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St. Lawrence Trailhead provides an awesome hiking experience to a less-visited area of the Winds. Unfortunately, this report proves that I can make absolute noob mistakes. Not proofread.

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➤Quick Facts

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⤷Introduction

After having popped into the Sonnicant area of the Winds from the western side a few times, I decided that I would take Hank and Peggy Hill from Texas, along with my mom, into the the area from the St. Lawrence trailhead on the reservation side. I took a week off of work and planned on being gone for 6 days, hiking from August 1st to August 6th, and going back into work on Wednesday, August 7th. The only pressures were an accident at work that was causing me a lot of, plus being away from my baby for so long.

We planned to stop by Twin Lakes on the way in, following the river up, which meant a descent from the trailhead. This meant we would also see Raft Lake and get to see its sandy, eastern shore, which had been on my bucket list for a while. (Do not do this, BTW.) The other option to get to Twin Lakes involved ingressing from Washakie Park, which isn’t officially a trailhead. I was uncertain of how the old trail from the area to Twin Lakes would be given the 2020 wind event, and additionally the road seemed less likely to be passable, as it just leads to a cow pasture. I was pretty certain that Wandering Daisy had once written about exiting at Washakie Park and being annoyed by the cows in the area, but I couldn’t quite remember.

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⤑Day 1: I Am Abandoned

Day 1 had a number of challenges. The online permitting process for the Trespasser permit for Indian territory was down, so I had to send a copy of my DL to my mom, and she went in with Hank and Peggy to get us all our permits. It was around $100 IIRC, but I always forget how much I end up paying to be there. I know many people don’t pay, but I want to be upright in my ways, and I hope the money is being used well.

The weather was ridiculously hot as I entered the reservation, a smoking 96F without a cloud in the sky. I ended up beating Hank, Peggy, and mom to the meeting point by about 30 minutes. The drive up to the trailhead wasn’t horrible, but the dirt road is definitely better with a little bit of ground clearance (8 inches or so). We got to NOT THE TRAILHEAD at 1PM or thereabouts and got all saddled up. Please note that an easy drive up another 1/2 mile ends in a parking spot which is more useful if you’re actually hiking in, whereas the spot with the cabin was where we needed to be, and where plenty of other people thought they needed to be. Unfortunately, I found out that my mom was just getting over a significant bout of norovirus (?) and so was in rough shape. She wasn’t about to miss the trip, but I guess the food poisoning was a theme for the Necessarys this year.

Below: The road and the false trailhead. (Worked for us.)

After getting ready, we crossed a field with a stream and made our way around a cow or two, then entered deadfall while ascending the ridge to the south. It was unpleasant but not horrid. Cresting the ridge we had good views of what was to come, and the deadfall looked annoying. I tried to plot a path that would take us to the exposed granite outcropping, which, should you elect to take this route, is what you’ll want to do. In fact, just make your way immediately there. But more importantly, don’t take this route.

Going up the hill (downfall) and looking back into plains/up into the canyon from the crest.

The south side of the ridge was treeless and very steep; all of us slipped at least once. Worse than that, the heat was unfathomable, and the cheat grass lodged in our socks and shoes. Don’t take this route. At the bottom of the ridge the going wasn’t that much easier, because we were right on the boundary with all the deadfall. We kept it tight against the hillside and were somewhat gladdened by the sight of a green track on Gaia which indicated that someone had done something similar in the past. Of course, those lines don’t indicate the sheer level of regret that one might have.

As a tip for the clinically insane, if you want to do this route, don’t bother trying to follow the ponds. Deadfall makes that effectively impossible. We ended up abandoning the plan and cutting through a horrid section of downed trees, always aiming for anywhere that sat imagery looked barren. I hoped that Hank and Peggy wouldn’t string me up—I always find that I am happy enough tackling anything by myself, but feel great anxiety when I am taking others along with me and things get rough. In fact, after this trip, I decided that when I have others with me, I just won’t do any new routes.

Below: It was worse than it looks. What is that bird?

Anyway, we made it to an area of grassy/bouldery hillside (some strange bird was upset with me—does anyone know what it is?) and then picked our way down to a meadow with a pond in it. From above, this area seems vast and makes one despondent, but if you can get out of the deadfall, the going is relatively decent. Down at the pond area the grass was RIDICULOUSLY tall, but there were no raptors, so we mostly made it through without a high casualty rate—it was actually better than following the granite to the east which had a few downed trees. On the other side we were blessed with glorious granite to follow, so we zipped as directly as we could toward where the river leaves the canyon, crossing a dry creek (with granite shelf, tedious) and then a small creek on the way. The small creek was choked with grasses so I didn’t bother to get water. We were also close to the river, so why risk getting junk in my filter?

Below: Some of the last bits of travel before the river.

We arrived at the river around 5PM, a testament to our very slow progress through the sections of deadfall, but also to the incredible heat and my mom’s residual illness. The river itself had trees right up to the edge, which meant that it had downed trees right up to its edge as well, but once you actually get to it, it’s beautiful and brimming with brook trout which rarely see humans, and which weren’t frightened by us in the least. The area had a “River Runs Through It” vibe and brought me back to my youth exploring the remote rivers of northwestern Montana and northeastern Idaho.

Mom was feeling pukey so she used the river to cool off while I got water and filtered it for us. Hank and Peggy went a bit upstream and basically did the same. Given mom’s less-than-ideal state, I broke out the maps and satellite photos for her to look at. I’d hoped to make it close to Twin Lakes, but given our late start and slow progress, I also had some intermediate stops that would work. We went up to Hank and Peggy and I showed them a flat, open field by an easy place to cross the river. It would be an ideal stopping place for the night. Otherwise, several, smaller open spots on the northern side of the river were available in roughly the same area, if we desired. Mom was also a bit demoralized over my sister’s recent, dumb decisions (strange life choices run in the family which lead to a failure to self-actualize), so finding out that we could stop soon cheered her up.

Below: Arrows to the places we discussed that looked most promising.

The main debate, as far as I am concerned, is over whether it’s better to walk the granite slopes on the southern side of the river, or stick to the northern edge which has intermittent fields and is overall less sloped. The previous person’s track showed that he chose the northern side of the river. While we ended up doing the same, I think that probably most of the trip is swifter on the granite—but there are some areas where you’d have to go uphill significantly to avoid cliffs, and while it’s easy to route-pick from the other side, it’s a lot harder when you’re in the thick of things. Areas to cross the river area also pretty limited.

As we headed up into the canyon proper, I sure hoped that the steepening canyon walls didn’t end up turning us back. I have a bit better balance than my mom and can mountain-goat around a bit better than her, but there’s always a little trepidation, hoping that you don’t have to go up and down the sides of the canyon to make your way forward.

Below: The area of canyon I went up. Cacti and fears of getting cliffed out…

After a bit of slow going picking through trees and brush, we entered the arid, sagebrush-and-cacti-ridden section of the canyon which was quite precipitous—not a place to fall. I picked my way along and stopped to take a picture, then realized that Hank, Peggy, and mom weren’t behind me. After waiting for about 2 minutes I made my way back around a small bend to look for them—and they were nowhere to be found! Then I heard a hooting and a hollering, looked up, and saw the merry gang on a granite shelf right above me by some 75 feet. They hadn’t wanted to sidehill it with the prickly pear cacti, I guess. I pointed out to them that I couldn’t make it up the straight cliff and gestured ahead, around the bend, where I the granite shelf met merged back with the rest of the slope. It was impossible to hear each other due to the roaring of the river, the sound bouncing back and forth off the canyon walls. Hank also pointed ahead to the spot, so I waved to them, they waved back, and we both started heading forward.

The crew above moved back away from the ledge as they walked, so I lost sight of them, but 1000 feet later I was up on the ledge. The view from the ledge was great, and I could see the big field I’d suggested for camping in as well as the two, smaller ones on our side of the river. What I couldn’t see was the beloved gang! I looked down the rockpile that went back down to the flatter sections near the river, but they weren’t there, either. Odd. The small meadows on our side of the river were not at all flat (as they had appeared when we’d discussed it about 45 minutes earlier) and had a lot of boulders and bushes, so I decided that it would be best for us to cross the river near the sandbar (a gravelbar in actuality, though we had not been able to discern that earlier when we’d looked) to go to the big, open meadow. We could all use a foot wash and cooling down anyway.

Below: The yellow field near the middle left is where we had talked about staying if the fields bottom center through right were too lumpy.

I looked back toward the crew and gave a big holler, but received no response. Odd. My new pack didn’t have a whistle on it, so I took it off and walked toward where they had been. After traveling about 750 feet, I realized that they weren’t there. Bizarre. I went back to my pack and yelled again, then looked down in the canyon. Nothing. Huh. Was mom ok? She had been very sick, but seemed confident that she could make it. Had Hank been trying to tell me to just go ahead and leave them behind? I wasn’t sure. I once again went the 750 feet back downriver to look. Nothing. The shelf descended into the trees, so I didn’t want to go any farther. Somewhat vexed, I returned to my pack and headed down toward the river, yelling as I went. Nothing. I looked up the canyon wall to the northwest and briefly wondered if they’d tried to climb out via one of the chutes—no, a 1500-2000′ climb towards dusk made no sense.

It didn’t take me too long to make my way down to the gravel bar, and crossing the river wasn’t bad, either. It was a little deep and my rolled up pants got wet, but with the heat still lingering in the fading light, I wasn’t too worried about that. The smooth, round cobbles in the river were not too treacherous, either, but being a lower-lying river, the algae made things a bit slick. Still, I made it across and was soon to the flat meadow.

With no sign of my crew, I set up my tent and used my neon-orange dry bag (huge) as a flag for them to see, which was accomplished by putting it on a tiny, lone pine tree in the center of the meadow. The light was going, though, and the heat had made me none too hungry though rather parched, so I scurried down to the river and got two gallons of water. My tent was in the very middle of field, but a 100-ft walk to the nearby tree line revealed a great pine to hang the gravity filter on. Soon I had plenty of water—drank some at the trees, until I was full, then filled up my pouches and returned the rest to my tent. I ate a couple of handfuls of chips and then decided I wasn’t hungry enough to eat any of my hiking meals, so I packed everything up and hanged my bear bag off a big, dead tree to on the east side of the meadow. I had seen a ton of bear scat, so my decision not get make my camp smelly sat well with me.

Below: My camping site!

It was a particularly warm night, so I had a rather pleasant little camp shower then got in the tent. I didn’t bother with the rainfly as it was warm and dry. As darkness started to creep in, I put the pictures of my family in the net over my face so I could look at them, then texted Yurena to let her know what had happened (SATCOM), but made it clear that I was in no danger, and given the expense of SATCOM, she could just message me if they talked with her before I found them/they went home. She thought they were probably behind me. (#incorrect) Once darkness fell, I took out my high-powered flashlight and shined it on the canyon walls, illuminating them very well. There was no return signal, so I gave up after a bit, then let my eyes re-adjust and stargazed. An interesting, geo-stationary, intermittent, very bright flash was half-way above the horizon and I was intrigued. It went away after 10 minutes. Eventually I fell asleep in the still warmth of the canyon floor, with the sound of the rushing river nearby lulling me asleep.

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⤑Day 2: Making More Miles Than Expected

Despite the sun not truly being up, I was, and at 0537 no less, though with quite a headache! I ended up lounging and reading, waiting for some sign of the gang, but alas, they never showed. After rehydrating, I decided that I was wasting time, and besides, we were all grown adults with SATCOMs, so it was time to vacate the premises. I ended up not leaving until 1000—talk about the heuristic error known as escalation of commitment—but I really thought they would pass by! What a fantastic waste of time. Somewhat lazily I decided to cross upstream of my first location, and there it was a bit deeper and swifter, but a nice crossing stick was near at hand, so no real problems.

I had to crash through brush for a bit, but soon I was able to pick mostly clear areas to head upriver, hoping that perhaps in one of them I would find my family. I ended up not getting to close to the river, for the most part, and instead ambling over granite slabs and along dry grasses, sometimes finding paths animals had made, but mostly just walking out in the open, which was once again too hot for my liking. Around 8,350′ in elevation I had to pick between climbing up a rock ledge or descending down into a verdant area of forest, and I chose the latter, and that was particularly annoying with dense downfall, but also much cooler than out in the open. I broke out of the forest right next to something of a watery impoundment.

Below: Not the hardest to hike, but not as quick as a trail.

This area, with its deep pool, seemed as if it would be a place one might cross if pressed to do it, versus the rushing torrents in most other places. There was a lot of algae and I considered trying to wade it, but man it looked deeper than I’d like. At this point the smooth, curving granite walls which had been so prevalent on the other side of the canyon had given way to topography a lot more similar to what I was traversing, anyway, though with longer, straight sections of pure grass walking. Up river that seemed to end, giving way to forests and steeper, more rugged granite knolls and outcroppings, so I decided to stick to the north side of the river. Still, the crossing the first night would have been quicker, at least until this point.

There were no signs of my crew as I made my way along, and soon I was looking at contour lines and thinking about going up around 9000 feet and making a straight shot toward the lake. As I approached the area where I’d have to make my decision (while listening to Revenge of the Cis), I decided that I wanted to see the cascades below the upcoming lakes, and so I’d take the longer path around. Besides, the chute going up was rather filled with trees, and not all of them were upright. Of course I managed to find a very annoying spot that I had to make my way around, which was very steep and filled with downed pine and spruce trees, and was filled with so many dry needles that it was quite uncomfortable. (Arrow in red, potential path in yellow.)

Below: Views from the off-trail.

Heading uphill a bit ended up being an easier choice than any other option, though I distantly wanted to go and check out the river below, as it looked mighty fine. The intense heat was making me feel rather peekid, so the path of least resistance was more appealing than the river. (But what if it had something other than brookies this far up???)

Soon enough I had a view of the falls. They were pretty enough, but the algae was still present. I could see the remnants of a bridge which had washed away, which I’d later find out came from the almost complete land-bridge between the lakes, or at least so it seemed. If I were doing the hike again, I’d go and see about crossing to the other side of the outflow cascades, as I was nearing, without knowing it, a rather tedious bit of the journey. My tummy was feeling bad from the heat as I went into some forest, eventually popping out along an edge of the lake. Despite the heat, trout were jumping in the middle, where the water was deeper and cooler. I wasn’t nearly so enthusiastic as I crossed some sun-baked mud and then scrambled, sometimes jumping, along boulders which had fallen from a steep cliff nearby and ended up in the shallows of the lake. I really didn’t want to fall into the deep muds just beneath the shallow waters.

Below: The falls and my first encounter with Twin Lakes.

From there I had to circumnavigate a most verdant bog/riparian zone/tree-bush-grass-mud-infested wedge of terrain. Why circumnavigate? Because I wasn’t about to get involved in all the mud and thickets, but I very much wanted to go to the midpoint between the lakes. Once I made my way around this annoying section, the land became mostly trees on top of granite, and an intermittent path took me toward the midpoint. Neon-orange flagging was also intermittent—I wonder what it was for? Cairns were also present.

I arrived at the area between lakes at a minute before 1PM and found myself very excited by how cool the rocks were, with water moving down them like giant slip-in-slides. It was so pretty that I didn’t know what do to first: there were remnants of a bridge, and also some kind of anchored cable system (What is this? Does anyone know?), and of course the water slides, and the opportunities to fish, but I could also get some water and food in my belly. For a moment, at least, the heat fatigue was gone. I practically threw my pack to the ground, and was about to run off, but then reconsidered and grabbed some rye chips and Doritos, because why not?

Twin Lakes.

Because the bridge was no longer usable, I jumped across one of the channels with my tenkara pole and headed down to the lower of the lakes. Fish were jumping everywhere, but it was warm, so I chose a very small, barbless fly. I got a ton of bites, but the teeny hook meant that most of them bit, spit it out, and then resumed swimming statically in the inlet waters. Bah! Eventually I managed to get a nice, fat rainbow and even got him up to and on one of the wet rocks, but then he spit the hook and swam off rapidly.

After 30 minutes of fishing the lower lake, I scurried up to the higher Twin and caught some more rainbows. These were smaller and I never got to actually lay hands on one, but I did get three to shore before they released themselves and vacated the area. It would have been an awesome place to camp and catch the fatter fish in the cool of the evening.
Hiking isn’t incessant fishing, though, so at 1:45 I grabbed my water bladder, filled it up, sat it on the remains of the bridge, and placed myself under it, eating snacks while my bare feet enjoyed the cooling stream that ran through my small, shaded area. In something of a horror experience, after drinking for a bit I pulled my feet out of the water and found them covered with small, writhing leeches, especially between my toes. That was not a pleasant experience, but I managed to pry them off with no true harm done. Yuck!

After drinking enough water to make my sick feeling leave and then come back again, I departed the area right around 2PM, following the blazes and my 1980s map away from the lakes and uphill. The old map showed switchbacks going up until a T formed, at which point I could make a left and head to Raft Lake, or continue uphill until another T formed, which led toward Mova but bypassed Raft (or back toward the Jeep). I decided I’d head toward Raft, because I wanted to see the huge, sandy beach I’d seen so many times from the Continental Divide.

As I passed by the last area of lake, I noticed so many old fire rings. It’s sad to me how much of the woods have been abandoned, despite the massive spending we engage in. The 30/30 plan nonsense is of course a Malthusian death cult’s dream which would see us all locked in 15-minute cities, being nothing more than economic units for a distant elite. But I digress.

You can visit the past, but no one is there.

Cliff bands were the initial name of the game, but scaling them was easy enough following the neon markings. One always wonders if the markings are themselves correct, because who is to say that the person making them was much of an expert? Although the old trail was on the map, it was difficult to discern how the cliffs had ever hosted a true trail in the first place.

100 feet above the lake, the old map was insistent that I follow something of a tree/brush chocked gully uphill. The neon markings stopped here. I pressed into the forest and dense foliage (a creek ran down) and made it 5 feet before turning back. Perhaps it was fine at one point in history, but no longer was it possible to traverse this way. It was better for me to follow the granite shelft to the west, and eventually I found a decent place to scuttle up the cliffs—and then found more neon markings. I guess we creatures of the forest had the same idea.

The climb up. The cairn by the brush is baffling. Yes, the old maps say the trail went there, but I have no clue how it could have.

Soon thereafter I came upon the remnants of the old trail, and boy was it choked with dense downfall. I was none too pleased about the discovery, but I pressed on. At 9150 feet in elevation, it may have been quicker to follow the treeless areas of granite outcroppings in a northwesterly direction to save distance, but I had no way of knowing if I’d recognize the trail to Raft Lake if I were to go that way; it might be easy to simply pass over the remnants of it and end up making my way through downfall forever. As such, I stuck to the trail and found the going stupidly slow. There were times when no truly good options existed; it was just moving through deadfall NEAR the trail, because the trail itself, while visible, was entirely covered in downed trees of all sizes.

Flagging.

At 3:11, right around 9400 feet, I found a huge cairn. This was the marking for the trail to Raft Lake, which looked a lot less traveled than the one that took one on uphill. Old fire rings were in this area, too. As a general statement, travel between this point and Raft Lake was far easier than previous travel, though there were times when it was confusing, such as stretches of walking on granite with no sign of a trail, a couple of times in the forest where I’d be on a trail and then suddenly in densely vegetated area where no man had ever trod (and quite confused as to why a trail led there, leading to backtracking and then taking faint paths which ended up being the correct method), etc.

The trail junction, the “trail” to raft lake with markers (twice), and “Freedom Industries.”

In any case, the first quarter of a mile was flat, and then I went down into a creek bed, then uphill/flat for a third of a mile, then another creek bed, and then the last mile or so was far easier, mostly being slowly downhill in the forest, with the trail becoming more consistently defined. Maybe it would have been faster to just follow the drainage up between lakes—I don’t know. What I do know is that the USFS map shows the trail heading off to the right about 1/2 way between the junction and Raft Lake, making its way up to the meadow/marsh where Entigo and Wilson Creeks merge. I never found that trail at all. The neon blazing took the “new” trail that I was on, though.

Oh, and before I forget, I saw some “Freedom Industries” shoes along the trail. Google that. What a weird little company—how do people even find out about them? (Other than shoes along the side of the trail.)

I finally emerged out of the trees at 4:07 and was at the long, sandy lead-up to the lake, which is remarkably visible from Kagevah Pass. Should I stay at Raft Lake? One of the inchoate plans from the previous year had been to stay there, and the gang was still…wherever. The heat convinced me to choose a different spot, and anyway, I hate stopping early. As a compromise, I decided to explore a bit, then cool off my feet.

Arriving at Raft Lake.

Near the lake’s edge, just to the northeast of the shore, there was a well established camping area for (maybe?) natives. Trees had been taken to make places to sit and even a table. Animal bones, new fuel canisters, aluminum foil, salt, pepper, homemade-looking fishing tackle, etc., were all there. There was even a rolled-up sleeping bag. From my travels in the res, I have noticed that these sorts of signs are not an indication that people are staying at the location at the moment…or even, say, in the next two weeks.

Eastern camp at Raft Lake.

I chose to walk south and sit in the sun on some of the granite, which sloped down into the lake. There I took out my pack and got out my snacks, plus got myself some water. My shirt was absolutely caked in salt. Definitely not the sort of temperature I prefer when hiking. As I sat staring at the lake, a young man waded along the northern edge, gradually getting closer. Eventually he made his way over to me. We made introductions; he was called Dale.

Dale wanted to know where I’d come from, so I described it to him. He was wondering the best way out, back to St. Lawrence trailhead, and I advised him that the trail I’d come in on, at least until the junction, wasn’t all that bad, with not too much deadfall. We were both keenly aware of the dadgum downed trees. Dale was considering staying at Raft Lake and wanted to know if that was my camp over with the table. I told him that it wasn’t, and although the canister looked fresh, none of the other signs seemed to indicate that people had been there in a bit. He was happy to find out that he could inhabit it, and asked me where I might go. I told him perhaps to Mova, as my crew had split off from me, and at least Mova was definitely on an established trail. Dale had seen a large group at Mova Lake earlier in the day, so I was keenly aware that I might have company if I camped there.

Dale had been up at Twenty Lakes (I didn’t know the little lakes near Roberts and Trail were called that), where he loved the fishing, though he said all of the Sonnicant area had been great, too. I told him about the great fishing up by Musembeah and described my travel in the area—I guess sometimes you forget how half a day’s walking downhill could take you from a place like Trail Lake to Raft Lake. Although I don’t recall how we got on the topic, we also discussed my travel up by Yukon Peak—I think we had been discussing rainbow trout. He had been up past Faler Lake into Daphne and Bear and said he’d caught some rainbows there. In any case, it was nice to meet someone so affable. He had a paper map as well, which for the most part I no longer carry, provided I am going somewhere where, in general, I have traveled near before. Growing up in the mountains, without running water, electricity, telephone, etc., I had never had access to good maps, but had perhaps somewhat naturally developed a relatively good sense of location. Yes, perhaps I might get a bit off course, but for the most part, making it back to somewhere familiar is just an inconvenience and thing of shame, and as an ugly man, I am quite used to shame.

After chatting for a bit, Dale meandered off, and I did the same. Dale had informed me that there was a connector trail at a campsite a way up the lake that would get me to the main trail, so I headed that way. It was so hot that I just walked through the water where I could, shoes and all. It kept me cool.

There was one spot that was almost impossible, and I ended up bizarrely contorting myself to stretch backward off one rock and onto a nearby cliff. It probably wasn’t great for my back, which I had hurt earlier on a ladder, but it did the trick. For some reason I was listening to a discussion of what Hello Kitty is—it was a dumb but crystallizing thing to watch. Overall, the shoreline was mostly rocks and cliffy sections. I didn’t fish Entigo Creek as I was sure that Dale had already done that.

I found the other campsite Dale had mentioned at 1745, and it was a much more pleasant one than the eastern site, as the trees were lush, and it had grassy areas, rather than bare dirt. In place of the huge, sandy beach, was a stony beach with a smaller, sandy area, but overall I found it quite attractive. The remnants of the (beginnings?) of what appeared to be a very old cabin were also there. A remarkable area overall. Ethan Nicole and Adam Yenser (two Christians, Adam who worked for Ellen Degeneris, which I bet I spelled incorrectly, and who I made laugh once) had a podcast called the “Talk Down” that I listened to, and it was something of a replacement for the defunct Babylon Bee podcast (the website which went ultra-Zionist and became less funny, as the podcast went away after they terminated Ethan), and also something of a replacement for Audio Mullet, which had featured Doug TenNaple of Earthworm Jim fame and one of the guys from Mystery Science Theater 3000, who I’m blanking on right now. It was a great listen and boy I missed it. Ethan wouldn’t stop talking about this really good place to get wings. That hurt

Another camping spot at Raft Lake.

But I was not going to stay there, I decided, despite the shadows starting to grow quite long. Instead I plugged away uphill. Some downfall was present, but not too bad, yet I still ended up overshooting the trail, stopping some 250′ up from the lake. (Note: probably could have shaved some distance off instead of using the trail by sticking to the lake side for a bit more and then heading up toward the marshy “lake” around 9320 feet.)

The trail became more distinct as I moved along it, and there weren’t too many downed trees in the way. I arrived at Lake 9320 at 610 and kept going. It was more of a lily pad marsh and not to my liking. Beyond Lake 9320, the trail climbs for a ways, topping out at 9460 or so, then follows a small channel between the granite mountains as it heads down toward Mova. I had the intention of perhaps stopping at Mova, as I told Dale, but wasn’t really sure where one would wish to stop. The walls around the lake are steeper than you’d think, making it a bit inhospitable near the trail, and I didn’t feel like circumnavigating the northwestern side, were it even possible, to hunt for a spot.

The trail.

You don’t really see Mova until you’re past the outlet bridge. I was blessed to cross the bridge at a beautiful time of day, with warm sunlight filtering through the trees and dancing across the moving waters, throwing burning crystals in the air. The bridge itself had seen better days, but the abandoned, plastic chairs nearby were even worse off than that (and a common feature of the res). From the bridge, it’s only about a quarter of a mile to the inlet at Raft Lake, and I’d have liked to have seen it, but time was pressing by this point, so I soldiered on (not quite with the speed we left Afghanistan, though). As I looped around the edge of the lake, I came across a very nice, established campsite quite close to the lake (a common feature of the res), but liking neither to disturb nor be disturbed, I pressed on, hoping to find something a bit better and out of the way. If I didn’t find anything, I could still make my way to Lake 9453 or 9530, though it was a quarter to 7 already. I hustled, passing more campsites right by the trail, as well as a pair of glasses someone had thoughtfully put on a rock.

Mova Lake. Movo on some maps.

Mova has a sometimes disconnected sidepond, with the channel connecting them at this time of year being a marshy trail with stones you could hop on. I would not want to cross it during higher water, but this late in summer, with the cooking heat, it wasn’t too bad. As I emerged from the little marsh and onto the dry soils in the pines, I came across a bunch of tents—must be the group Dale had seen. A rather dispirited looking teen girl just stared at me as if she had lost her soul, saying nothing, and numerous other teens likewise stared at me. I gave them a pleasant nod with a quiet “hello,” and passed through their camp (flanking the trail, a rather common feature of the res) as politely as I could. It seemed they had a couple of older people with them as leaders of their crew. I would later find out that they were from a Baptist Church in the Midwest. They didn’t exactly have ultralight gear.

Leaving Mova, the terrain is a bit odd. The Little Wind River courses between the lakes, but some small ponds at the base of Wykee Peak (based on the map) feed down to the river as well, and they make things rather marshy—you probably know the type of terrain I’m talking about, where firm, dry soil on granite is interspersed with low-lying potholes and navigation becomes difficult if you don’t want to get muddy. I tried to follow the trail, but it all but disappeared. I was close to the Little Wind River, but in the thick trees, I rarely saw it. The trail should have taken me uphill toward the junction to Twenty Lakes and Teepee Pass, but I must have missed it, and eventually even the cairns were no where to be found. Oh well. I knew where I wanted to be, so crashing through the forest it would be. Luckily for me, at a quarter after 7, I spied Lake 9453 right below me, with a camping spot as well.

The first picture is in the baffling area, the second is a trail out of it, and the next two are where I ended up for the night.

Despite the misfortunes, wicked heat, deadfall, missing trails, late start waiting for my family, and long lunch at Raft Lake, I had still covered 10 miles in 9.5 hours and climbed 2,500 feet. To me, given the challenges and the heavy pack, that was pretty good. The campsite I found was at the bottom of the hill and too close to the water for my liking, but also not near the trail, and not exactly “established.” In fact, it was really just more of a nice flat spot abutting the slopes of Wykee Peak, and I wasn’t under the impression that I would find too much better in the next 30 minutes.

Taking off my pack felt glorious, especially as it had extra food in it given that I hadn’t eaten any dinner the previous night. Trout were jumping everywhere, so as usual, the competing desires cropped up:

• Camp shower!
• Food! Dinner, dinner, dinner! (But I was not overly hungry given the heat.)
• Fishing!
• Setting up camp!
• Reading!

I ended up grabbing some gummy worms and Gardettos then getting my food going while I set up camp. Dinner was Peak Refuel’s chicken, rice, and broccoli. Not my favorite meal, but it’s 6.7oz and has a good deal of water, so removing it from my back was a priority. It was a bit late for fishing.

Although I didn’t make a fire, I did wash myself with warm water and then got in the tent to avoid the mosquitoes. I had dinner at 8:30 and was snuggled in bed by 9PM, which for me is quite the feat. I had been suffering from a headache since sunrise, and my tummy felt a little icky, probably just from heat. The nausea with dinner had at least only lasted a little bit.

It was another warm, moonless night, and quite warm. I missed my family and prayed for my (poor-choice-making) sister, and of course sent my deetz to my wife. Sleep was pretty good, overall.

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⤑Day 3: A Short Day to Polaris

I woke up at 0646 and did some fishing, as all the trout were jumping. They were brookies, so catching them was too easy for my liking, but still better than a day in the tower. I once again waited around to see if my family would show up, and they in fact did not. Oh well! They knew where we were going—Polaris!

I left at 1030, heading uphill toward where the trail should be. For whatever reason, it’s actually quite a ways up the hill, and I found myself taking treeless sections across the side of the hill rather than climbing up to wherever it was. I eventually ran into it as it descended down from the heavens.

Old garbage was to be found along the path every now and then (a common feature on the res), and I re-arranged some of it to indicate my path of travel so my family could find me. (Hint: they observed nothing, so I guess I didn’t rearrange the garbage well enough.)

While I didn’t appreciate the climb up from one lake to the next, even though it was less than 100 feet, I absolutely loved the granite slides in between, so I made my way over to them and fished. Big cutthroat trout were everywhere, which really made my day, since I’d reckoned that it would be more brookies. Lake 9530 is otherwise decent but unremarkable, so after getting the salt crust off my shirt, I headed out.

Lake 9530.

It took me 90 minutes to get from Lake 9530 to Wykee Lake. The path is mostly flat but often overgrown or disused, and at certain times it just entirely vanishes and you’re on your own to figure out the way. Sadly, while it’s close to the river, which I bet is very pretty, it rarely gets close enough that you can see it. Cairns also became much less frequent after Lake 9530. I tried to follow the old trail on my GPS for the most part. You’ll know the uphill is coming when you have to cross a small creek and then climb through a never-ending spring. Good luck not getting muddy. A straight climb through the forest brought me rather suddenly upon the trail, which decided to start fully formed in a random spot in the woods. Bizarre.

From there I didn’t actually quickly end up at Wykee Lake. Nope, the trail stays about the lake by about 60 feet (which I suppose might leave good camping spots down near it), and the thick forest means that you don’t get to see anything. I listened to Kevin Simpson’s excellent series (65 podcasts long) on the Christian and the Tabernacle for a long part of this entire hike, and boy was it motivating and engaging, so much so that I didn’t really feel too bad about not seeing the lake. Kevin does an amazing job explaining that the Lord’s Supper is not a sin offering wherein one splashes their sins before the congregation, or declares himself a sinner, but rather it is a peace offering. Listen to Episode 15 for that.

The trail descends down to Wykee Lake near the inlet from Polaris, and I backtracked a ways to see if Wykee were pretty, but it’s debatable if it’s lake at that point or very broad, slow-moving, shallow river. There were numerous grassy, flat spots to camp, but I didn’t desire to stay there, and had promised the crew to stay at Polaris, as it’s a better base camp than the others. Well for me at least, having been here many times before, but Sonnicant, while much uglier, splits the difference better for those who want to explore around a bit—my feeling is that there is enough to see that one should do two trips, one for the Polaris side, and one for the Heebeecheech side, and of course also take a looksie up at Kagevah.

I was now at the base of Wykee Peak, below a chute that would take you up to either Wykee (left) or Roberts Mountain (right). You can walk Roberts if you want to get to Musembeah or Trail Lake while bypassing Twenty Lakes. It is very rocky, but not impossible, and would save a ton of time for someone in shape.

Crossing above Wykee.

Anyway, I climbed up some rocks and made my way across the cascade going down into Wykee. This stream crossing was one of the prettiest ever but hard to describe. I found a trail on the other side which went down toward Wykee and over to Sonnicant, and another, fainter one that headed up toward Polaris and Lake Solitude. I took it, and while it had some ups and downs, it was very navigable. I made my way through the trees for about a half mile and thereafter diverged from the trail, as it went up toward Solitude. Ahead and to my right I could see a beautiful waterfall. It was tempting to go and check it out up close, but I had visions of the gang waiting for me at Polaris in my head, so I didn’t bother.

Off trail to Polaris.

The area near the river has a ton of vegetation, so staying in the trees is preferable. The only area of any consequence was the braided creek beneath the waterfall, but even that just required some careful hopping to avoid wet shoes. Right after, a quick climb brought me past a little pond, and 800 feet later I was crossing an open field very close to Polaris. A stand of trees infringes on the view of the lake, but thankfully they don’t go all the way down to the water. I crossed through them and down a little hill to a very pretty, grassy area that was somewhat lumpen. It would still have made a good place to camp, as the lake was STUNNING. I suppose I’ll let the pictures do the talking, but it reminded me of Lord of the Rings.

In any case, it was only 2:10 when I arrived. I took off my pack and looked east of the lake’s outlet. It seemed there was a field behind a line of trees. I made my way there, hopping from large rock to small to massive, using jammed trees in some spots, hoping that I wouldn’t slip and fall in. Brook trout were everywhere. Thankfully I made it across and was delighted to find infinite spots to camp. I could even hang my flagging where the (absent) crew could spot it.

Views from each side of the outlet.

I crossed back to my pack a big downstream, which I found to be a little easier than right by the lake. Should I set up camp and go exploring? Nah! Instead I laid down with my back, ate some munchies, and took a catnap. After waking up, I crossed back, found a great spot to set up camp, and had the tent erected by 1530. Being set up so early in the day felt wrong and icky, but it gave me time to collect firewood for the coming days (if I ended up having fires) and also to fly fish. I also watched the old movie “Layer Cake,” which was a dumb person’s idea of a smart movie, and seemed as if it were designed to appeal to those who have little in the way of ambition.

A lazy day!

Although the day had seemed to take forever in reference to how long the walk was, it had actually been very short, so the amount of time I spent at camp was almost distressing. However, since I felt very light headed, likely due to the heat, it was a blessing. Surprisingly, both of my solar battery chargers were still at 4/4 bars. I’d only been using my little, 10,000mAH one (the 10k is a lie), and it recharges quite fast when fully unfurled and in the sun. Despite being from 2019, it was still holding up well—of course, I’d gotten less hiking in when I’d been trapped overseas in Dubai and Cuba during the stupid covid years.

Clouds had moved in after 5PM, bringing minor convective activity, but they’d rolled out as well, leaving behind higher clouds and relatively constant wind, as well as somewhat cooler temperatures. I tried to swim in the lake, but found that it was frigid. The cooler temps kept the squeeters down a bit, but I had to put on my coat. My legs got a little chilly.

Dinner was Peak Refuel chicken and rice, while dessert was strawberry cheesecake; eating it just made me hungrier, most likely because I was recovering and had spent the previous portion of the trip mostly just snacking. I read my book and then messaged my wife, who had not heard from my family—that definitely meant that they’d just lost me and kept on their merry way. Not totally surprising, as we’d diverged many times in the past, though on purpose…hopefully this wasn’t on purpose!

I went to bed early, falling asleep by 10PM to another moonless night.

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⤑Day 4: To the Divide, Plus Ice Lakes and Darren Lake

It started raining at 0530, so I had to get up and put on the rainfly. It got cold and windy after that, so I looked at my map and planned my options out. I could probably just go up to Moraine Lake and Darren Lake for the day; it would probably only be 7-9 miles to do that, and without a full pack, the trip would be faster.

Still, I waited until 10…not sure why. It wasn’t like my family would arrive that early. They believe that mornings are for coffee and contemplation, Flo.

My two options were the big rockpile to the left of the giant, granite knob at the end of the lake, or else trying to find a way up the cliffs off to my right, hoping to pop out by Polaris. The rockfield reminded me too much of my climb out of the lakes below Yukon Peak, so I decided to assess the cliffs. I left around 10:15, made my way across the outlet, and headed toward the middle of Polaris Lake.

My route-finding skills were decent, but if you want to have the most pleasant experience, don’t follow in my exact steps. Something of a shelf presented itself along the lakeside, and I followed what looked like a use-path up it. From there I could see a chute that I wanted to take to Solitude, but a bend made it hard to discern if I could access it. On the other hand, it seemed as if I might be able to climb up to the side of the chute, using various little ledges. I ended up doing just that, and it was a big mistake—way too much exposure, and the fall damage would have been a natural 20. I decided (again) that I would no longer do these climbs, not with kids at home.

Thankfully I made it over to the chute and found a tree that allowed me to get down into it. (Yes, I ended up along cliff ledges.) Once inside, the scree wasn’t too bad, and neither were the bushes.

As I climbed out of the chute, a gradual uphill climb took me to where I could expected to see the lake, but another little rise mostly prevented it. At least the walking was very easy, and soon I was to the south end of Lake Solitude—I’d only ever been to the north end the other two times I’d been here. To my south was Moraine Lake, which I decided to check out later. I listened to Part of the Problem and some lateral thinking puzzles and made a note that Dave Smith was going to Casper. We would end up going to see him and Robby The Fire Bernstein there, and boy were they funny, but the weekend before we saw them, we got to fly in a private shuttle plane up to church family camp in Bozeman…talk about a great experience! (I did not use the minibar in the plane for alcohol, but did appreciate the range of beverages.)

Anyway, here were some of the puzzles which accompanied me as I traversed the massive boulderfield at the south end of Solitude:
When the automobile market slowed down in 2003, the automobile parts company DXRacer bought even more wheels than usual. Why?

In 1915, the British board of invention and research developed a scheme to feed wild gulls out of a tall tube with a 90° bend in it. Why? (Easy one!)

In the United States, the first chestnut trees are virtually extinct due to an Asian fungus introduced to the US in 1904. Why did Brian Davis buy antique Chestnut furniture from the 1860s just to remove its varnish and chop it to bits?

In 1986 the American physical society had 4,000 members assemble at a city. The convention went well and there were no complaints from the attendance. However, upon the completion of the convention, the convention center and the city politely told the society they would not be allowed to return. Why? (Funny answer.)

In 1826, an injury to a stork settle the question that had been around since Aristotle’s time. What was the question? (This one I didn’t like.)

The boulderfield kind of ends near the inlet where Darren/Ice Lake’s creek is. Winds came and went, and the weather looked threatening, but I got a bunch of water from the cascade, then did some rather fun fishing. The lake trout were big and happy to hit!

I spent too long fishing but eventually started the climb uphill toward the next lakes. It was only a little way up before I got to a flat spot, and from there I made my way toward Ice Lakes. Well, I guess the uppermost of the Ice Lakes…the bottom one looks like it should be Darren Lakes Lower to me.

The Upper Lake looked like it would be devoid of fish, plus convective activity was building, so I admired it briefly and then started climbing toward the ridge. I knew I wouldn’t really make it up (nor would I want to) the ridge before the thunderstorm started, but there were some areas to shelter that were better than where I was.

I made it to a giant, overhanging boulder (not really any higher than the surrounding terrain given its location on the slope) and took shelter as the rain and sleet started. The ducks on the lake below me weren’t concerned about the thunder or sleet, but I had to move back and forth as the wind shifted, as even underneath the overhang the storm was flinging water and ice on me.

Just before 3PM, I was finally able to continue my climb. The wet grasses were slippery, but going uphill it wasn’t too much of a consideration. It was better to head to the south, along a flat, grassy shelf that slowly gained elevation, than to try and climb the treacherous mountain directly west. I just wanted to see the Middle Fork area, not summit a peak.

As the storm moved off, clear skies returned, but the air stayed cool enough. I got to the ridge at 3:23, so I’d say that the whole climb from Ice Lakes probably takes about 25-30 minutes. Not bad for some amazing views! The only downside was the time of day, which made the pictures a little underwhelming. The lingering humidity also didn’t do the pictures any favors.

East and West.

Although steep, it looked very possible to take a grassy ramp right down to the Middle Fork. When I’d hiked below the ridge in 2019, I had looked up and questioned whether it was something a human could achieve, vacillating between it being an absolutely achievable goal and completely impossible. Anyway, I now think it’s possible, but you certainly wouldn’t want to tumble head-over-butt. Looking around, I couldn’t see a single person moving anywhere, but I was sure that there had to be a few people down in the Fork.

I climbed the ridge a little and got cell reception, which allowed me to video call my wife! Thankfully my baby was also present, and boy her face lit up at seeing me! What a blessing that was. SUCH A CUTE BIBBLI!!! There is no better blessing than being a dad to a great baby with a wonderful wife as your helper. In any case, we chatted for way too long, but the reception was quickly depleting my battery, and I hadn’t brought my charger with me. She said she’d SATCOM me if she heard from the Hills and my mom (DID THEY LEAVE ME ON PURPOSE???), but no, she hadn’t heard from them. That meant that they were fine. Also, a cairn was up there with me.

I left at 1600 and flew down the mountain, hoping that I could keep a pace that would prevent me from having my GPS track interrupted. Less concerning was having no podcast to listen to, but if I broke my leg, it would be sad to be both broken and bored.

After getting a decent way through the sloping bench, I followed a little stream somewhat closely down toward Darren Lake! I had to fish it. The wildflowers were spectacular, but they also hid treacherous moisture—my foot shot out from under me at one point, but I was able to recover and not take a tumble. I had no one to blame but myself, as I knowingly took a steep, slick path.

I got to Darren Lake at 1647. It was definitely quicker to climb the mountainside than to descend. Darren was picturesque, but fierce wind kept whipping up. Despite that, the fishing was ATROCIOUS. HORRIBLE. DON’T BOTHER GOING. Inbox me if you want to see one picture of what I didn’t catch.

With my phone battery critically low (15%) I blazed off toward camp after only 10 minutes of NOT CATCHING ANY FISH. On the way back, I stuck higher up when crossing the boulderfield. Overall it was easier, but some spots were slippery and slidy and treacherous, oh my. Still, I kept it in 8 throttle and hustled toward Moraine Lake. The land sloped down in portions during the approach, and there were a number of great spots to camp, though the area was definitely a wind funnel, with short, stumpy trees.

Still, the lake itself was gorgeous, with spectacular views of the mountains to the south. As it happened, I found that the large, granite knob would not have allowed me to cross to where I was: it was vertical on the Solitude side. I was glad I hadn’t gone up that way, but it meant I would have to go back the way I had ingressed to get back to my camp. I had about 9% battery left, which gave me time to fish for a second. The lake kept going from calm to filled with waves, so I didn’t fish for too long, allocating my time instead to heading down to the cascades. I wished I’d brought my actual camera, but the pictures came out…yeah. They came out.

Solitude to Moraine.

Pictures taken, I high-tailed it toward the chute. On the way there, I found some other areas that had places I could descend. Because I hadn’t done the entire chute coming up, I didn’t know how I’d like the full descent, and stupidly chose to go down one of the new chutes. It went poorly…lots of hanging by armpits, and eventually the ledges with scree below them were simply too dangerous, and I had to make my way back up—no easy feat. Worse, I had to HURRY.

It turned out that hurrying wasn’t too bad, and that the original chute was very easy (I even found an old fishing lure, so others had ended up in the same place in the past.) to clamber down, all the way to the lakeside, which I then followed, thinking that *maybe* I could make my way along it, but likely I’d had to go back up. The latter was correct, due to being cliffed out. Little cairns made their way along the lakeside, through the forests and boulders, and were worth the follow.

Can you spot my tent in the first picture? (Nope!) Last picture is the trail to take between lakes.

I got back to camp at 1931, and by 1938 my phone died, so I set it charging. The thunderstorm from earlier had really dirtied my camp, and it kept getting windy every now and then. On the other hand, Hank and Peggy Hill hadn’t sullied anything, and neither had my own mom. That was weird, because we’d all planned to be at Polaris. My only real concern was for their fuel situation, since I had all the fuel for my mom. I had also brought her some special treats which meant that I’d have to eat them all.

I drank a ton of water and boy did that feel good after my go-go-go day! I had myself a Packit Gourmet pumpkin cheesecake followed by Peak Refuel marinara pasta…and then even had Mountain House Buffalo Chicken and Mac! It’s surprisingly tasty. My appetite was back, helped by watching some Kitchen Nightmares. Along with some chips and snacks, I had myself a 2000-calorie dinner. Amazing. I am a spectacular creature of legend.

After eating my early feast, I opened the rainfly and attached one section to a stay so I’d have better ventilation throughout the evening, as it was pretty warm. Given the warmth, I also decided to go bathe in the lake. It was dark, but the water felt a lot less chilly than the previous day. After bathing and being positively swarmed by bats, I used an old fire ring I’d found nearby to clean myself a little better, and that was absolutely delightful.

The last thing of note for this day was that my bear bag almost got completely stuck in the tree somehow. I managed to use my10-ft tenkara rod to delicately bat it around until I was able to access it. I think that the wind and thunderstorm tossed the bag around and got it all hung up.

What if I am bigfoot? But no one wants to find me.

As I type this, I’m also reading the remainder of my dictation, which is pretty terrible. For fun, you can read it raw:

“Clear skies again tonight I’m liking it though I can’t see cuz I got three and fly on since the weather said there’s 3% chance of showers overnight so is what it is. And tomorrow I’m thinking of maybe going over to hibachi and then clean up the lakes around there if I can do it quickly and and getting as far as I can the same day probably can’t really do that. And I have some trepidation about that upper pack trail but I much prefer that to go back to like and all along back through mova Lake. And not only is they add miles but it descends a ton and then I’d have to climb back another I don’t have to gain another 800 ft so I really don’t feel like doing that. Okay that’s it Love you bye.”

As you can see, this dictation also served as a copy-paste bit for a satcom message to my dear wife. What does it mean? Can you tell? Hints: Rainfly, 30%, Heebeecheeche. In any case, it was another nice night, and I fell asleep right after I got my messages out.

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⤑Day 5: Heebeecheeche and the Rest of the Lakes

It was windy in the morning with convective rolls visible from the ground. After lazing around, I left camp at 10:18 and headed towards Lake Heebeecheeche (I always get nervous typing the name of this lake.). For the past few days, my stomach had been funny, and today was no exception. Probably from exertion, but could also be from eating just a wicked amount of gummy candy. Speaking of exertion, the day quickly became scorching hot.

As I was leaving, I came across a big camp setup with stacked firewood. Odd. No one had been present during my time there, though. I took slightly different paths to Wykee, not because I wanted to, but because the trail is a bit harder to discern heading downhill. Regardless, I got to Wykee Lake with about 30 minutes of walking, and then headed toward (rather boring) Sonnicant.

The trail beside Wykee.

The trail around Wykee Lake was more tedious and faint than I had expected and really stayed on the side of the hill as opposed to right by the lake, but the shore was steep and wooded for the most part. I was also surprised by how steep the climb toward Sonnicant was, and how many switchbacks I had to take for the 250ish feet of climb. Still, it was cool to pop out and cross over my path from the previous year, this time actually on the trail—the same trail I hadn’t been able to locate before! It was wild that I had been within 100 feet of the trail, looked for it, and never found it. The old pack trail that is listed on the map also just isn’t there anymore, long since reclaimed by time.

Below: How maps change over time.

I was more familiar with Sonnicant this time, so I took a quicker route along its edge. At the outlet crossing, I didn’t skirt downhill, as there weren’t people hanging out this year (or at least a camp, with people heading back to hang out), though there was a frying pan hanging on a tree. Anyway, I sped along, then chose to diverge from the previous route to Heebeecheeche and tried to find a new way to the southeasternmost portion of it, as I didn’t want to go over the little hill like I’d done before and then have to backtrack.

My route wasn’t hard, but it also wasn’t quicker. The best way to accomplish the task is to, for the most part, just follow the drainage up until the last, big pond, and then follow the intermittent path/cairns from there. The ponds were incredibly dead, so I didn’t get water at them. Beyond the last big one, a little climb takes you to where all the people and wildlife are naturally funneled, so I’m obviously not the only person who has the same idea about navigating around the area.

The pack trail was great, which made me hopeful that it would be better than the paralleling, lower trail I’d taken in past Mova Lake. As I made my way up toward Heebeecheeche, I saw nigh-infinite brook trout in the stream (where one brookie is, 10,000 more always are). I was able to cross the stream with ease, and once past it, by biggest challenge was finding a spot to put down my tent. Not because there were no good spots, but because there were so many perfect choices that I found it hard to choose. I think that most hikers know the feeling of looking around for a spot, trying to align all the factors to just one’s liking: some trees will protect you from the wind and make you feel cozy while hiding you from the view of passersby, but a nice flat spot in the open gives great views of the mountains from your tent, at the expense of wind. The one has to consider sitting rocks and logs—are there good places to sit? Is it worth it to sacrifice a good place to sit for an incredible view or to be closer to the lake? What about your gravity filter? Perhaps this spot is just perfect in flatness, but THAT spot is almost as good, but it will allow you to hang your gravity filter. These are all things which race through your head.

Spying sitting logs and fire rings, I was reminded of times now past, when this area was more remote, but indeed, so was the world. Even in the 1980s, the Winds must have seemed so much wilder—no internet, no GPS, no cell service…just maps and friends. And no satellite imagery to peruse beforehand either. But as I said, that’s much like the entire world—in the 1980s, visiting Fiji or Brazil would have been truly wild. Now it’s just a simple matter of picking somewhere with low crime statistics. And of course the Western powers are going for what I call GloboHomo—everything will be one homogenous blend. No distinct cultures will be allowed, aside from perhaps Islamic ones, which we import, and Israel, the ethnostate. Looking at the fire rings, I was reminded of times when perhaps one might say that America peaked, though far from the Founders’ intent. Now it’s all endless war (it was in the 80s, and of course in the 70s, and yes in the 60s) and navel-gazing about one’s sex denial.

I sent some more sat pin drops but saw no sign of my family. Bizarre. Given the scorching heat, I decided to get some water from the lake. As I drank, I considered my plan. I could start walking out today, as it was only 1PM, and leave myself a couple more lakes to explore in the future. You know, that little hook to dram me back some time in the future. Or I could explore those lakes…I set my mind on exploring them, and with that decided, I erected my camp. I chose a place suitably far from the water, and of course I was also very far from a trail, so it shouldn’t disturb people too much, even being out in the open a bit. Nearby was a place to sit on a rock or two, and the view couldn’t be beat.

As I set up the tent, a storm started rolling in. I waited on it for a bit to see what it would do; if it would really pop off or bubble up, but it didn’t so I set out and made my way up to the couple of unnamed lakes. Note: there are infinite spots to camp along Heebeecheeche to the north and east. The sides closer to Spider Lake are steep and don’t have flats by the water. Unlike the lower lakes in this drainage, I didn’t see rotten camp chairs, gas canisters, etc. I did spy a frying pan in case you want to cook yourself a trout.

Incredible how fast storms appear.

There were many fire rings along the way, both new and old, and other signs as well: freshly cut branches, old metal poles, and more. The trees were mostly widely spaced and old, with a whortleberry understory—excellent for walking, and it makes one think of the Sierras. A pond beneath Lake 10465 had fish hitting in it, but Lake 10465 didn’t seem to have anything, though I tried in a number of places. While there were fire rings, mostly ancient, around the lake, it wasn’t very suitable for camping, as the ground was too rugged and variable. I fished but there didn’t seem to be any trout in this lake at all.

Last is 10465.

Over a little, scraggle-tree filled rise was the next unnamed lake, so I made my way over to it. A footpath or sorts was present along the edge, if not well defined. The lake looked pretty shallow but had a nice view of the mountains I’d slept right under the night before, and it was teeming with brookies. The inlet was also rather healthy. As clouds began to stack up, I made my way upward toward the lake above, from which a healthy steam flowed. When I had been at Lake 10465, I’d seen a tree-lined slash through the granite that led basically straight up to the lake, but being a completionist, I’d chosen to visit the smaller lake, too.

The shallow lake.

Although it seemed one could just climb straight up beside the outlet, I’d had enough exposure in the past couple of months, so I instead went up the hillside, picking through treeless, bush-filled sections until I could cross the field of giant boulders which hid much of the stream. This was made difficult by the size of the rocks as well as the bushes erupting through them, so there was a little bit of the descending/ascending dance to be done. Once across, the grassy hillside was steep but not difficult to climb. The sun was blazing again, and that much was a total pain. Thankfully, I was listening listen to the History Homos podcast discuss memetic rivalry theory, developed by Renee Girard, a French theorist. Memetic theory had converted the individuals I was listening to from atheism directly to, and only to, Christianity. Cool. I got to the next lake just before 4PM.

Lake 10927 was quite picturesque, though for the Winds, it was kind of like that ex you dated when you were a little desperate: attractive enough, but kind of lifeless, and visually like most of the others, as well as probably more effort than needed to be expended. I fished but caught nothing, and I’m not sure that it hosts life that big. Boeing’s 747 airplane parts carrier (LCF) went overhead, as well as a 787. Although the storm-looking clouds had blown over and then receded to the east, more clouds were approaching. I wanted to visit Lake 10643, so after spending too long an 10927, I made my way toward the lake. From above I could see that many of the forested areas were choked with trees between 6-12 feet high.

Heebeecheeche and the Unnamed Lakes. Lake 10927.

The drop down to the flats was easier than the flats themselves, as the density of the trees was a pain to make my way through. Some of them were so close together that it was impossible to move in certain directions, and I ended up taking “channels” through the forest, hoping that I wouldn’t have to backtrack. These “channels” weren’t exactly open, either, so there was a lot of scraping bark and needles against my clothes. Despite all the scraping along, I was able to break out into an open area and planned a way down, which mostly involved following rock piles.

These lakes, located around 10650′ or so, were spectacular and absolutely worth visiting. You could even camp at them, albeit not with the comfort of Heebeecheeche. The towering mountains looked a lot bigger than in my pictures, trout were plentiful (not brookies, either), and it was so out of the way that very few people would likely disturb you. I might disturb you, though, and my mom says I am one of the most disturbing people of all. Anyway, I was quite happy with both my Topo shoes and my Creepers socks, so I stopped to take pictures of them. My feet felt perfect!

It started to rain a bit as I headed out, mostly spitting on occasion, so I made my way down to the lower lake and…well, fished some more, despite sleet pellets. The wind and rain made fishing harder, but the fish were still quite happy to offer up a bite! I decided that the lunker I caught right before heading out would be the last fish of the trip, just to end on a high note.

The rain drizzled down as if its heart just wasn’t in it, which suited me quite well. I didn’t bother to put on my frog tog or my pack’s rainfly because it just felt so refreshing and invigorating…plus my pack could use a washing. To get back I went uphill a little bit to cross a treeless area, then headed toward one of the ravine-like features I’d seen going down to the lake. On the way up I’d seen a large rockpile that I wanted to avoid, and I likewise didn’t want to traverse right along the side of the lake, which might have a little too much vegetation for me. In the end I had to climb uphill a bit a couple of times, but it was a fairly direct and easy route. I saw some grouse, causing my mouth to salivate. I was able to almost completely avoid rock piles; in fact, the most difficult part was the creek crossing, but that was just hopping between the braids and not falling in.

From the crossing it was almost a straight shot back to camp, and I arrived at just before 6:30, so the walkabout had taken me less than 4 hours, and it was a very leisurely pace. Man, what a place to explore!

My hope was to get up early, so I quickly started attending to close-of-day tasks: water, washing, and food. Dinner was mom’s banana pudding, peach cobbler, and chicken ‘n dumplings, so again a day with a sudden intake of over 2000 calories. It was almost impossible for me to eat, especially after such a very easy day!

After making a little fire and washing up, I put my clothes back on, hoping that I could spring out of bed in the pre-dawn cold on the morrow. I didn’t know if the upper trail I was taking would be any good, and if I had to make my way to Mova again, it would be a slow pace and a long day. A storm began to move in as I was getting ready for bed, and as I settled in, it kicked up in ferocity, battering the walls of my tent. The satcom narrative to my wife included the following:

I heard plenty of coyotes out there and I’ve only seen a little bit of bear poop. There’s a very stormy looking system above right now I was about to go to bed. Clouds are very very dark and they look like they have tons of atmospheric moisture so hopefully doesn’t rain a ton overnight. That’s about it for today. Thanks love you bye.

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⤑Day 6: Out via the Upper Trail

I had planned to get up between 4:00 and 4:30 so I get on the trail early. My other plan was to go to sleep early, but that didn’t quite happen. This storm came in waves throughout the night, going from dead quiet calm to sudden bashing of the tent that startled me awake. The bashing would last for 10 to 30 minutes and it would rain. After a period of rain it would become quiet again, calm and peaceful…and then the bashing would be back.

I did wake up at 4:30 thinking perhaps it would be time to get up, but nom it was raining. And then it was windy and cold when the rain stopped. And then it was raining when the wind stopped. Eventually I did just start packing at 6:00 a.m., hoping that there be a break in the weather so I could stow the tent and get on the trail. Ultimately the last thing that occurred was intense wind, which helped in removing the rain from the outside of the tent at least.

I was able to pack the tent up, and was blessed with weather which was relatively warm. With the humidity, it very much reminded me of an early morning in April or early May in San Antonio, Texas. I was on the trail sometime after 7:10 a.m., quickly crossed the river, and began to follow the pack trail out. As I left I didn’t come across a person, but I did come across a huge pyramid tent—weird looking thing. It was parked right by the trail or perhaps even on it, and had not been there when I had first arrived. I clambered through the Campus of the Triangle Tenters as quietly as I could, hoping not to awaken or startle them—one never knows what people in a tent such as that might do. I don’t think that I sound like a bear, but I do look like a monster, so it’s best to limit interaction.

The trail was easy to follow out for the most part. At times it came and went but I didn’t get lost too often, mostly only being “on my own” for a couple hundred feet at a time before I’d be back on something that was more discernibly a trail. Just under 30 minutes into my hike out, I passed between two lakes…or something like that. It appeared to be a lake with a smaller lake which wanted to connect but couldn’t. In the early season, it might be a water crossing. A footprint was in the mud of this crossing, and, and the smaller of the ponds featured trout hitting the water.

Because I had decided the day before that fishing was over, I pressed on, and shortly thereafter intercepted the large pack trail between St. Lawrence Trailhead and Sonnicant Lake. Looking back across the field from whence I’d come, cairns marked the “way” to Heebeecheeche, but if you weren’t familiar with the area, you’d never know that there was a way to ingress that way. Right beyond the field, a ways into the trees, the trail kind of “starts up,” but even that is entirely hidden and would require you to stumble upon it. At only a 40-minute walk from my campsite to the main trail, at least there isn’t a long way to go. In any case, the orange blazing was back, so the mysterious person had been this way. They’d run out of just orange and there were other colors now.

Left to Sonnicant, cairns to Heebeecheeche.

I passed a couple hundred feet about Lake 9892 but didn’t visit it. In general, these little lakes in the woods don’t interest me too much. If they had something other than brookies, it would be a different story. My pace was excellent for the day, at least early in the morning, averaging between 2.8 and 3.8 mph. As it turned out, there was effectively a river to cross between Lake 10,235 and Lake 9892. To avoid taking off my shoes, I found a magic stick and crossed on rocks, rather precariously downstream of the main crossing, almost falling in. Downed trees helped me out.

9892, the trail being nice, and the river crossing.

From there I didn’t stop until the river/stream going down to Mova Lake, and only stopped then to get water. Along the way, however, I did pass by a pretty, little lake just below 10,200 feet. It had old fire rings near it and wasn’t gross, so if you’re looking for an easy intermediate point that is acceptable, I’d choose that for an ingress. A few ponds in the mile or so past it were not really worth a visit, though.

10200 lake, flagging, and a spot to rest.

That 20-minute break felt nice, even though I’d only gone maybe 3.5 miles for the day. Then it was back on the trail. The trail itself is very nice wide and well defined. If I were to gripe about it is there it is that there is some gain and loss of elevation that seems unnecessary. However there’s not a ton of deadfall like the lower trail by Mova Lake, and that was a huge blessing.

The temperature continue to rise as I walked and I was disappointed that I would hit the climb over the pass during the heat of the day, but what are you going to do? It was better than walking out during a wind and rainstorm.

The last, prominent stream crossing featured a demolished bridge (and a leftover sleeping bag just before it), but a log across it also featured a string/rope line to help you with balance. After I crossed, the trail went towards a small lake or alongside the stream going downhill. At first I went downstream, then followed the trail up a little hill, at which point it just ended in the forest. I navigated around the forest in the area it ended, looking to pick it back up, taking a sort of grid pattern, but I couldn’t find it. Thinking I must be in the wrong spot, I returned back to the stream crossing and then up towards the lake. Around the lake the trail again ended. Bizarre. I looked at the map and even Gaia showed that the trail indeed goes from that stream crossing into the forest. It also showed the trail ending in the forest. Uh oh.

Eventually I just went uphill/east near the crossing, then cut south, and was suddenly on the dadgum trail, wide and pretty (not words used together to describe a female!). So how did I miss it? Still haven’t figured that one out. Anyway, go ye neither downstream nor upstream beyond the crossing, but rather straight up into the woods. (And perhaps find some missing bear spray.)

In the woods there were sometimes cairns, but mostly those were not needed. A lone pond was about the only thing of note until Entigo Creek (get water here…the next creek is a red-bacteria+algae seepage), and the going was almost completely flat and well shaded. I made phenomenal time and came across a group of teens and some adults breaking camp at 10:30—I was shocked that they were just waking up (alongside the trail) as I had already made it so far. Of course maybe they were like me and had lost family and stayed around to—nah, strike that. I did at least wake up very early every day. Good for them! Some were still in their tents, some were stretching with coffee and rubbing their eyes…definitely late risers. Like me, though, it seemed they’d face a climb in the heat if they were outbound. As I was trying to be expeditious, I gave a friendly wave with a hello and hustled on. Entigo Creek was itself a non-event, hopped over easily.

Then.

The.

Pass.

The first 400 ft of the pass are relatively grueling, and only Clint Russell’s Liberty Lockpod kept me going—he reviewed the insanity that was the Trump shooting, and how none of that makes a lick of sense unless there was something deeper going on. The path is (was) steep, dry, and deeply rutted in parts. Thankfully, following the first 400 vertical feel, things become much more gradual, and the trail enters wide open grasslands. Despite the lack of shade, this allowed me to increase my pace significantly. The views to the rear were awesome, and I really want to go up to Elk Lake in the future—I had to wonder if it was worth trying to find the pack trail in (intermittently VERY visible on satellite, but who knows the status), or better to just want the long, sloping grasslands along the hillside, aiming for improved pace, then a quick descent down into the cirque.

Going up the pass.

Below: The actual trails do not match the classic USFS map, but do indicate a nice pack trail into Elk Lake. The Gaia track is more accurate but has fewer indicated trails, some of which are clearly visible in the recent satellite imagery.

I reached the top of the pass at 1130 and gave a phone call to my family, by which I mean Hank, Peggy, and my mom. As it turned out, they thought me pointing up to them back in the canyon on the first day was my signal for them to “go ahead, just go!” Then Hank hadn’t brought any really great maps (satellite, old paths, etc.). To compound it, they’d all just forgotten where I’d said we should camp (2 options) the first night, and had just pressed on into the woods until they’d found a lumpy area to put their tents out. On the second day, I’d somehow managed to pass them. Despite spending all that time at Twin Lakes, they’d gotten behind me and showed up after I left, where the two women had skinny dipped without leeches. Then they’d taken the miserable downed-tree-hell-trail up toward the Mova trail, but when they’d gotten to the cutoff to Raft Lake, Hank had insisted that they keep climbing up…so they’d missed that lake entirely! They had met the group at Mova Lake (church group from the Midwest), but had only terminally made it in for the entire trip to Sonnicant, where they’d then stayed and decided to just head back to the trailhead. Yep, they had not listened (forgot, they claimed) that I told them NOT to stay at Sonnicant, but rather to stay at Polaris. Because I’d talked about this so much from previous trips, it was baffling to me. Anyway, they’d exited a day earlier! When I was getting to Heebeecheeche, they were busy walking out on the upper trail.

Top of the pass. Loved the rocks. About took one with me.

Regardless, they were happy to know that I was safe but had not been worried about that. Hank did show me a picture of a Shiner Bock beer, noting that once again, the same as last year, a beer reserved for me, had to be consumed by him. Unlike the previous year where I got out a day early despite doing more miles, this year they got out a day early…though they did significantly less mileage. I also called my wife and explained what had happened and then began the long, 2,000 foot descent to St. Lawrence Trailhead.

This descent does seem interminable. It just never ended. While “The Meadows” were pretty enough, everything else was just very stony trail (I swear it was all foot-sized rocks) and a little bit of dust. The heat was scorching. It was well over 80°, almost a hundred on the valley floor, but at least there was shade from the trees. Unfortunately, despite featuring broken sky cover with clouds everywhere, the sun somehow managed to zig and zag between the clouds, or so it seemed, because I couldn’t catch any of the shade that the clouds should be providing. For that reason I had to keep wearing my hat. As much as I love the hat, in this heat, I kind of also love to not have it on so much, so that the sweat along my brow can cool me down as a zip downhill. The downhill section here wasn’t actually that fast, and I probably averaged 2.5 to 2.8 mph for the most part.

The worst thing wasn’t that the downhill, which is killer on the knees for some people, but rather that was so rocky. The rocks really bashed my feet, and some of them, were quite loose. It’s certainly not terrain that you can make maximum forward speed along. In any case, below the meadows it took another 2 miles of downhill until I found a good watering spot, which is just the large creek. Deeply shaded, there were a ton of brook trout making their way around. Since I was only about 1.25 miles from the Jeep, I pressed on without stopping. The last mile or so was pretty flat, and I was saddened to find the church vans happily parked .65 miles from my Jeep—that’s right, folks, you can drive up quite a bit farther if you aren’t going in via the river as we did.

I eventually made it to the trailhead at 1:40, though that time included the 30-40 minutes on the phone with my family up top—so about 6 hours after leaving Lake Heebeecheeche if all breaks other than the phone call are included. That was pretty good for over 12 miles (+1800/-3600 feet) in the heat, or so I thought. I was happy to find that while not frozen, my Retrospec cooler had at least provided me with some very cool drinks.
 

The drive home was uneventful, though the temperature went from 95 at the valley floor to 50 in Dubois during a passing storm. I got in to my house less than 10 hours after leaving camp! What a small world.

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➤Conclusion and Rating

I very much love the area around Sonnicant and will take people there (on a leash) in the future. I would not recommend the river/Twin Lakes ingress, though for those willing to endure a little misery, it has some awesome fishing and pretty views. Since the best parts of the trip are the higher lakes, making a beeline for Heebeecheeche from St. Lawrence is the way to go. The worst part is definitely the St. Lawrence side of the pass, though. Talk about a slog filled with ennui and granite.

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