09/04/04 Report: "Trans-Sierra Crossing, Part 4"

The campsite turned out to be a hit with the clients,
but Jan and I agreed that a site we later found on the
other side of the creek atop some smooth granite slabs
was an even better one.  And despite the
“bear-ishness” of that spot we still saw no signs of
them.  We continued down the Kern-Kaweah River, past
pleasant glades and tantalizing canyons that held
streams draining the eastern aspect of the Kaweahs. 
We saw no other humans on the trail this entire day. 
We reached the “Chute” before lunch, a short steep
climb up and around a granite tower and undoubtedly
the scene of the tragic horse accident.  From there we
gained views of the mighty Kern canyon and the Whitney
crest beyond.  The trail dropped abruptly down some
2000 feet to the Kern River itself, not much more than
a carefree creek in this season.  At this point we
joined the High Sierra Trail proper on its northward
slog up the Kern. We then undertook the arduous and
sweltering climb out of the canyon in full afternoon
sunshine and with no accessible water.  We lunched on
the trail itself in the scant shade of a juniper tree.
 
After lunch we stopped at a creek and filled our
empty water bottles.  As the clients pumped their
water I went upstream a bit and saw a little trout
hiding behind a rock.  He didn’t dart away so I
squatted down slowly and reached my hand into the
water above him.  For a second I really thought I was
going to catch him.  Imagine that.


Looking east, across Kern Canyon into Wallace Creek and the Pacific Crest.


We had now joined the Pacific Crest Trail and the
John Muir Trail and we began to see other hikers with
frequency.  Not long after we arrived in camp we
observed a puzzling scene.  One horse and four mules
wearing only halters walked past on the trail, heading
south.  No humans, no saddles, no packs were to be
seen.  None of us knew enough about stock animals to
really know what to think about it or do about it.  We
looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders.  As
we were cooking dinner a teenaged fisherman hurried
over to us from the creek and asked us if we had
medical training.  He had fallen on some rocks and
dislocated his pinky.  As soon as he saw how bent it
was he apparently grabbed it with his other hand and
quickly jerked it back into place.  He was still
obviously shaken up but the finger looked pretty much
fine; just the slightest bruising and swelling.  At
Wallace Creek there is a bear box and posted on the
bear box is a sign saying it is necessary to put any
remotely food-related or scented items within the box
at night due to an extremely active bear in that area.
 We all thought for sure we would see one there and in
fact Jan set up his tent for the first time on the
trip.  He said he didn’t relish the thought of waking
up to a 350 lb. bear licking his face.  I completely
agreed but again we saw or heard nothing of bears.


Read the hilarious part 5 of this chronicle.

photos property of tim bluhm.