City & County 02: Hiking on granite at the summer solstice
Dawn, looking west toward California's Central Valley. Photo by Alan Wiig, June 2018.
In the Sierra Nevada foothills, tourists are always passing through, on their way to Yosemite or the High Sierra on one of the even-numbered, east-west highways, or making the requisite stops in Murphys, Columbia and Sonora on their way north-south on Highway 49. Travel off of these smooth, paved routes just a few miles, the traffic disperses, and the crowds diminish. Last June, Troy and I headed out for a sub-24 hour overnight hike into the Emigrant Wilderness, about sixty-minute's drive from the nearest stoplight, up a washed-out access road to a barely-marked trailhead. Ten or so cars were parked at the road’s end, but no other humans were around. We did not arrive until after lunch; most people probably started out earlier in the day.
A dusty trail led through tall stands of pine and fir, climbing up and over a ridge before pushing through into a glacial valley, scraped down to the granite, where the trail disappeared onto the rock slabs. To the to the south a few air-miles (but quite a long hike), thousands of visitors were winding past each other in the two national park valleys, Yosemite and Hetch Hetchy. Our destination valley, to remain unnamed, was of a similar landscape, where this interface between glaciated high country and foothills meet. But on this day, we had this part of the wilderness area virtually to ourselves. Until our trip out the next morning, we did not encounter any other humans.
Photo by Alan Wiig, June 2019.
While it is easy to feel compelled to 'make the most' of a short trip and cover as much distance as possible, we decided to take the opposite approach, hike a few miles, set up camp, and explore a bit before cooking dinner and watching the setting sun cast a sharp line of shade down the valley wall as it proceeded over the horizon. The quiet of nighttime made the rushing creek even louder. After the sun disappeared, the already-risen moon reflected light off the white of the granite, bright enough to cast shadows from the scattering of trees. With the dawn, the progression from shadow to light reversed, with a line of sun cutting down the valley onto our campsite. After a coffee and some oatmeal, we packed up, walked back up and over the ridgeline to the car, and headed back to town.
As the spring semester winds down and as the weather warms up, I aim to post newsletters here, a mix of hiking and walking reports from the last few years that have been piling up, alongside some more reflective pieces considering wayfinding on mountain trails and the seasonal differences found through repeating daily paths through urban neighborhoods. All to say, thanks for your patience, T. and C. and W., the three subscribers as of this second issue!