steep, long, brutal, and hard.  I had my pack so I could camp at the Feathers, and it took me over an hour I am sure.  Though I don't use watches in the wilderness.  I was gasping and using the slowest of all crampon techniques: the sword in the stone double-hand plunge, where one reaches the axe overhead, stabs it with both arms into the steep snow, then take a big step with each foot, and repeat.  About a thousand times.  Its even more fun than pulling a sword out of a stone once, actually.  With magic.  But not once did it occurr to me to turn around.  I was doing it, you know.  The less fun I started having, the more obstinent I became.  It was one of those moods you know?

Well eventually I reached the pass, looked down and saw: exactly nothing that should be there.  There were 3 lakes together where there should have been 4, and one tiny lake where two Warbonnet Lakes should have been, and all were out of the places they should be.  Also the mountains were wrong.  So I had two things to conclude: the map was wrong, or I was in the wrong place.  First, I blamed the map, and then I modified that and climbed a peak to get a better view.  The views were majestic and magnificent, and I loved the peak I was on, a fun ridge walk, but I was furious with the world for being turned around.  I let out some earth-shaking screams that echoed for miles all around me and probably sounded like some beast from hell, not manlike at all to any few below me.  I think the lodge might have heard them.  Clearly, the problem could not be me.  However, I was also not proceeding to frozen lakes and missing lakes and mystery changeling lakes, so I went back down the snow, as the storms, gone, returned, and with vengeance.

On the way up, I apologized to every thunder and lightning god I could think of, for keeping them waiting in the goal of striking me.  Now, as I was retreating, I was in no mood for these antics, or for being zapped, so I flipped off the sky and about jogged down this glacier.  Then I bushwhacked speedily through the forest, making straight for Alpine Lake and ignoring the idea of finding the trail again.  Finding a trail in a forest after a mile's bushwhack is generally a bad idea, though it is hard to miss a lake.  One needs real skills to be able to lose a lake.  How could you have gotten to it or past it in the first place if you are greenhorned enough to not get back to it?  Drop me in the middle of a prairie with a bldinfold, and I can find my way back to a starting point the size of a lake.  So that was quick work.  And I slept and ate well.  But I was still annoyed and frustrated.  I did not drive hundreds of miles just for mountains.  I wanted the Feather Lakes.  I was determined to see them at least.

So I slept in till I felt I could move again- maybe 12 hours, rose, ate, took my small day pack of about 4 pounds weight, plus crampons and the ice axe- which i hesitated to take, as the snow was patchy and its a pain to have things in hand when climbing on rock, when hands are, if not necessary, then at least, desirable.  I made quick work of the bushwhack, ignoring the creek and following a wall of cliffs now, sure to find the right spot.  I proceeded steadily up and gained a pass in blazing time, with haze all around and a smell of smoke- there was a fire somewhere, and as I climbed it seemed to be near where my car might be parked.  That caused me some consternation, but I had business to attend to- my pass.  This pass also turned out wrong, I found.  I was on the North of peak 9769 and needed to, apparently be, south.  So now I had to climb a sketchy steep rickety mountain with no hands, as I had this ice axe and cleats in each.  So I could move only like a tripod 3 legged beast, which does not exist in nature, for good reason probably.  Try that logic next time a geometry nut brags about the strength of triangles to you.

Well the peak was pleasant enough excepting a few moves on scree, steep, with overhanging rocks that I would have appreciated the use of hands on.  But I made it, looked down, and saw at last, the elusive Warbonnet and Feather Lakes.  Only trouble was, I now had to descend to them, and even without the heavy pack and with a third leg, this was going to be a challenge.  I picked what looked like my best option and probably turned out to be the worst, though I find with bushwhacking and trailblazing that I always think I have by some bout of idiocy found the very worst possible route, only to decide on the return trip that is even worse, that I had it right to begin with and should have not strayed.  The same is true with different surfaces while climbing; on ice, I think man do I hate ice, I wish I were on rock, and on rock, or scree, I think, boy ice sure would be pleasant quick moving right about now.  The secret truth is this: all mountains are  a challenge so its always hard and kind of grueling.

Well I managed to find the true worst terrain in the known universe, a kind of cliff of quicksand, where I sunk in up to my ankles with every step, starting rock slides, slid and twisted, tried going down backwards,direct, traversing- nothing worked.  It took me an hour to reach the Warbonnet Lakes.  And all around me the sky was full of disgusting haze ruining all my shots, the few I took.  But I was going to make it to Feather Lakes.  That took only a few minutes more once hitting the Warbonnets.  They might be pretty at sunrise for a few minutes, but mostly I think they are overated.  All lakes in the Sawtooths have jagged peaks nearby.  So why spend a day and a half killing yourself to reach these ones?  Unless you are after a supreme challenge.  Or going to climb Warbonnet, an idea of mine.  Warbonnet was still miles off though, with more lakes to go, more hills of granite, more scree after, and then the actual climb.  I was neither inclined nor in shape for it.  So I walked the sides of the Feathers, and snacked and rested by Warbonnet Lakes, which I found more impressive, and then headed up...again.

Below are the Mayan Temple and several other peaks along the Feather Lakes on the less photogenic side.  The haze is visible again.

I still, after all this climbing and knowing where I was at last, nearly picked the wrong pass to climb to.  Again the reason was: the actual way seemed inconceivably bad.  It was a terrible trip down, though not so bad getting up from the Warbonnet Lakes.  But then I spent more hours nearly breaking ankles and tripping and sliding and having rocks tumble after me down steep dry and wet nasty slopes.  I let out some roars or pure alchemic rage which again shook the mountains and were only half-formed syllables, something like the letter "G", and if I had the energy, the next sound may have been close to "Zeus".  But I was too out of breath to finish the curse, or the expression of amazement.  How could terrain be so crummy so consistently and still be travelled by people willingly every year?  The ice was better.  The whole result was a disaster for me.  I can't imagine ever going back, though there are amazing pics of the area.  I think it would be better earlier in season when the peaks were more snow-covered.  Ice is more stable than the rock in the area, if that is believable.  But still, I got there, and that is something.

Back at Alpine Lake, I was ready to leave.  I had a whole day plus half more to stay in Idaho if I wanted, but what else would I do?  At this point I had done about 40 miles, lots of it up and down, had climbed 7 peaks, most of them impressive but not jaw-dropping, and chased storms, fled storms, been sun-bleached, been rained on, been spooked by animals, been amazed, let down, and everything inbetween.  And with a month more hiking coming up, I figured, it was about time to head for home.  But I was good and wise and rested 2 hours, eating, chugging fluids, and enjoying the idle pleasure of the Alpine Lake views.  Packing slowly, stretching, prowling about in my muckluck slippers to let my shoes air out and give my feet a rest.  I felt like a god, or a demi-god at least, who had escaped all of the modern world, like a time traveller who had not heard a phone or a horn or a car motor in a week.  I was dirty, and glad to be done with all the hard stuff.

The pack was light on the way down now as most of my food was eaten and I wanted to make quick work to the boat shuttle.  I decided to aim for the 7 pm and if I missed it, to camp near the dock for the 9 am next morning.  I started at a little before 4.  At 6, I was at the dock.  I moved pretty shockingly fast for it being the end of the week, though it was all down hill, not pausing much and taking few pictures, though I did stop at some scenic falls and to view the creek a few times, as well as an impressive balanced rock.  The sky was still hazy but more blue, and I began to doubt whether there were any fire actually.  I made my boat and no one was panicking or said anything to me about a fire.  When I got home, I found there were a few in the area, though nothing big or which started the night before.  So that is still a mystery to me.  Oh well.  I ate a good dinner, got cleaned up a little and changed into clean non-hiking clothes, and then drove home starting at twilight.

More destiny of a rough sort seemed due me, as deer were trotting across the road at every bend, barely visible.  I drove well under the speed limit or would have met any of five or so more personally than I wanted to.  I had to stop at the Idaho border 4 hours later to sleep in the car for a bit.  I woke the next morning after sunrise with a stiff neck, curled up in the backseat, happy, and laughing.  Guess I needed the sleep. 

Well that wrapped up a mostly good trip.  But its funny how a little rest changes perspective.  Suddenly I was questioning myself as to why I did so little on the trip.  Why did I let a mere 45-50 miles and 7 smallish peaks tucker me out and keep me off the good peaks and cliffs around the Feather Lakes?  How did I get so lost?  Am I really so clueless?  Why did I not do more peaks, push through the fatigue?  Depression came on as I drove home and ditzy people in big vehicles began swerving into my lane and making angry gestures at me for being there, as if I should know better and leave them the road.  I did not like coming back to Utah where it was 80 F at 7 am.  Where everything was even more hazy and had a scorched look.  Coming back to the reality that is modern life with cars, electronics and all that.  But its only for a week, and a good meal and a good rest put me in a better mood.  I will just have to go back to the Sawtooths someday, and I have the rest of the summer to hike and hopefully will have fun doing so.  The Feather Lakes I think I will skip though.  That was a once in a lifetime experience I think.  I had all the fun I could stand with them.  But go find them if you want some grief or a challenge.

Larger versions of some pics, as well as others, including panoramas, are available for print or perusal at thestillwildwest.com.  More stories will come when I am back from my next adventures.  Thanks for reading.

Redfish Inlet Trail and Area

Redfish Lake area offers great camping, trails, food, and adventure.

As always, prints are available over at the stillwildwest.com, and more pictures of Idaho and the Sawtooths are there in the galleries.

After my Alice-Toxaway Loop I was beat.  I was very dehydrated, though that came on quikly and my legs were spent from the big rig and heavy pack and I was sick of mountains and wet feet, and dry forests, so I decided to spend a half day at the marina beach of Redfish Lake near the lodge and rest up.  The review of the food is on my other blog about food and cooking, youngbrokeandclueless.blogspot.com, which is shared, sort of, with a friend of mine, who no longer posts and rarely talks to me.  She's busy, and I'm probably a bit too much of a jerk to stand in person for long, so that's that.

The marina was fun.  I loosened my legs by swimming in the cold waist-high waters and running forward, backward, and sideways.  And I enjoyed the views of mountains and fit people, or at least, people who were not morbidly obese and disgusting to themselves and the dignity of the human form.  Congratulations Idaho, that was the least waddling I've seen in a crowd in a long time.  Probably it is a coincidence that I saw only one fast food restaurant in a 150 mile stretch.  That can't have anything to do with it.

I camped the night and made some decisions for the gear on the next trip.  Mostly I decided my green thin sleeping bag is too thin to bother with taking into the mountains.  Sure I save 2 pounds and lots of space in the pack, but I also run a risk of freezing to death.  So its for summer only now.  Sleeping in it by the lake, in a tent, was awful.  I was very comfortable until morning, then got bad chills.  The moon in the Sawtooths was so bright that the night held off until around 10:30 pm, and when I awoke multiple times to run to the outhouse- I drank near a gallon of fluids to refresh myself- I patted the sand thinking it had snowed.  The whole world was white and glowing.  Very neat.

I felt strong in morning, and packed, and ate and tried not to forget anything for once.  I took ice axe and crampons and rock shoes this time, along with the marine bag, and no tent, which traded about 6 new lbs of stuff for about 12 lbs of stuff I left behind.  Then I made for the 12 pm shuttle boat across the lake.  Round trip is $16.00, and many climbers complain about the price and the time of the runs- 9 am, 12 pm, 3, 5, and 7 pm.  But I think that is pretty reasonable.  Your alternative is to hike 5 miles each way extra around the long dry hilly sides of the lake, through pine forests touched by that scourge, the asian beetle.  Not worth it, I say.  I chose the boat.

As for the trail, it is hot, though shaded, and doable any time of day.  It is hilly, but pretty, not ravaged by beetles in most spots, with 21 long switchbacks to Alpine Lake- a beautiful spot, though the forest is badly thinned and the trees are all dying- shown above from the south and north shores.  Mosquitoes are plentiful and other hikers will abound, but still, its a great destination for a day.  I took 3+ hours to get up there, and made it down in 2+.  Elephant's Perch is another popular spot where you can probably find climbers gearing up and heading up the huge walls.  On my first day, starting at noon, I decided to press on and over Baron Pass, where I wanted to finish at Baron Lakes.  I did that pretty easy, getting there at 7 pm just as some rain started to fall and having climbed one peak at the pass- the dark interesting peak with clouds all around me.  I took a panoramic movie to show how silly it was probably to be up there, though I read the clouds perfect and got down the pass just as the rain started.  It was a challenging climb, with several tricky and exposed moves, and most people should not try it, at least without a spotter, though you do not need rope, and I did it without the climbing shoes, though those would have been safer, and smarter.

Baron Lake was pretty, though crossing the spring creek was a trick, and I got my feet a little wet as the log bridges were all unsteady and part submerged.  I got eating and found shelter under some trees that stopped most of the raindrops, and munched away as a distracted deer came sniffling right up to me with only a large boulder between us and starting licking my sweaty socks I had laid out as I watched.  She looked up and about jumped all off the ground to see me there.  This was one emaciated deer.  I wanted to throw her a cookie, or a dorito, but what she really needed was salt.  That night she and a friend kept coming around and eating within 5 feet of my ears, tearing up the ground for roots and shrubs.  They are ready for summer and blooming I am sure!  Deer are not very quiet creatures, nor very alert ones, when you are used to the woods.  I always wondered how Indians could shoot them with arrows, as they are skittish.  But I generally know they are there long before they know I am near nowadays.  They crunch leaves and branches, clop around gracelessly on their hooves with a kind of shuffling amble when not fleeing, and walk with their noses to the ground.  Unless the wind carries your scent to them, they really will walk right into you.  And I can sneak up on them when I want.  Deer are also hard on a forest, much worse with their hooves than a good hiker is in boots on the soil and mud and vegetation and they dig and tear and chew anything.  Its easy to see why population density with deer will destroy a forest and they must be hunted.  They are also noisy eaters and kept waking me, and for starving beasts, they wasted a lot of energy running a mile away in a panic every time I grunted or stirred when they woke me, then ambling back to eat leaves again.  Its easy to see with that kind of energy trade off, why they were starving!  So there goes the myth about deer being the gentle majestic queens of the forest.

Morning brought the usual Sawtooth specialty: a 5 minute red light spectacular to the cliffs before it disappeared.  You have to catch it at just the right moment or it will think the whole day was ugly and the cliffs washed out the whole time!  I was looking at a waterfall and had a lake on the map that I wanted to try bushwhacking to, and thinking the waterfall must lead me to it, and seeing a shelf up above the fall, I made for it.  There was a trail leading me much of the way, and I passed a stock tie up, so I guess this little shelf I was on between lakes is meant to be accessed by the riders, and that did make things easier.  I found the falls and followed them getting lots of good shots and making for a wild peak up above me, which I thought for a while was the famous Warbonnet, but finding I was wrong as I closed in. Also I picked the wrong shelf for the raised hanging lake.  I did some ice climbing and eventually found the lake, though only from a distance, as I did not climb further.  The lake was near frozen completely anyway and looked about like the ice field I had been on.  I was disappointed to waste half a hard morning, so I decided to get to a peak up above me.

I worked my way up hard scree, with some small slides going below me, and made glacially slow moves- the kind that are safe but tedious, and which carved out these peaks originally.  I slowly gained the ridge, and made my way to a peak, not one of the highest on the famous Monte Verita, but jagged enough and tricky enough to sort of make the time worth it.  Plus I didn't want to head back down the long swerving route I'd taken yet and was dawdling.  I should have used the rock shoes as I had them and had carried the weight, but I only made 4 moves that needed them.  The exposure was terrific, as I had to go sideways across some very narrow vertical-ish boulders stacked together, and could only slap the final rock, as it was overhanging, but it was something.  Several hours of about the same got me back down, though I nearly cliffed-out twice (where going down further is impossible) trying to save time and make short cuts.

I snacked and dried off at my lake, and mulled over going back up another route of Monte Verita to the highest point on the ridge, overlooking the Feather Lakes.  The route was cool, but mostly a walk, and it was high noon, and would have taken the whole afternoon, been hot, and left me with very bleached photos.  I decided against it.  I wanted to save energy for Feather Lakes and had to go back over the pass that day.  Baron Pass was similar to the Pass near Snowyside Peak on my other route: the North side was snowbound and slippery and melting fast, making for danger and not much fun.  So I took my time, and kept water near at hand.

In the above pics, you can see the actual Warbonnet- is there a more aptly named mountain in this world?  And on the right, is the final "ledge"/ridge over to the tilted pointy stone that I slapped and was my summit for the morning.

For the afternoon I planned to head to the Feather Lakes, hidden lakes located in a maze of high peaks surrounded by other high peaks, by going over the ridge near Alpine Lake.  There is no pass, no trail, and none is possible, as the ridge is nasty, steep, and rotten.  I will save all that for the next post, coming soon.

Alice Toxaway Loop

15 miles around lots of beautiful peaks and lakes in Idaho's Sawtooths.  As always, prints are available at thestillwildwest.com, and more photos of Idaho and the Sawtooths are or will be posted there soon.

Starting at Payette Lake in Idaho, near the South end of the Sawtooths is a popular loop hike going to Alice and Toxaway Lakes, primarily.  Those are the traditional stopping points for camping, and are where I stopped.  You also see the Twin Lakes, and a few others, if you want to go to them.  The map is deceiving as the trail appears to go along the shore of every possible lake but is often hundreds of feet above them.  I mention this so that you can plan accordingly with water.  Don't skip a creek if you need water and are a mile from a lake.  You may have to bushwhack down to it!

The road to Payette Lake is a bit bad, pretty rutted, but only 2 miles long.  The trail can be hiked in either direction of course, and I started for Alice Lake, as I was not sold completely on the idea of the loop.  Mostly I wanted to climb some peaks I had seen around Alice Lake which look amazing.  And I knew I would go to the Snowyside Peak Pass at least up above the Twin Lakes, but I was not sure I would go beyond that.  So day one I drove from Salt Lake to the trailhead, about 6 hours.  The last 2 hours to the Sawtooths is always brutal because you have to pass through a half dozen spaced out little tourist trap towns, mostly cute, but darned annoying with 25 mile per hour Main streets when you are eager to be moving.  The Sawtooths are pretty cool, usually sun-bleached with bright blue skies, white peaks reflecting you to blindness, but air temperatures no more than 80 degrees at your starting elevation of around 7000 feet.  So afternoon hikes are definitely doable.  This was my second trip to the Tooths and both times I spent the morning driving and the afternoon speed hiking in.  The speed hiking has not been necessary in either case, but its hard to judge the time a trail will take until you've done it.  I got a little late start as I felt sick and unmotivated- left at 10 am instead of 3 am or then 7 am, after sleeping badly, and started hiking at 4:30 pm.  I took the tent and my big rig for this trip as I expected bad mosquitoes and night lows of around 32 F.

The trip to Alice Lake is 6 miles roughly, and harder than the map looks.  Earthenware Press makes a decent map, but just know the company does not attempt in the least to accurately represent switchbacks.  5 switchbacks on a map may mean anything from 5 to 100,000 switchback on trail.  So just estimate based on elevation.  I had to go up 1,800 feet, but did not read clearly that I would be dropping and climbing a lot and so the hike was a little grueling.  But still it only took 3 hours and a few minutes, giving me plenty of time to set up.  Most of the campsites were flooded and muddy, and the best option for me was a lovely charming peninsula near the east tip of Alice Lake, with perfect views.  The waters were choppy at sunrise and ruined my photos, but El Capitan to the South is a famous peak of the Tooths and I got wonderful shadow effects on it.  It looked so great I had to climb it next morning.

Below are El Capitan, looking different from every side- a true shape shifter, and my orange tent just peaking out from the trees on a lovely peninsula in Alice Lake.

The night was intense.  Listening to an Ipod as the sun went down, I swore I heard a Looney Tunes red hairy monster sort of breathing outside the tent (you know the hair beast Bugs battles in a haunted castle).  So I shut off my great classic short stories and sure enough there was a sniffling as if a basset hound the size of an elephant was outside.  I tapped the tent a few times while digging out my 13 inch bowie knife, saying to myself, I am going down slashing bear!  Just know that!  I will rip open your belly before I die!

The beast outside stopped snuffling around the edges of the tent and neither of us breathed.  He must have wondered what he had inside this strange shelter.  I knew he wanted my Snickers Bar, and with two layers of nylon up, I could not see outside.  So I made some relaxed neutral noises and heard a clattering of heavy feet- almost hooved.  So possibly it was a mountain goat.  Whatever it was, it came back after I switched a light on- apparently more curious than scared, as I expected.  So I gave up on the light and reading and slept with my knife on my chest.  Turns out, I do still have some fear- unseen large animals outside a canvas "shelter" with possible aggressive intentions do spook me.  I slept fitfully trying to keep away from the edges so the first claw blow wouldn't land on my head and I could go out like a warrior.  I was planning to win actually if the monster didn't get me with the first swipe.

Morning came and I snapped some marvelous pics, then went looking for tracks.  No bears.  Mountain goat was my guess, though in hindsight, deer is likely too, as every other campsite I stayed at I saw at least 1 deer.  A majestic laconic bored buck once, and 2 does eating near my ears while I slept another night, and a deer who walked right up to me a third and was limping.  The bears may still be asleep.  But Snowyside Peak, according to the summit diary is home to a mountain goat who shares its perch atop the peak with climbers often- though not me, sadly.  So possibly, it was a goat this time.

Without eating I made for the log bridge I had scouted out the night before to El Capitan.  The peak was easily obtained, on mostly good solid scree of large boulders, with plenty of exposure, but easy climbing.  A nice warmup.  The views were great but I started too late to make the best of the perch.  The light was blinding in most photos.  Sharing a saddle with the Captain was a nasty steep smooth run which was too exposed to be believed.  I had to climb it I decided, as I think few do.  Wishing I had my climber shoes, rather than just thick hiking boots I had chosen for ankle support, I did quick work, including a nice corner and a knife blade saddle swap (sort of like climbing over a horse and sitting in the saddle at the middle of the move, only if the horse were as thin as a blade on the top), all with a thousand foot drop to the lake below me.  It was fun, and probably the most dangerous thing I've ever done- to that point.  I thought so while doing it, and generally, I don't think I do anything dangerous- ever.  It would be dangerous for other people, but I know my limits.  Well, I named this little sub-peak "The First Mate", and if you run up the Captain, grab it while there, if you dare.  Only takes an extra 20 minutes or so.  The run on First Mate is pictured below: right along the sloping edge, so one slip equals a big fall in either direction.  El Capitan is pictured above with the bottom of a very still lake still visible. 

The above pic shows El Capitan from First Mate, with the run also near the edge, but easier climbing, though I did take a rock spear to the leg that left quite a bruise.  My pack I left at the saddle between the two.

Back at camp, my tent had not been torn to shreds by animals, which was nice.  I ate another candy bar, drank a bit of water and headed to the Twin Lakes.  The trail was easy going and not terribly steep, but hot and it did not pass the Twin Lakes, which crimped my water plans.  I would have had to go out of my way and back downhill then uphill again for water and I chose to pass.  Had I gone down, I'd have spent the afternoon climbing an easy enough ridge of smooth rock to Perfect Peak, one of the only practicable peaks to reach around Alice Lake, other than El Capitan, due to sheer and unstable walls around the lake- no shores at all.  Probably a bad idea not to go down for water, but oh well.  Climbing that peak would have meant I had to sleep another night on the South side of the pass by the Twin Lakes and since I could not grab a whole mess of peaks, I didn't want to do that.

I made the pass quickly and decided I had to nab Snowyside Peak, the tallest in the area, and one of the taller in the whole mountain range, though it was far away and I was not dead set on it coming in.  But up close the peak had the same profile of King's Peak in the Uintas, which I failed to reach last trip, you may remember.  And its been tugging at my sense of machismo and manhood ever since.  This peak also like King's, gets smaller as you approach- if that makes sense.  It has the feeling of moving farther away.  I felt about 2 miles away now that I was right under it.  Or maybe I actually was 2 miles away because the climb involved a lot of work.  First there is a pleasant ridge walk to the very high point of the pass and then up some terrible scree and loose soil and rocks, with slides easy and plentiful.  Then you gain a jagged ridge- bring gloves!  And a messy scramble begins.  If you have ice axe, and are there early in season, another option is to try some steep ice slopes which will be dangerous, but probably no more so than the rock, and you could skip the horrible tedious scree ledges that took me 45 minutes- all without water, at height of daylight, recall.

Ridgeline time: there are 3 false summits before gaining the real one.  And each gets worse.  The rock was so rotten it came off in my hands and I never felt that I had a good hold.  I kept planning to turn around but talked myself into the next point, and the next.  The views were becoming stunning, and so I finally made the ridge, never so proud.  Lakes were all below me.  I could see the whole of the loop I was climbing: around this peak in the center of this photo below:

There were partly frozen lakes, snowy peaks, beautiful cottony clouds.  It was one of the most rewarding and grueling and horrible mountains I have done.  Storms were swirling, rain was evident near the end of of my ridgeline, and I still had to go down, which I was dreading.  So I did the only sensible thing: I tarried.  Down actually, was not so bad.  I knew what to expect and made quicker work of it.  I was hot and flushed and had a North side of a pass to descend now though and after mouthfuls of snow for 2 hours, was dry inside and shaking in the legs.  Plus, the whole pass to Toxaway Lake was snowed in.  So now I faced a decision: retreat, or go on?  I went on, falling and tumbling, and possibly spraining my wrist.  The trail had to cross under a falls at one point, and I could not see trail, so I wound up in the creek, falling through ice, but only up to the ankles, soaking my boots.

Hard to say if I made the right call or no.  I got water and Toxaway Lake was gorgeous, as shown from my first sight of it above, and some below, and I saw waterfalls, but I could have done Perfect Peak and stayed at the Twins had I retreated.  There were 3 peaks easy to reach around Toxaway, with one having a magnificent and devilish ramp run for a half a mile that would be nasty and awesome, all at once.  Also, I met a friend, a young college lady travelling alone, and probably unarmed- which was brave and terrific to meet- and we talked trails and mountains and the like.  However, I would have met her the next night at Alice Lake, had I climbed Perfect Peak and maybe jaunted over to some others the next day.  And the final leg after Toxaway involved a barefoot up to the waist stream crossing on sharp stones, and a dry, beetle-singed stretch of forest up a brutal climb where the air got so dusty and I was so dried out, that my nose gushed blood for half a mile, and I could hardly keep from bleeding over all my gear- which is a great way to meet bears!  I am sure.  I could have done without that.  And I wish I had climbed the peaks around Toxaway, and I could have skipped the lightly sprained left wrist- after several breaks, it doesn't take much to damage it.  But I am glad to have done the whole loop, I think.  And it was wise to save energy for the next leg of my trip, though that worked out poorly in hindsight too, as I preferred the peaks I could have climbed to those I did. But that is always true.

As for gear, the tent was not necessary I decided.  Its hard to move on snow with a heavy pack, and my shoulders were getting raw burns and scrapes from the weight, and it was warm enough at night to go without the tent.  Plus that way I could see bears coming, if I positioned my head in shelter of trees and rocks.  I just don't want anything getting me from the back.  As long as I can see what is coming, I say come what may.  All that will be in the next post though.

The last two photos are near where I fell through ice into the creek- yes I was being careful and was aware the ice was not solid due to the pic I had just taken, but did not have the ice axe along, as on the drive in, no snow was visible on any peaks and I did not expect any.  So I also lacked ice cleats.  The mountains are above Toxaway Lake, with two easily walkable- I should have done those at least, and in the center, is one heck of a ridge climb, which I'd have done, had I not been too tired to climb around trees for the first half of it.