Day 0
On Thursday August 7th, I rushed home from work, had a carby pasta supper with Taylor, said a goodbye to my dear wife and the civilized life, picked up Zach, then Michael, and set off for Courtright. Rain began to drizzle as soon as we got near the reservoir, so we quickly pitched the tarptent at the Maxon Trailhead parking lot, had some snacks and a couple beers (what any self-respecting men would do on a night before a huge hike), and got to sleep not long after dark.
Day 1
We were up before dawn, and after a quick breakfast, we hit the trail a few minutes past 6:00 a.m. Today would not be a day of sauntering, reflecting, or picture taking–we had one goal, and that was to get as many miles up this big western slope approach that we could muster. Our goal for the day, which we reached just moments before the heavens fully exploded in a hailstorm, was the terribly named “Hell for Sure Lake”. Thankfully, after two hours of afternoon precipitation, a complete calm came over the land, and we were awarded with a delightful sunset.
Day 2
Up early after a mild night, we packed up, had a bite to eat– I brought some breakfast danishes on this trip, which I scarfed down each morning along with a caffeine pill and about a liter of water to get the day started. We proceeded up Hell for Sure Pass, which was a pretty easy climb. At the top, we enter a new world, Goddard Canyon. It felt as if we were crossing a portal between the front country and the back country. From this point, everything felt very remote and wild. Places like this are what I daydream about all winter as I look up at the snow-locked Sierra from the valley floor. We have a tradition of saving coffee and breakfast for a pretty spot a couple miles into the days hike, and the top of this pass fit the bill nicely.
At this point, we felt the going would be relatively easy. Our goal was Martha Lake, about 7 miles up the canyon. However, the trail down to Goddard creek proved to be a bit more problematic than expected. It undulated quite a bit, and then all of the sudden we lost it. Realizing that we eventually could intersect the main trail up the canyon, we just cut a path straight down the side of the canyon wall, having a little fun with route finding and..sliding..down the canyon wall. At last, we hit the main trail, and found ourselves on a nice path that paralleled the creek. We filled up with water and calories, and headed for Martha. Similar to the day before, and literally within moments of arriving at Martha, the sky broke open with rain and hail. I was allowed me the the exact amount of seconds needed to set up my Hexamid, fill up my water bladder, and dive into my shelter before the storm arrived in full force. Like the day before, it wouldn’t let up until just before sundown, gifting us with another lovely sunset. The windswept, desolate terrain at Martha lake reminded me of what I imagine of Scotland, or Iceland…damp turfy tundra scattered with boulders and stones, misty overcast sky, framed by big dark frightening looking peaks. We came here to climb Goddard, but places like this are the ones that resonate with me for a long time.
Day 3
Today, we would remain base camped at Martha. It was a feat two years in the making–a climb of the legendary Mount Goddard. What is particularly neat about Goddard is that it is a 13,564 foot tall behemoth, yet it is offset from much of the High Sierra crest, therefore it rewards the climber with a lovely panoramic view of the rest of the Sierra. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say you could see the complete Sierra crest from the top of this big dark crag nestled in the Northern corner of Kings Canyon National Park. Additionally, the climb to the summit would not be overly technical or dangerous. It was basically a 2500 foot walk up the mountain. We took the “Southwest route”, which was fairly straightforward and easily followed. We made our way up a saddle that led to a glistening sapphire colored lake, and then turned sharply to the left, where we would follow a steep chute on the westernmost edge of Goddard’s ridge. As we dug our shoes into the gravelly scree, climbed higher and higher, the thin alpine air and powerful UV rays reminded us that we had entered a hostile environment, and we were only welcome as long as we’d accepted those terms. Our goal of climbing to the top was now fragmented into many smaller goals…I tell myself “just make it to that next boulder”…”okay, 10 more steps, then you can rest”. In places like this, the trivial day to day life back home is totally forgotten. One focuses only on gulping down as much oxygen as the lungs can absorb, putting one foot in front of the other, following the route. With the physical and mental body being utterly committed to these tasks, a euphoric feeling overwhelms us–a blissful state that cannot be found in any other endeavor. I come to places like this, to find this feeling. The view is just a secondary benefit. Before long, the view opened up and demanded a shift in our focus, a pause. Every sense is called to full attention. Light. The range of light. Our eyes become flooded with light in a way that words fail to accurately explain. Everything around us, our clothes, the rocks under our feet, the plethora of peaks miles upon miles in the distance, ever so brilliant, saturated, radiant, resplendent.
At the top, we make a quick scramble to the true summit, where in an aluminum canister we find the register. We sit down near it, and then spend a few minutes spinning our heads around in every direction, poorly attempting to identify peaks and lakes in the distance. We stare in amazement and speak very little. After a while, I sign the register, giving due credit to the maker of this marvelous place, and we flip through past entries. We recognized one of the names on the register as that of a man that minutes after signing it found himself descending the side of the mountain with a serious compound fracture. He ended up spending several days surviving before being found by a search and rescue team. We followed his story in the Bee earlier this summer. It was a sobering reminder that up here, one cannot take even one step for granted, and that life can change in an instant.
After a while, we began the descent. Although descending a mountain is much less taxing on the lungs and heart, it is in some ways more difficult because one must be very careful about foot placement and balance. We reached the lake at the saddle, and filled ourselves up with spring water near the inlet. While normally we exercise caution about drinking unfiltered water, we were not concerned with filtering pure, delicious water from a source like this. When you can see the origin of water, as pure and untouched as this, you need not fear. As we made our way down the south side of the mountain, back to Martha Lake, my attention turned to tomorrows route. Would we attempt Valor Pass? From this vantage point, it looked quite intimidating. But so does nearly all cross country passes in the Sierra. Things always get easier as you approach. Still, every few steps, i’d look up at it from the slightly different angle, wondering what route we might attempt. I had very little prior knowledge of this pass. The alternative would be to attempt another unknown, named Confusion pass. It didn’t look much better. The third option would be to retrace our steps down Goddard canyon and back over Hell for Sure pass, which we hoped to avoid. Before long, we limped into camp with tired feet and knees, grateful for clear weather and proud of our successful ascent of a mountain that had grown quite infamous among us over the past two years. We ate plenty, and slept warm and well.
Day 4
We awoke early, and packed up promptly. If Valor Pass proved too daunting, we had a lot of ground to cover following the alternative routes. Fortunately, as we walked around the southern shore of Martha to begin our approach, we found what looked to be a pretty decent route. The most uncertain part was at the top, and we remained uncertain what notch we should head for. Near the top, we were forced to do a couple simple “class 3” moves, which basically meant it required the use of both our hands and feet–similar to climbing a stable ladder. Being unacquainted with rock climbing, we found these simple moves exhilarating and a lot of fun. It was cold and windy at the top. We paused to enjoy one last look at the world we’d come from, and then 180 degrees opposite, one we were headed back to. The view toward the west of the divide was filled with big gorgeous clouds. We wanted to cover as many miles as possible today, but we weren’t sure the sky would cooperate with our goal. At any rate, they added a depth and beauty that really enhanced the lovely landscape we were about to enter, the Blackcap basin. We scrambled our way down to Valor, then Ambition Lakes. Ambition Lake brought forth a bit of nostalgia, it being the lake we sat near last August when we decided not to attempt Valor pass and Goddard. As we descended down toward Lightning corral meadow, the harsh, surreal, lunar-like landscape of the high reaches of Sierra gave way to a landscape filled with cascades, pools filled with brook trout, lush meadows, and lovely trees and shrubs. The hiking through this lovely basin is the most enjoyable that I have ever done. I feel that this area would be an ideal place to take a first-time backpacker. I regret not being able to spend at least one night here, as we did last summer, among the howling coyotes.
As we descended lower and lower, down to the Kings river, the air became warmth and thick, the ground sprang to life with big open forest, flowers and foliage everywhere. We walked quickly for many miles, eventually spreading out further than at any other time on the trip, perhaps finding peace in the solitary walk back home. I thought about many things as I walked–I reflected on all the things I truly consider dear to me, and thought about how to eliminate much of the rest, the things far less important to happiness and love. Usually, at times like this I decide I shouldn’t go backpacking again without my wife by my side. I feel committed to this. I knew that not long after we got home, although remaining great friends, the three of us would be headed in different directions, quite literally. This trip, I realized then, would be the last of its kind. We dodged the thunderstorms for most of the day, only taking refuge once for a few minutes. We hiked fast and hard until dusk, and eventually collapsed into a peaceful sleep near Post Corral Creek. The next morning, we awoke early, and marched quietly and contemplatively back to civilization.
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