When the fog cleared off, the sun began its work of melting snow. It was a time of much wood-splitting, wood burning, friendship, marveling at the clarity and brilliance, puttering, walks, and for Trail Guy and the Farmer, a time of making sure none of our immediate neighboring cabins had broken pipes from the cold. (A friend one mile down the road didn’t have water from when the snow first fell earlier in the week until he left on Sunday, but nothing was broken, only frozen.)
Okay, enough chitchat. Have a look, first at the changing light on the Crowley Family cabin and Farewell Gap, and then photos in no particular order.
This is Empire, not Sawtooth, in case you only somewhat familiar with Mineral King.
As we left Silver City, the snow along the road made it apparent that it was going to be a bit dicey at the cabin, another 1000 feet or so above Silver City’s elevation.
There was a bit of a sunny window as we got near the valley, allowing a view of Sawtooth.
Oh-oh. Where is the snow shovel? Yeppers, I shoveled snow at the end of May!
The sun disappeared, and it got cold and foggy. Here are a couple of neighboring cabins.
I flipped over a bench on the porch so I could shovel better and was amused to see icicles hanging off the side.
Our neighbors had us over for dinner (no, they didn’t HAVE us for dinner—we all HAD pizza), and it remained foggy and very cold all evening. They have a top-notch wood stove, so we were very cozy inside.
Fog and cold continued the following day, when I went to another neighbor’s cabin to give a drawing lesson. That’s work that I love doing, and although we struggled a bit with being able to see via propane lamp, we made progress.
The following afternoon was sunny, so we continued our lessons on their deck. We opted for being a bit chilly in order to see.
The clouds came and went, and at one point while my student was trying out techniques, I was suddenly overcome by a need to photograph this window to draw sometime down the road. Literally down the road, because I might be drawing it at my studio, which has that magnificent drafting table and magnifying light.
Tomorrow I will show you how beautiful it all was when the sun came out for the rest of the cold weekend.
This is Hume Lake as seen from the footbridge that crosses Ten-Mile Creek on the end of the lake toward the dam. For the past eight summers, I’ve had an idyllic reunion with a childhood friend at her Hume cabin. It is modest and rustic, and our times there are a real bright spot in life.
“Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.
That’s a song that we sometimes sing together, especially when we are out in a rowboat on the lake. We also have been known to sing “When Sammy Put the Paper on the Wall”, “Kookaburra”, and a round with 3 different parts including “Fish and Chips and Vinegar”.
This post will be photo heavy, with some captions for clarity, since a few folks among my tens of readers have never been to Mineral King. (It’s a special part of Sequoia National Park accessed by its own road.)
Farewell Gap
Iconic view from the bridge of Farewell Gap, the east fork of the Kaweah River, with the Crowley family cabin.
Timber Gap. You can get to the main part of Sequoia by a very long walk over Timber Gap.
A tree across the Franklin/Farewell trail about 1/2 mile below Crystal Creek.
Pussy paws
Languid Ladies AKA Sierra Bluebells
Western WallflowerNo ideaDandelions
Rock outcropping of Empire (not the highest part where the mines are) with Monarch/Black Wolf falls
Cold Springs Campground is closed for an undisclosed reason (hazard trees?) but you can walk through on your way to the Nature Trail. The bridge desperately needs painting, but your park entrance fees and wilderness permits and other tax dollars are going to other needs things.
Iron Falls is Reader Sharon’s name for this section of river along the Nature Trail.
Violets
How is it that Trail Guy and I have never noticed this square nail embedded in the road before?
A cabin neighbor is burning yard rakings while cooking something in a black pot alongside the fire. Most cabin folks fly their flags when in occupancy.
Sawtooth Peak
Sierra Currants in bloomThe other kind of currants
Franklin/Farewell trail. The main peak is Vandever, on the right side of Farewell Gap.
Crystal Creek spreads wide across the trail.
It was a weekend of catching up with old friends, splitting wood, taking walks, reading, knitting, and eating. So many people brought us food: focaccia, pizza, dark chocolate (my vice), wine (someone else’s vice), carrot cake… never mind watching the blood glucose when surrounded by generous friends!
Western Tanagers show up in early summer. They flit around so much that Trail Guy did well to get this blurry photo with his red head turning.
The Road
The lower 8 miles of county road is worse than ever, thanks to the heavy trucks and equipment working on the park section. The next 10 miles are utter perfection—thought I was on the wrong road, or perhaps dreaming. It reverts to mess briefly right below Slapjack, and again around Redwood Canyon. I think the new pavement stops above Redwood, but since it was in fits and starts for awhile, I lost track. The upper dirt sections have a new layer of roadbase, which has been graded. However, it won’t take long until those sections deteriorate into corduroy. Those sections extend a mile above Silver City, and then the road becomes its old familiar mess of ruts, potholes, dirt, rocks, etc. Just go slowly and your car will be fine. (Fernando would love the new road. Sob.)
We went walking up the Mineral King valley in search of brilliant fall color. This was easy to find, so many yellows, but of course we wanted oranges and reds too.
The cottonwoods are yellow; it is the aspen which turn orange and red, so for stronger colors one must walk farther up the trail than rather just hanging out near the pack station.
We call this the Yellow Tunnel.
The cottonwoods look so faded when viewed from the other side.
Crystal Creek is still flowing. The colors are very subtle looking up the ravine.
We spotted some orange through the cottonwoods, so Hiking Buddy and I continued on up the trail while the men turned back to begin tackling the chores of cabin closing. Not only do they close our cabins, they also close cabins for neighbors and are responsible for the water system for our little neighborhood, which they take very seriously.
That orange turned out to be a little disappointing. It was only the very edges of these few trees. (You might have to squint to see it here.)
But these trees were electric!
Franklin Creek was so tame, especially compared to my August adventure with K.
Each year in the fall I am determined to learn what shrub turns red. In the summer when it is green, I don’t notice it and don’t remember my annual autumnal intention.
Somewhere over there is where K and I were scrambling through the rain, cold, and hail to find our way home. We knew where we were going but not our exact route.
One last look at the Park’s packing shed.
WHAT? How did I miss this piece of brilliant advice all summer??
What I want to know is this: will a bear leave if I simply shout “BEAT IT, BOZO!” or do I have to say “GET OUT OF HERE BEAR!”? Who taught the bears to obey this command?
The next day was closing day. It was very cold, low 40s while we completed our chores and buttoned it all up for the season.
This is how it looked back toward Mineral King from partway down the road. Snow was expected up there. We closed in the nick of time. (Who is this “nick”?
Just for fun, this is the scenic spot where we stopped for some lunch on the way home.
It is always a bittersweet time. While we believe that summer goes way too fast, it is always a relief to be home, to stop driving that wretched road, to be able to go to church on the weekends, to keep up with emails and texts, to not be continually living in flux with duffle bags in plain sight, and to not worry/wonder about the water system or bear break-ins (in both locations.) Besides, we miss our cats.
The weekend began with a surprise visit by a childhood friend. I knew she might be coming in the fall, but so many people tell me their potential visit dates that I don’t even try to keep track. That meant it was a wonderful surprise, and I got to spend an hour or so with her and her offspring. Since this is the World Wide Web, and because I want to experience and value life even when it isn’t documented and publicized, I took no photos (except for asking her daughter to take one of us together, which I HOPE her mom will send to me!)
The road construction continues. We waited just below Wolverton Point for about 45 minutes for the 10 o’clock pilot car shuttle which we followed to Silver City. SEE THE NEW SCHEDULE BELOW.
A neighboring cabin had 8-10 hazard trees threatening their place. We went snooping, and all is safe now (but the cabin is exposed), and there is a boatload of downed wood, a real mess. Here is how part of it looked as drawn for The Cabins of Mineral King and how it looks now in real life.
It rained several times and was overcast. We did not hike. People who live in Mineral King just hang out sometimes. Instead of being on vacation, we are simply experiencing cabin life.
We thoroughly enjoyed the warmth from the wood stove, trying but not succeeding to keep a fire going all day. That stove wants feeding fairly often. I would have split more wood, but we kept covering the woodstack due to the rain.
We walked to the pack station and found an enormous tarp all wadded up, and the stock was gone. Couldn’t just waste that tarp, because chances are we paid for it with our tax dollars. So we folded it up and then put it in the storage container.
I saw this trimmed mule hoof on the ground, and the snow stake is now installed for viewing on the winter webcam.
Berries are ripe in the fall. Don’t eat the white ones. Trail Guy loves the red ones, Wax Currant.
There is a specific type of mistletoe which grows in red fir trees. It is weird stuff.
Look at these two huge chunks of the red fir that got dropped a few weeks ago. They got randomly placed in our neighborhood after being moved from the road. One has a thing attached that had something to do with phone lines. I didn’t photograph the messes from the dropped trees, but know I will be dragging brush and sawing limbs for a long time coming.
Now, the funnest of the fun things: I FINALLY* met Kevin Alltucker, author of The Mules of Mineral King, a book that I told you about back in August. He graciously accepted a gift of my Wilsonia book, and then his brother said that he (the brother) is one of my tens of blog readers. This gave me the idea to do this dorky photo (me dorky-looking, clearly too thrilled to think about posing better or controlling my grin) and remind you all who like Mineral King to BUY THE BOOK! It is so well-written. It was also fun to talk about the logistics of writing, publishing and (not) marketing one’s own books with a fellow self-published author.
The Mules of Mineral King is available through Riverfeet Press, (also at that big online store which begins with A and takes a large bite out of an author’s profits.)
A recent weekend in Mineral King in photos with commentary, as usual, from your Central California artist.
The hazard tree crew returned to our neighborhood.
We had rain, both up and down the hill. It was overcast for a day or so after the rain. I wonder if this would make a good pencil drawing.
The classic view from the bridge, with Farewell Gap obstructed by the clouds.
The sun shone the next day, so Hiking Buddy, K, and I walked to Soda Springs.
Crystal Creek is still running.
See the orange? That’s where Soda Springs runs down into the creek.
It bubbles out of the ground.
Many cabin folks have a tradition of adding lemonade powder to the water, swearing that it is fizzy and delicious. It tastes like metal to me, reminding me of the drinking fountains at church camp as a kid. Ick, no thanks. K is very traditional, complete with a Sierra cup hanging on her daypack.
Here is the classic view in sunshine.
On the drive home, we were amazed by the ENORMOUS pile of road base collecting at Lookout Point for the ongoing road construction project.
Finally, here are The Potholes, still running steady and strong in September. My theory is that all the trees which used to take up water above this stream (called Squirrel Creek) burned up, so there is more water to continue flowing throughout the season.
And thus we conclude another tour of Mineral King. I’ll get back to work next week.
Just a few days ago I told you about Trail Guy hiking to the Franklin/Farewell junction and lamented my lack of hiking this summer. Last Sunday a friend and I decided to go to the Franklin/Farewell junction, because I really wanted to see it at least one more time in my life. (yes, being a bit dramatic here). I figured I could turn around if my feet started objecting too loudly (or perhaps wear ear plugs?)
The previous day had a terrific storm, but looking toward Farewell seemed clear, so K and I took off, (along with Trail Guy for the first mile or so.)
We saw Western Eupatorium, a flowering shrub I’ve only seen up near Franklin Lake.
We crossed Franklin Creek without trouble; K hopped the rocks and I simply walked through the water, which was shallow and clear, making it easy to see good foot placement.
Shortly after crossing, we felt a few raindrops. No problem: we each had a parka AND a poncho.
Good thing. Thunder, lightning, rain, and hail, but we just marched ourselves onward up the trail with only one break to stand under some trees (yes, risky with lightning) when the hail got too strong.
The white line is hail; the brown line is the very muddy stream.
When we reached the junction, the storm seemed to be letting up, so we stopped for a bit to see if any flowers remained and to eat something. (This was a hike, not a walk, so we carried food and water, and needed ponchos to keep our packs dry.)
Feeling hopeful, but cautious, we cut our break short and headed back down the trail. Two men had just passed us on their way down from Forrester Lake, cutting their backpack trip short by a day because the weather was a bit much.
Not long after heading back down, it all started again, with pouring rain that turned to hail, and steady thunder and lightning. We caught up to the men, sheltering under some trees because the hail was just so strong again. After a little conversation about how our ponchos were fairly ineffective, we headed down again. The trail turned to a flowing stream of mud, making it difficult impossible to see foot placement. I gave up pretending that the combination of parka and poncho were keeping me dry, accepting cold and wet as reality. (Ever get hail in your Crocs? It feels like a pebble, but eventually it melts.)
We took a couple of breaks beneath the few groups of trees, just to assess ourselves and one another. K is tough as nails, resourceful, always cheerful, and game for almost anything as long as it is in Mineral King, making her an excellent hiking partner. So, we mushed ahead and then. . .
. . . Franklin Creek!! Completely uncrossable. Raging, muddy, scary.
I took two photos, then packed my camera into its case (knit and felted by me, of course), then the poncho bag, and then buried it in my pack under the non-effective poncho. No more photos—the hike’s focus became solely about getting home in one piece.
NO MORE PHOTOS
K and I thought about our choices:
Wait for the two men to arrive and cross in a human chain, holding to one another for support. (K did this downstream on Franklin Creek many years prior).
Get comfortable and wait for the stream flow to subside.
Find another way home.
Option one still felt too risky; option two was too unknown and could take hours; option three was the best.
We went back up the trail to where we could bushwhack our way down to the East Fork of the Kaweah, which begins up at Farewell Gap. I guess you could call this “Farewell Creek”, or “Farewell Drainage”. Whatever its real name, we made our way to the stream, which was very muddy but not raging. The challenge was clambering up the bank after crossing, and somehow we made it up the other side without actually falling in, with apologies to the willows and other shrubs that we stomped on.
Then what? We knew that there was an old “trail” (just a route, because the trail is not visible in most places) up that side of the canyon to Farewell Gap. When we were on the trail, I led; when we were off trail, K led. I did my best to keep up, and she was very kind in waiting when she saw I was struggling—she is quite tall compared to me, and used to this sort of scramble-hiking, whereas I usually avoid this off-trail stuff.
We went over wet grass, through scratchy shrubs, over fallen logs, through a bear sleeping area (he wasn’t home), through some soggy little drainages, and over a zillion slippery branches, one of which knocked me to the ground, but only one, so there.
THOUGHTS, EXPRESSED AND NOT EXPRESSED
If anyone had shown me a video of the day’s hike, I would have said, “I’ll pass—just leave me here by the wood stove with my knitting.”
I know this is wacko, but I’m kind of having fun!
Unless one of us gets dementia, we’d NEVER forget this day. (We’ve been friends for 40 years, and this was definitely a memory maker.)
Trail Guy would hate this!
ONWARD
We knew we’d have to cross White Chief Creek, and because K was familiar with that side of the canyon, she knew that it flattens out where it enters the East Fork, which was also a raging muddy force of wetness. After crossing White Chief, we continued down canyon, aiming to connect with the trail which the pack station used to use for crossing the East Fork.
Just as we hoped, K led us directly to that trail, which she referred to as “Davis Camp”, and we huffed and puffed our way up to the real trail, the one that leads to White Chief, where we had considered going. I pushed for the Franklin/Farewell junction, since I’ve been to White Chief twice this summer.
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH
(WHERE did that saying come from??) Trail Guy was getting mighty worried. He went to a neighbor to apprise him of the situation, and together they began discussing a plan, correctly thinking that the Franklin crossing would be impossible.
While they were formulating a plan, we made it home. Trail Guy asked what I would have done if the situation was in the reverse. I said that I would have assumed he’d know to cross the East Fork and bushwhack his way home on the other side of the canyon, just as K and I did. He said that was exactly what he would have done, validating K and my decision making.
In thinking over the situation, K was the perfect partner for the adventure. Her cool head, optimistic attitude, knowledge of the area, stamina, and general toughness were just the right combination.
Meanwhile, we will never know how those two men made it across Franklin Creek.
Oh yeah. This is supposed to be a business blog. Have a look at a couple of oil paintings of Franklin Creek (both sold, but I can paint either scene again.)
Looking downstream, not too far below the Franklin Lake dam.
Trail Guy and I accompanied Laile, who is an archaeologist/historian (I think those are her titles) to show her something we found. She cleared up a mystery about a rock platform that we always thought was a cabin foundation. Nope, it was a ride-by bar! George Thurman and his wife Hattie had a bar for miners riding past, who could hold out their cup and get it filled with whiskey without dismounting. (I think it was for miners but now I have forgotten the years. I am NOT a historian.)
We headed up the trail.
Thurman’s Bar! (Calm yourself – they weren’t open and I don’t drink alcohol anyway.)
Laile explained that the grass-covered log with some metal spikes used to be a dam on the creek, which obviously has changed course.
It was so beautiful out in that meadow.
Working
I spent some time caulking and painting our windows. Look at the extreme difference between wet and dry paint. It was alarming at first stroke, but then as it dried, everything was okay. There is more to be done, but things are looking better.
Hanging Out
We hung out with our very dear annual neighbors, the Sawtooth Six (now there are only five, but the name remains, and we miss Ted something fierce).
Yeah, I said I don’t drink alcohol, but other people do. The “little” bottles are normal sized; the huge one looks like a joke. (This opinion almost got me banned from the neighbors’ deck.)
It is a tradition to hang out on the bridge in the evenings.
The Olipop can won the competition to become a tripod.
I left early one morning because I have actual work to do (as you might have read on yesterday’s blog post.)
Farewell, Farewell. (The weird darker spots in the sky are because I borrowed Trail Guy’s camera. Mine was temporarily missing, because I have too many homes, too many buildings, too many vehicles, and too many briefcases and totebags. This contributes to me being a loser in the true sense of the word.)
Some weekends in Mineral King are just action packed, all about the people. Who has time to hike? Or just sit quietly while contemplating matters of consequence? Go home if you want solitude, you delusional creature!
It was the annual cabin owners meeting, which is traditionally the weekend when we see the most cabin folks. (Yes, I know, duh.) This year’s meeting was the most energetic, enthusiastic, and optimistic that I remember. The president of the board for the last umpteen years has stepped down, and a dynamic rock-‘em-sock-‘em git-‘er-dun woman is stepping into the role.
I walked down to the meeting, but accepted a ride for the final stretch because I was late. I left on time, but so many people stopped me to ask a question about this or that or something else that time got away.
Here’s only a few of the folks present. I chose this photo because it shows almost no faces, and I am a respecter of privacy.
Sarah read a beautiful tribute to the retiring president that made many of our eyes leak.John has served us well. He wanted a plaque. (Please, NEVER give me a plaque for anything, please!!)
This is Eddie, our county supervisor. Three years ago, he told me that I could paint a mural on the Ivanhoe library. Then the bureaucracy kicked in, and after jumping through all the hoops, meeting all the deadlines, returning all the emails, and counting my chickens before they hatch, I gave up. After the meeting, without my prompting, he told me that it is almost time for the mural to happen. It began with a conversation about one, ballooned to a competition to paint two (which I was told that I won), and apparently is now back down to one. Until there is a signed contract or money exchanges hands, it is simply conversation. (Links to the posts about the library are below.)
This is a friend whom I have admired for many years. It was because of this hat that I went searching until I found my own version. I would like to draw this photo.
And this is me (wearing the straw hat based on my friend’s hat above) with my good friend Sharon, my most faithful blog commenter!!
Two different people approached me separately to say how much they enjoy my blog. That was my highlight of the day. (Hi Eliza, one of my tens of readers! Thank you, Glenn, you faithful reader!)
Here is some token scenery from an after-dinner walk to the bridge. I don’t think Bearskin will make it through the summer. (That’s the snow patch in the shade on the right side of the right-hand peak.)
