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➤Quick Facts

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⤷Introduction

Relive ‘Lakes of the Winds’

Hank and Peggy Hill, my engineer friends from Tejas, desired to go on some form of hike with me and my brood mother. Hank and Peggy are often given to the vice of wretched jealousy when they see pictures of me out enjoying God’s creation, and their fabulous wealth is apparently not a panacea. Because I feel bad for both the downtrodden, I suggested that we hike from Big Sandy, over Washakie, to South Fork Lake, and then to Grave Lake—that would allow up to do day hikes to a number of places, such as Spearpoint Lake (I had developed an interest after seeing this), Musembeah Lakes, Trail and Roberts Lake, etc. Hank, Peggy, and my dearest mother had all done the Big Sandy-Washakie-Lizard Head Loop before, but Washakie would be new for me.

My plan was for an ingress to the base of Washakie Pass, a day over to South Fork Lakes, then perhaps Grave Lake as a base to explore the other lakes in the area, eventually vacating on day 6 or so. All of us had a week off, so it would work pretty well if we didn’t break legs or necks or whatever else. The biggest thing that usually breaks on trips such as these is the stamina of Hank and Peggy, who often find that they bite off more than they can chew—well, of the hike. They pack a lot of food an in that respect are able to bite off less than they can chew, though my suspicion is that their insanely heavy packs do them no favors in terms of endurance.

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⤑Day 1: Big Sandy to Lake 10,689

I left Jackson Hole and the conditions were downright dismal, with ceiling OCV070-TOPUNKN, constant rain, and a temperature on the valley floor of 56F. I was on the road at 0814 but boy did it look like we were in for some unsettled weather during the week of our hike, with high loads of atmospheric moisture forecast to be present pretty much the duration of the trip. With the diurnal heating and orographic uplift, I expected some nice thunderstorms to occur beginning around 2-4PM each day.

Passing Rim Station en route to Pinedale, I ascended about the overcast later to discover to discover a much higher overcast layer (around 13,000) above, but it wasn’t producing active rain. In Pinedale, I went by a gas station and got a small box o’ butter wine and some crackers is so that our merry band of vagabonds could have the Lord’s supper at the trailhead, as it was a Sunday. As an aside, I find it quite strange that what was once a dinner is now often a thimble-sized, pre-packaged, double capsule with a tiny crumb and a drip of grape juice. I wonder how much Chrisitianity misses out by not having the communal bonding over an actual meal—Jesus seemed big on bringing people together around food, but not it’s a silent moment where you close your eyes or stare at your shoes/the back of the head in front of you.

I also stopped by the Great Outdoor Store and grabbed a pair of Altra Olympus 5s, which they had in stock. Love that store! There wasn’t a single pair in Jackson, but with my obliterated big toe on my left foot, I really wanted to try out the more foot-shaped toebox of the Olympus shoes. As noted in my review (disliked by some, and not without reason, as I have the writing talent of an AI designed by clowns and managed by monkeys), the feel of the shoe is fantastic, but the quality leaves a lot to be desired. These shoes didn’t last the season.

My mom and Hank/Peggy were a bit slow, but I arrived at the packed trailhead at 11:11; the sky conditions here featured scattered clouds. Parking was a blast, but we managed to get Hank and Peggy tightly in beside my Jeep. After saddling up, we had a meditation, prayer, and the Lord’s supper (lunch?) and then at 12:17 hit the road—trail I guess. As we walked through the parking lot, a man looked at us, looked at the stacked woman (by which I mean that no one would envy the extra weight she was forced to carry) he was with, patted his sidearm and said, “This isn’t for the bears, babe. It’s for the tourists!”

I had been curious about the Highline Trail, which I hadn’t done before, but we decided to stick to the route we all know and love, following the CDT 7096 up past Dads and Marms Lakes. As we got to the cutoff to head up to Fish Creek Park, I realized that I had accidentally worn my Costa Sampan glasses rather than Costa Ferg XLs. The Sampans are very nice, but they have a sepia tint and are much heavier and tighter fitting than the Ferg XLs, plus they play less well with my Shokz bone-conduction headphones.

Hank and Peggy aren’t the fastest, but we crested the hill onto the flats (I’ve hiked this section so much that I don’t describe it in detail anymore, aside from changes or notable features), we passed a large group of about 12 individuals or varying ages. We also discovered that the normal trail to Fish Creek and Mirror Lake was maybe trying to be removed, but it was hard to ascertain. Since I’ve been in Wyoming, many good trails have been vanished by our government. Of course, as they subscribe to the tenets of the Malthusian Death Cult which sees human flourishing as a moral evil, they only reason that the Winds are still open to the public is because there is not yet a large enough accretion of the population which crouches down to lick the hand of its master. After 2020, however, I believe that we are getting very darn close.

We didn’t stop for water until Donald Creek. My mom found an abandoned cooking cup which she gladly claimed for herself; these are rather expensive, but under the Predator Class which prints money and sees the people not as citizens, but as a tax farm to fund its global empire, what isn’t expensive these days? After leading Donald Lake we found that the USFS had accidentally made significant improvements to the trail, no doubt due to a sane voice which had somehow not been quashed. It is important to remove such public servants as soon as possible, as they set a bad precedent for the power dynamic.

Around 4PM we got to Marms Lake and saw a few people camped there, but we pressed on, taking the right turn to Hailey Pass Trail 7111 and climbing through the ravine until we were again on the flats, after which a short break and snacks were had. The views from the flats were rather nice, and less than 30 minutes after leaving Marms Lake, we were crossing Washakie Creek. A lone hiker was there seemingly wrestling his shoe, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he was winning.

I told my group that my plan was to reach Lake 10689 and hope that we had it to ourselves, so not longer after gaining the high ground north of Washakie Creek, we cut across the woods and headed straight for the lake. As we climbed smooth, exposed granite and traversed among the trees, we passed over tiny creeks, deeply cut but less than a foot wide, and brimming with trout. It’s amazing what the creatures can survive, but I am no fan of the tiny-home lifestyle. Orienteering to 10689 was a breeze, and we mostly just followed an established drainage, reaching the lake just before 1830. Numerous places were available for our camping pleasure, but we stuck to the west and on the south side of the exiting creek. A flat spot half-encircled by trees afforded some wind protection as the firs were to the west, preventing the prevailing winds from whipping us too much. Nearby granite outcropping also added some to the sheltering effect, though the open hillside down to the creek provided the soothing sound of the brook.

Below: From Washakie Crossing to the lake.

The sky condition changed from broken to overcast as the evening wore on; mom and I both collected water, and I set my tent about 50 feet from the rest of the group. I hate having my tent too close, as it really disturbs me that I might snore and wake others up—my soft palate can be problematic if I sleep on my back with a pillow that lets my head fall too far back. Unlike me, the other campers prefer to nestle close together, like tent caterpillars, except their tents cost hundreds of dollars and aren’t spun from their butts. (Though this is an assumption on my part, and you know what they say about assumptions.) Being a generous sort, I allowed my dear mom to sample a bit of my freeze dried ice cream sandwiches. She found them ok, or so she said, but she preferred the double chocolate cookies that I also let her taste.

My dinner was a new, favorite combo of mine, which though insanely heavy for a backpacking meal, was—and is—quite delectable. What is this meal, you certainly didn’t ask yourself? Well it’s PackIt Gourmet’s Trailside Bean and Cheese Burrito mixed with Next Mile Meal’s Beef Tacos, all wrapped in a BYOB! They’re quite heavy (around 8oz all in), but I like to bring them along and eat them first. By the time I was done, eating my PackIt Gourmet Boston Cream Parfait was almost an impossibility.

Below: Camping, dinner, and night! My Creepers socks were the bomb and helped me feet.

After dinner, everyone else went to bed, but I had myself a quick camp bath. The wind picked up and it was rather a cold experience, but I was certainly refreshed. My Creepers socks had done an amazing job of keeping feet from experiencing any pain. I had purchased them after growing tired of taping my feet, and given that my toenail had come off, I had able had trepidation about using a merino wool toe sock. Despite that, these socks had been amazing for the 11 or so miles I’d put on them. I had no hot spots, no pain, and no need for tape. What a blessing! Why hadn’t I tried this solution before?

I had also purchased a brand-new NeoAir XLite by Therm-a-Rest, and as I snuggled into bed, I found that it was incredibly warm, and perhaps a bit too warm for the conditions as I sweated a bit. I had offered to let my mother use it, and she had declined, so maybe she was wiser than I gave her credit for. Unlike my Sea-to-Summit Sea Ether Light XT, the XLite didn’t have the fancy pillow-lock system, so I resorted to tying my pillow down so that it wouldn’t slip away. Many people have complained that while the XLite has some of the best warmth-to-weight, it is too crinkly sounding and not as comfortable as others. I wasn’t bothered by the sound and found it to be about as comfortable as a pad can get, so no complaints from me.

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⤑Day 2: The Journey to South Fork Lakes

I got up at 0900 and soon enough watched the DAL 757 flight from JAC go overhead on its merry way to ATL. I snacked around but didn’t have a breakfast, though the others did. A group of hikers passed along the far shore headed downhill and to the north of us. We headed out at 1015 and skirted to the south and east, looking for the easiest way toward Washakie Pass, itself topping out right about 1000 vertical feet above—always nice to start the morning with a climb of the Empire State Building. The climb wasn’t difficult, but it was strenuous with the pack still so heavy, and without wind, we all felt the heat. Looking back, we saw a group of younger hikers; two were men and the other was a woman. One man and the woman went and skinny dipped in the lake (mostly sitting naked in the cold thing), while the other kept a polite distance to himself around a bend, giving them their privacy. It wasn’t hot-hot (you know, it was hiking-hot, but not swimming-hot) out yet, so they were all pretty brave to be getting in the water. The man who had no female companion seemed to wear his undies into the water.

Below: Leaving our lake!

Just before 11 we intercepted the trail and began the hike up. Numerous groups of hikers were heading out as we climbed, and although the wind was howling on our side, a few of them warned us to watch ourselves on the descent, as they said it was far worse on the eastern side of the Continental Divide. We made it to the top at 11:38, and there mom decided to do work before we left (I need to find a way to disconnect here.).

We headed down at noon and found the wind on the eastern side had abated. Having done many passes in the area numerous times, I was happy to find that the going was distinct without being scrabbly. We descended by a creek for part of the way, then crossed over to the south to look down on the southern lakes—though in reality I was scoping out how feasible a trip over the top from Barren Lake area was, as I had considered it before, so that one might be able to go up from Shadow Lake, see all that, pop over the top, muddle one’s way down to Pass Lake, then connect with the trail at Washakie Lake. The view from just above the 11,000 contour was great, and the potential route I had mentioned was definitely not impossibly difficult. Even my own mother, loathe to engage in questionable off-trail routes, looked and agreed.

We made our way back to Washakie Trail and followed it past large boulders down to the Macon Lake outlet. Though wide, it was channeled between many large, flat boulders, and thus not challenging. It was also a perfect time to get water. I shared some Sun Chips with our crew and looked at my map. It seemed to me that we should hit Washakie and Loch Leven Lakes on route to South Fork. I noted to my mom that I was loving my Creepers merino socks. She said that hers pinched a bit during the descent, but that she also liked them. I hadn’t quite sized hers as appropriately, but her feet also don’t suffer the maladies that mine do. I told her that I was interested in the lakes at the other side of Bernard Peak; if one could get over the pass (maybe, looks ultra steep), one could get to the lakes in the canyon above Grave Lake. Hmmm.

As we left the watering hole, the trail left the lake and meandered along a little ridge, then, took a sharp right turn and plunged toward Washakie Lake. A blast of heat brought some stench to my nose, but I didn’t think too much of it. Gradually the smell came back, then worsened, and as we hooked sharply back to the left in the final descent toward the lake, we came across the huge, bloated corpse of a horse, which had died and been left to sit feet from the trail. Nasty! We quickly scurried past it.

Washakie Lake was pristine. Near the inlet a sign was posted telling people that camping there was prohibited. Although I respect the distance-from-water rules and always try to camp discreetly so that others will not have their view of nature marred by my presence, a finger of land extending out into the lake would be sorely tempting to camp on. The lake was truly gorgeous, but we didn’t have infinite time to spare, so we pressed on for another 1/2 mile, then headed north through the woods to Loch Leven. Despite the great, Scottish name, much like Sonnicant Lake to the north, Loch Leven was prettier said than witnessed. It appeared that one could indeed, however, climb to the north and cut off miles en-route to Spearpoint Lake, though from the Loch Leven side, we really didn’t know what you’d encounter once you reached the top and needed to head back down. I also wondered if one could pop over from Spearpoint to Lake 10515, then down to Grave Lake. Always hard to tell if these things would be easy, difficult, or even impossible.

I amused myself listening to the history (shady history) of the free convertible ride through Dallas, if you know what I mean, and the others took a break to pee and eat some food at Loch Leven. When we left, I vectored us toward the outlet of the South Fork Lakes, envisioning a fun, off-trail hike rather than a laborious slog less directly via the trails. We crossed through the forest, over the trail, and across a meadow, then back into the forest, eventually coming out to the steep ravine cut by the creek below Little Washakie Lake—for the completionist, hitting up Little Washakie and traversing between it and Loch Leven would only add perhaps a 1/2 mile or so to the trip. From there we could see that our options were to stay north and then cross to the east of South Fork Creek, or cross Little Washakie Creek and climb around the base of Payson Peak. Previous people had done both (ask me how I know), but to me going the Payson route seemed better, as it had more boulders, but wasn’t as densely choked with riparian brush.

Decision made, we descended the steep hillside and looked for a place to cross the roaring creek, which was deep and ridiculously swift, but also very beautiful. I ended up heading upstream a bit to find some boulders that weren’t slippery; a hop-hop-hop to mid-stream followed by a jump across to a large, stable granite boulder put me safely on the other side at about the 10200 line. Making our way up the hillside involved some mild boulder hopping; I vectored us toward the trees to get us out of the boulders and to avoid some unrequisite gain and loss of elevation.

The trees proved to be somewhat slow going (lots of ducking, still plenty of climbing over and around boulders, etc.), but the views of the valley were quite nice. A few sections here were quite fun for me, with one area appearing to be what I called a boulder village—I’m not sure that Hank and Peggy liked it as much as I did. It took us about 20 minutes to make it from the creek out of Little Washakie to the creek/stream below the South Fork Lakes. Boy was the scenery stunning. As my old friend Beatriz would have remarked, “Thank you, Lord!”

Getting across this stunning scenery was another thing entirely. Holy dadgum cow was the brush thick; finding a good spot to cross was pretty annoying, and it was with trepidation that we carefully made our way to the other side, lest we snap a leg in the crevices hidden everywhere by the brush. All told, we reached the lower of the South Fork Lakes about 50 minutes post-Little Washakie Creek. The fishing was spectac—I mean the lakes were devoid of fish. Yeah, that’s the ticket! Unfortunately, the wind befitted the name of the range, and my family (I mean they all are, at least spiritually) wanted to move it along, so we did. There was a light use trail along the eastern shoreline that we gladly followed. Unlike some trails, this one was reminiscent of driving in Florida and beelined directly toward the upper lake. A few ponds between the lakes were were pretty to look at but certainly seemed to be mosquito factories.

About 1000′ from the lake I suggested that we cut to the south and then let me look for a spot for us to camp. My feeling was that we might find ourselves rather packed in with other customers if we headed further east, primarily because trail 729 cruised into the area from that direction. (The next day I would find that I was correct about people arriving there and camping as soon as they popped out of the woods, but for this night, we’d end up having the place to ourselves.)

Mom accompanied me and we left the aged Hank and Peggy Hill sitting on some rocks as we made our way through the disastrously bouldery knolls, topped with scrubby pines, south and westward, looking for nice, hidden spots for our tents. Things looked less than promising; the high ground proved no advantage in spying out seclusion for us. A little cove-like area ended up being beautiful but right on the water (verboten) and very tight for 3 tents. I had my mother wait where she was and climbed to the southeast. There was nothing but sloped boulder fields choked with bushes. Mom liked the cove, so I hustled back up and other the hill and brought Hank and Peggy back with me.

Somewhat dissatisfied, I left the merry band of 3 and went searching for somewhere better. 300 feet to the east of the cove as the crow flaps I found a small, sloping field, nestled at the base of the scrub pines, with more scrub pines eastward providing a slight wind break, and a granite knoll straight to the south. A small opening in the pines to the south let the wind in, but it wasn’t all that uncomfortable. Intermittent flat spots provided placements for tents, but there not a huge spot to be found, so we couldn’t all camp right together—but of course, such is my preference.

I informed the crew about this, and having not yet unpacked, they wished to assess the area as well. As they got their gear back on their backs, I climbed a spit of land to the west, but alas, despite making my way up 50 feet of boulders and cliffs, all I found was more boulders and cliffs—of course, I didn’t really look all that hard, as being on the rocky finger would put one too close to the water; the thing only appeared some 200-300 feet wide at maximum.

My family appreciated the new spots to camp (some kvetching by my mother at being too far away, likely somewhat caused by the thought of bears—I reference of course the Jim Creek Lake episode where she suggested abutting tents—though perhaps also some genuine desire to hear others snore. As we unpacked and set up, the cumulus buildup was appreciable and threatening. We watched a marvelous waterfall cascading down Lizard Head Plateau get whipped into a fine spray by the increasing winds, appearing to atomize before teaching the ground below. Flecks of spit from the sky intermittently accosted us, but the scenery was so staggeringly beautiful that we could think of nothing except how blessed we were to look upon the beauty of God’s creation. (Of course, getting water from the waves was quite the chore.)

As the gloaming made its approach, the clouds broke and the sun like the stark, granite walls around us, providing a beautiful sandwich of colors: blue water, iron grey cliffs, yellow, sunbathed granite, and a topping of beautiful, cerulean blue sky to top it off. (I left out the verdant grass and bushes because it didn’t fit with the sandwich theme.)

I had brought a lot of food in order to sample some new meals. Although one can test them at home, the experience is never the same, much as even a delicious ribeye won’t land the same if you sample it when completely full. Having repented of my first disappointment with it, I ate Next Mile Meals Italian Style Beef Marinara (you will love it if you clear your head of the thought that it will be at all akin to Peak Refuel’s non-Italian style version), and for a follow-up, as the NMM is somewhat of a meager helping had by itself, I also tried out PackIt Gourmet’s Dottie’s Chicken and Dumplings. Let me say that I love PackIt’s meals, but their formulation of chicken and dumplings is a real disappointment. Even Backpacker’s Pantry crushes them on this meal, and at what…2/3^rds of the price? Actually, this is an important topic, so let me break it down quickly. My favorite meals are made by:

1. Pinnacle Foods There is no better meal than their Herb Roasted Chicken and White Cheddar Biscuit Dumplings. That particular meal is so dadgum tasty that I sometimes salivate when I see it in my summer gear closet. I often find myself saying, “No Lucas, you can’t give in. Don’t eat that meal. Save it for hiking. You’re not made out of money. You can’t afford to be eating these things just because you have a taste. Having self control in this moment is what separates you from the animals. As well as the fact that they don’t know how to use retort or omnidegradable pouches.”
2. Peak Refuel and PackIt Gourmet. PackIt Gourmet loses on weight-to-nutrition and trash produced (they sometimes include things such as packets of mayonnaise), but they win on having unique meals that can turn hiking into an almost glamorous culinary experience. As you may have guessed, many of their meals are best if you BYOBurrito, as seen with my first meal on this hike. Peak Refuel has heavenly food as well, and they pack in the calories and nutrition, but their meals are mostly your standard hiking fare—the one that stands out the most as being different-ish is the Homestyle Chicken and Rice, which simply tastes marvelous. I remember exactly where I was sitting in the Gros Ventre when I first bit into that, and man…yum.
3. Everything else except Bushka’s Kitchen, which is too wholesome for me. (I respect their efforts, and the granola types may order this list buttside-up.)

Anyway, Dottie’s was a bit too wholesome for me, but if I had wanted a chicken and noodles meal with veggies, it would have been to expectations. As a meal of dumplings, it was a letdown. Anyway, I chowed down on that, part of a cookie, some chips, gummies, and chocolate donuts as well. By training my body to have an adamantium skeleton, I have developed the ability to pack such heavy, kill-you-soon food deep into the wilderness, in much the same way that a small chihuahua cannot.

The others made a small fire for warmth, and I did the same. We did not use some of the old (or not-so-old, either) fire rings, nor did we create new ones. Being old, I remember when fire rings were in fashion, and of course now they are anathema, much as humans are becoming to the Malthusians.

Clouds moved in with the darkness, as did a humid chill. Intermittent, light rain persisted throughout the night, providing a soothing sound to accompany the distant lapping of waves against the rocks. The only problem with the halcyon experience was the wild whipping of wind which kept bending my tent over and popping me in the sides and face. Despite the undesired zephyr zipping o’er the land, I mostly slept well.

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⤑Day 3: To Spearpoint and Grave Lake and Misery

The title for this day sounds bad, yet I will always recall it fondly, primarily because I survived (upset the 10s of people who read this site, no doubt, and rightly so). The day began cold and dreary, damp grasses and bushes all around, and the battleship sky descending and scraping its hull along the granite. Blech!

I got up at 8 and put on my WillowAce socks, which I have come to appreciate compared to Darn Tough, which I used to wear. The WillowAce socks don’t provide nearly the same dreamy ride as Darn Tough, nor are they likely of anything close to comparable quality, but they are stout and have a well-defined toe box, which I have found helps me avoid having my toes compress together. So while it is perhaps not as ethical to buy them, for me they do a good job of preventing extreme pain and deformity, and as you might imagine, that matters a good deal.

Due to the miserable cold, we didn’t get going until 1145. Also due to the cold, I ate some food prior to leaving, though not the full-blown breakfasts my ravenous compatriots ate. (Typically I avoid eating in the morning as it contributes to my pooch, but more importantly, causes me to be hungry more throughout the day.)

The overcast sky became broken as we left and made our way toward the base of Lizard Head Plateau, where a small lake is set apart and connected to the largest lake by a creek, but otherwise separated by a little, tree-lined ridge. We all wanted to do some fishing (sadly, there are no fish in these lakes—none at all, can you believe it—I even saw something that looked like a large fish swimming in one of the little streams that enter the lake!), and I wanted to get close to that waterfall. Traipsing around the perimeter to the north and east wasn’t difficult, but a couple of streams threatened to get my feet wet, which I had no desire to see happen. Again, there were as many fish as there will be chefs who use cilantro in heaven, so it was a sad experience that yet oddly ate into my time.

Numerous hominids had started arriving while I was fishing (and catching nothing, not even sticks, mind you), and my group had departed from view by the time I reached the base of the waterfall (which involved a climb up through a huge boulder pile), so I made a quick descent and went around the southwestern way between the lakes to get back. The creek crossing between the small lake and the larger one was much more pleasant than the marshy ones I’d dealt with on the other side. I came across the happy campers en route, though perhaps they weren’t all that happy after all, as they acted quite surly.

The gang was back at the packs, and we set off for wherever we’d end up at just past 1:15. Trail 729 eventually revealed itself but was quite indistinct, likely because people diverge from it while en route to explore the lower lake. As we went along it became clearer and Tepee Pass popped into view. I showed my compatriots the pass. One can go down from Gave Lake to Onion Meadows and then over the pass. There are a few lakes in it, but the trail mostly avoids them. Still, it leads to Trail and Roberts Lakes, and from there one can traverse over an unnamed pass and down by Lake 11035 all the way to Grave Creek and back to Grave Lake. To me this seemed like an awesome little day hike.

Since we had time, we went and scoped out Lake 10544; it was scenic enough, but for the Winds nothing special. Valentine Lake just below was more difficult to approach as it didn’t have a meadow by it as Lake 10544 did. I got close enough to see it and didn’t find it worth the effort of descending down the wooded hillside to get closer.

Just north of the end of Valentine Lake is trail 716 which goes up Lizard Head. My crew had many negative memories of their trip over it which very much amused me as they recalled with horror the interminable trip over desolation, only to descend what they described as the steepest, longest pass ever seen by man, where they met a 25 y/o going the other way who expressed to them that he was ready to die, and wished to know if it would get better, and they could only look at him and sadly shake their heads as they silently contemplated the grim fate that awaited him.

Beyond Valentine Lake the trail does two switchbacks as it descends; they’re really quite long switchbacks, which I found a bit annoying. What I found less annoying was some dropped Jolly Ranchers on the trail. Freshly lost, these things proved to be a delicacy. I shared them with the others as we headed downhill on Bears Ear Trail 716, arriving at Ranger Park at 1420. Ranger Park features two distinct trails that cross at different areas, and we went to the north one to shuck shoes. The weather was showing off its convective potential and I hoped we’d not get stuck in a thunderstorm. The upside to the increasing cumulus activity was just how gorgeous it made the area. Adding some clouds to the mix is always better than a plain, summer sky when you’re in the mountains.

The crossing wasn’t too deep, though the stones were smooth and slippery, and the water numbingly cold. I didn’t have a magic stick so I relied on my balance, and it thankfully didn’t fail me. Once on the other side, I found a boulder to sit on near the intersection of trails 716 (x2) and 718. Mom sat near me and we ate some snacks as our feet dried. We had an awesome view of Payson Peak and the area we’d traversed the previous day.

30 minutes after arriving at Ranger Park we set out off trail for Spearpoint Lake, heading generally northwest toward the long ponds/marshes just below the 10200 contour on our maps. The contours seemed to indicate the gentlest of climbs, and we’d be able to skirt the buttress between Loch Leven and Spearpoint, hopefully making an easy ascent to the latter from the marsh listed on the map about 300 feet below it.

At the northwest section of Ranger Park we found a bear box. As we progressed uphill into the woods, we found old, disused building parts (explanation?), as some sort of tipi-configured logs. If you have an explanation for this, I beg you to let me know. I love history of areas like this.

As we ascended, thunder began to rumble, then there was a sprinkle that turned into something on a rain. Mom gave me her extra poncho which also covered my backpack. We pressed on up through the woods and the rain began to truly pour. At 3:15 we made out away around the strip of marsh, the continued uphill until we approached the marshes below the lake.

There we found a notable creek to cross; notable because it was really more of a very wide pond in most places. My feet were already wet, though I didn’t want them to keep getting soaked and chilled again and again, so we made our way through thickly-clumped vegetation until we found a spot where the creek was rather narrow and easy to jump, though it was deep nonetheless. It might have been easier to cross on downstream, as we were then pressed into the forest which wasn’t as passible (lots of branches and dense trees) as I’d like. We crossed yet another creek, and finally came to what appeared to be the actual stream leading up to Spearpoint Lake.

This tiny, little creek was gorgeous, and bizarrely it had some very large fish in it! We played with the fish before heading west and climbing steep, but easy hillside, with trees spaced far apart and without bushes to cause one to stumble. It had also stopped storming, which was a Godsend. We’d end up finding out that climbing right by the creek would actually have been better (yes, mom, you were right, sheesh) if we’d just gone uphill another 60 vertical feet, but hindsight…anyway, the hill flattened out, we crossed a boulder field, made our way over slabby granite and through stunted trees, and eventually arrived at Spearpoint. The batholithic mountain to the southwest was amazing. I’d love to return to see it in better light!

Spearpoint wasn’t the best for camping thanks to the wind and how boulder-strewn it was. Where boulders were not, hardy bushes took their place. You could find a place to put your tent for sure, and perhaps more so on the sloping hill to the south, but certainly there were no places which would “call to you,” if you know what I mean. We could also see that it’s definitely possible to pop over from Loch Leven, which would be my preferred route to save time and distance. As to heading over to Lake 10515, which I mentioned a long time ago, it also seemed to be possible but probably not profitable given all the boulders. We only had daypacks, anyway, having left the other packs below.

After admiring the views we zipped back down, this time following the creek. Soon we found a use trail and it was a very quick and easier route than how we’d ascended. Mom gave me many “I told you sos,” and the gloating truly seemed to invigorate her.

The map indicated that we could head rather directly toward Grave Lake by mostly following along near the 10200 contour, so that’s what we did. The forest didn’t have too much underbrush, and other than climbing up and down a few times due to the lumpen nature of the terrain, it was a pretty quick walk of about 1/2 mile before we clambered down a steep section of hill and ended up back on the trail. The entire, off-trail section from Ranger Park had only been just over 2.17 miles and +788/-555′. The trail itself would have been 1.77 miles and +416 feet, so in my book that’s an incredible value of scenery-to-effort.

As soon as we got back on the trail, we passed Lake 10,166, which meant that we were quite close to Grave Lake. A few switchbacks brought us to the waterfall coming down from the lake just north of Spearpoint which we’d chosen not to do. Looking up-mountain, I was glad that we hadn’t, as it didn’t look like particularly pleasant or easy to traverse. Of course, going downhill always helps…

Our little gang arrived at Grave Lake at 1755 and it was a stunner! Talk about huge. There might have been places to camp to the south, but we wanted to be up closer to Baptiste, and the area was cramped besides. The hillside to the east wasn’t too awful, but it was steeply sloped and close to the trail; we’d have to go back a bit and uphill before flat, open areas would exist. (And they’d be great, but a little far from the water, and without nice views, really.)

As such, we made out way along the trail and a storm RAPIDLY developed. As we crossed the outlet bridge, we saw a few campers right by the lake, going down to the river to get water. I didn’t care, though I typically don’t like to be spotted, myself. The river itself was also drop-dead gawjus! Unfortunately, the heavens began to open up to the west, so we started to hustle.

I took a nice jog, popping off trail at intervals to see if we could find a spot. I guess some young gal popped out of the woods behind me and yelled that we could share a spot, but I didn’t hear here, and didn’t know until I was told later. A few places presented themselves as I ran along, and I stopped at one by a small creek, but it was too soggy, so we pressed on. We ended picking a more established area in some trees closer to the lakeside. We would have kept looking, but the wind just HOWLED in with fury and rain.

I quickly helped set up my mom’s tent (miserable, semi-freestanding Nemo Hornet 2) and then started getting mine set up (hidden in the trees). By the time I got to mine, I was entirely soaked to the bone. The rain was so torrential that it was cutting channels through my camping area. I miserably erected my tent from underneath the rainfly. From her tent, mom asked me if I needed help; I told her no. Already soaked, there wasn’t a reason for anyone else to freeze. My fingers were quite cold and it made assembling even my tent rather a pain. Yonder, a bit uphill and west, Hank and Peggy were already in their tent as well. I got back into my tent, cleaned up the residual water with some of my clothes, and stripped naked, drying myself with my Rainleaf. Truly miserable. I got into my tent, cleaned up the residual water with some of my clothes, and stripped naked, drying myself with my Rainleaf. While I waited, I ate jalapeno Cheetos and read one of the books on my phone.

After suffering a while, the rain mysteriously vanished and we received a respite. I hanged my clothes to dry as they might and sorted through all the waterproof items which I’d left under a tree. So wet. Thankfully my running shorts (man I love how light they are) and jacket were fine, so I was able to walk around camp. It was still cold enough that the mosquitoes were not a bother. Mom and I collected water from the lapping lake; the water felt pretty darn cold.

As we were finishing the water collection, the storms rolled back in with a vengeance, almost like mom had done something to tick them off. I ate them all and then put the refuse in a couple of odor proof bags. Despite the frigid rain and screaming wind, my Big Agnes Copper Spur UL HV 1 tent stayed dry, and my Enlightened Equipment Revelation Down Quilt, coupled with my ridiculously warm mattress, meant that I remained toasty the entire night.

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⤑Day 4: Day Hike to Musembeah Lakes

Due to the weather the day before, we would end up not getting on the trail early. Instead, we set our clothes out to dry (again, and this time the sun and wind helped them actually dry), and I set one of my new chargers out in the sun. Unlike previous chargers, this one had a fold-out panel. I had packed two of them due to the hike duration; I didn’t know how well they would work. I had 25% battery in 1 and full charge in the other, so I put one in a very clear plastic bag and sprawled it out on a rock in the sun; I’d see how well it would do.

Clear skies and 10-kt winds prevailed, so our clothes dried pretty fast. The rest of the crew had breakfast, though I don’t partake in such frippish meals, which show off one’s wealth and ability to afford calories anytime of day. I did get more water and heat myself up some orange energy drink, while mom of course had her nasty trail coffee.

We departed after noon for Musembeah Lakes. There are a couple of ways to get there, and we chose what looked like it would be easiest on the map, ascending just north and east of Pilot Knob, rather than up Grave Creek and then the cascade/boulder field area almost due east of the Musembeah area. (Note: Musembeah is in the Wind River Indian Reservation, so you have to pay to access it; you can do it online now but it isn’t really cheap.) I forgot to turn on my GPS for a bit, so I ended up with a straight line across the lake on my map. Whoops.

My mom went packless and I brought my mostly empty Osprey. Being unburdened felt great! We passed a group going opposite direction and they were very friendly indeed, which would be quite the opposite of some weirdos we’d meet later. Crossing Grave Creek was a pain, but we managed to do it without taking off our shoes, though I didn’t like the jumping around required.

We reached the creek north and east of Pilot Knob and began our ascent. A vague use trail was intermittently present; outfitters had scraped trees somewhat routinely to provide a better path to follow. This seems more common on the Reservation, and I’m sure it drives some people absolutely crazy. We diverged from the creek as it seemed faster (if tedious on the downhill foot) to sidehill the climb than to deal with the boulders and wet, soggy spots on the way up. The forest was easy to navigate and had widely-spaced trees without much undergrowth, so we made pretty good time and arrived at Lake 10525 at 1:30. The views of Mount Hooker were phenomenal here, but the little lake/pond was filled with amphipods, which made getting water a pain. I hate those creatures. We also found a water bottle which someone had left or lost.

A quick climb brought us to a marshy area with little, braided creeks that we crossed, and from there we had the option of either two gullies or the ridge in between them to climb. Being still avoidant of water after the previous day, we took the spine. On this little ridge was an old outfitter place that had lots of junk laying around, including broken, old chairs. It seemed an odd spot for camp, but when you’re on horseback your camping selections change.

The walk was very easy up to the lakes and mostly grassy with some small, rocky areas. Looking back the way we’d come, I saw that the pass between Macon Lake and Grave Lake was far easier than I’d expected. We probably wouldn’t be able to visit the lakes beneath Dike Mountain and Bernard Peak this trip, but our time had been so enjoyable that I was quite happy to save it for a future date! From the amphipod lake, it would also be very easy to get to Baptiste Lake, so that’s something to keep in mind if you’re in the area, as it’s a relatively direct route.

We arrived at the Musembeah Lakes at 1415 and they were absolutely gorgeous, though being so high in elevation already, not quite as amazing as the South Fork Lakes, and also above the tree line, so not as pleasant for camping. A massive, black intrusion ran through the granite peaks, which we all found pretty cool to witness. Unfortunately, there were absolutely NO FISH, I repeat NO FISH, certainly not TONS OF AMAZING FISH, in any of the lakes. Hank and Peggy still enjoyed trying for quite a while, but just to reiterate, NO FISH, and NO GREAT FLY FISHING, and also NO-KIDDING CAN OF CHEESE WHIZ.

The clouds stacked up and the wind picked up, so we left at 5PM. I took a snowpile down part of the way as sliding was faster, but the others were soaked in their cowardice. Heading down, we checked out the outfitter place again, and then more directly headed toward the canyon (going to Grave Creek didn’t seem worth it with the clouds), avoiding a return to Amphipod Lake. Hank got a tummy illness somewhere in the canyon, so we left him and Peggy to tend to his woes.

We got back at camp at 1800 and found that an older couple had rather bizarrely set up shop right by us. I consider this to be a rude thing to do when the weather isn’t a factor, the day is early, and there were tons of other places open within view. I would learn after the hike that they made a big, rock sign up against Hank and Peggy’s tent which read, “NO FIRES!” Such was of course their opinion and not a rule, so I have crystallized my opinion that I find these people objectionable humans with a low affability score who probably complain about cows farting too much. Oh, and before I forget, the put their tent looking right into mine, so I grumpily moved out from the trees and away from those old weirdos, who had dusty old bones, full of green dust.

For dinner that night I chose Mountain House Buffalo Style Chicken Mac and Cheese and also Strawberry Cheesecake from PackIt Gourmet. The cheesecake tastes like the real deal and I recommend it! More surprisingly was the fact that the Buffalo Style Chicken Mac and Cheese was REALLY yummy and filling. The noodles heated up well, the buffalo was flavorful with the right amount of spice (I’m salivating right now), and the chicken wasn’t weird tofu-looking garbage. For the price, this was truly good.

I rooted around for my double chocolate cookies and couldn’t find them, so I asked my mom if maybe they were in her bear bag. She grinned mischievously and asked how they could be in her bag given that she had, and I quote, “used them all.” “USED?” “Yes, I found out that they really make my coffee yummy!” Oh well, $8 to make coffee palatable on the trail…I suppose I was glad to see her filled with such overwhelming mirth. With them gone, I shared my cheesecake with her and ate airplane gummy bears that Yurena had picked up for me at a candy store. They were good and a little sour.

Sunset was gorgeous and no storms ever rolled in, so getting water was a lot easier this time, with only some minor, lapping waves. Mom’s battery pack was getting low, so I (grudgingly, to my own shame), let her use my battery. This miserly behavior would end up being needless, as I ended the hike with lots of reserves.

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⤑Day 5: I Am Abandoned and Travel to Various Lakes

Morning rolled around and I woke up and had my customary energy drink and ashwaganda. I can’t have ashwaganda before bed as it gives me crazy dreams and disturbed sleep, but I was starting to realize that perhaps having it on an empty stomach was also a bad choice, as it seemed that I felt pukey rather often after having it that way.

Oh well, I took my pills and went to greet the folks. Bad news came immediately: Peggy was tired of all the hiking and just wanted to go home (she has infinite ailments and often bites off more than she can chew), and given that they were mom’s ride, mom would also be going with them, though not without her displeasure being known. I felt immensely sad, but there was nothing for it. I suggested that they at least stop by Baptiste and then hike to Shadow Lake/Billys Lake, as it’s pretty there, and they’d never been, and it wouldn’t add too much to their hike. They said they’d think about it. By 0915 I was ready for my day hike over to Trail Lake. We all got a picture and I set off directly across the open field I was camped in and into the forest, wondering as I went if I should climb the unnamed mountain between Tipi Pass and Grave Creek or do something else. I felt truly sad at being abandoned, which is unusual for me, as I’m a naturally aloof person.

Walking through the forest was pretty easy and I orienteered mostly by intuition, crossing a couple of creeks but mostly sticking to a ridge until 10,400 feet, at which point I sidehilled along a little gully, stopping at 10,600 feet to climb a large, granite outcropping and take pictures of the camp behind me.

Like mist, the tents of my loves one had vanished away, though I thought I could vaguely make out their movement, so they must still have been packing up. At 3/4 of a mile away, it was rather hard to tell. I was pretty happy with having only spent 30 minutes covering the distance between us, but man…the sadness! And I never feel sad. I also felt somewhat nauseated, but that wasn’t related. From my perch, I was able to see that the climb to the other lake near Spearpoint wouldn’t have been that bad after all if one were to take the ridge adjacent the waterfall. Worth it to do? That I don’t know. Maybe in the future.

I continued to climb until the 10,800 contour, where I had to choose to either go all the way over the mountain, or else down into the Grave Creek. I elected for Grave Creek to see some lakes along the way, so I crossed a creek and marsh and followed a slot in the terrain which was about 100 feet wide. It was a pretty easy, grassy walk down to the first lake. This lake didn’t seem to have amphipods, but it also didn’t seem to have fish. Despite that, it was very beautiful. I noticed that it was possible to ascend a chute and climb the mountain, but it looked rather too scrabbly for my liking. For whatever reason I was still drawn to the thought of getting up on top of the mountain, but I also wanted to see the rest of the lakes in the canyon…conversely, I had little desire to trek along Teepee Pass. I cached the thought of climbing the mountain on the way back to camp as a possible alternative.

From the Lake the Amphipods Forgot I could look into the alternate way up to Musembeah. As I walked deeper into the canyon, I could see more of the stream leaving the area, descending down into Grave Creek, and it was certainly a doable option, but at the same time it looked far less pleasant than the route we chose. (Always nice to feel good about one’s past decisions.) I didn’t visit Lake 10691, but rather ambled across a boulder-strewn, grassy, sloping hillside to Lake 10737. The fishing there was very good, though the fish were little. Well, good at the outlet, where I also had some freeze-dried ice cream, but once I hopped across the outlet and got to the inlet by a cascade, I found that the fish just weren’t present and the water was choked with rock flour. I don’t know why I didn’t take any pictures, though, because it was sure beautiful.

From Lake 10737 the route-finding was a little less certain. Sticking to the cascade and stream wasn’t a good choice due to very thick bushes (over boulders), so I was basically left climbing through boulder fields upward. Small grassy sections, when present, were a Godsend. The small, stunted trees were less of a Godsend when I passed through them. As I continued the climb conditions worsened. It was hot and tedious, and beyond 10,950′ the boulders were just awful. (And had spiders.) At least I got to see more of the granite intrusion! Due to the rockfields, I didn’t wander off and visit Lake 11211, though I elected to pass by 11108. Nearing it the grassy, open field biome reemerged and I was able to pick up the pace. The inlet area(s) were marshy, but a little waterfall from a rock allowed me to collect clean water. It was then a climb up and toward the pass, and I chose to cross west of the central chute to ascend. In a word, this section was absolutely exhausting for me. I don’t know why; it wasn’t truly that bad. I stopped and had a break on the way up, then forgot to resume my GPS for a number of vertical feet. I was at least able to see that it was possible to hop over from Musembeah, but it didn’t look like the most pleasant journey. Of course many people go from Musembeah up and over Roberts Mountain to get to the Wykee/Sonnicant area. It saves miles, but it’s a very rocky, long ascent. (To add an extra “of course,” I want to go and bag Lake 11797 above Musembeah one day just to say that I have! Plus imagine the views over Polaris.)

A lot of ledge-scaling was done, but eventually I got to the pass and then watched a red Cessna caravan fly over, itself en route to Jackson, WY. I began my descent down the pass at 1230 and didn’t arrive at the first lake until 1254 due to a section of very tedious boulders that lasted for about a football field and a half. As I grow older, I find myself liking boulderfields less and less.

The unnamed lake between 11,000 and 11,200 (Lake 11035 on the old USGS maps) was quite charming until one saw the swarms of amphipods; they numbered so many that placed end-to-end they would extend skyward for 1,600 stadia. Truly gross and even horrifying, in a Cthulhuian, Color-out-of-Space fashion.

Not at all horrifying were the smooth, scraped walls of the batholithic Roberts Mountain. At the right time of day, this would be a truly gorgeous view—I was somewhat disappointed to be wandering about the area at midday, but still considered myself very blessed. The travel was incredibly slow and rugged with massive boulders as far as the eye could see, the fields being of the variety that had large gaps which one might very well fall into if not careful. There was also quite a bit of descending and ascending through small, ravine-like features where the unseen creeks well below the granite was scouring away material and causing the rockfield to collapse inward on itself. I was particularly careful with the traversals in those areas.

A number of small lakelets were present hidden amongst the sea of boulders and I visited one of them (where I took a break and collected water while avoiding the swarming amphipods) and looked down from slightly above on another, then made my way north until I could see right down to Roberts Lake. Roberts was gorgeous, as was Trail lake to the east, but the ~300 foot climb down didn’t seem like it would be much worth the effort as I didn’t have a desire to fish and was able to suss out good camping from my vantage point. I decided I would like to return and camp along the northern shore of Roberts Lake. The western section of the northern shore would be farthest from others and was sloped and grassy with stunted hardbush, while the middle section had granite outcroppings and trees; at the eastern edge it was somewhat a mix of the two types, though with a rockfield present. Beneath me, the southern shores were not very decent for camping at all—rocky, smashed into the steep slopes, and marshy and bushy in the locations without rocks.

I had to decide between Teepee Pass an climbing the mountain (unnamed) and heading back. Climbing mountains is always fun, whereas going all the way up the pass and then all the way down to Onion Meadows, and then climbing 400 feet back up to the lake (I mean, I’d just hopefully jump Raft Creek and cut off mileage via lake 10255…anything to avoid Onion Meadows) is anything but fun. I did want to explore the lakes in Teepee Pass, but they were small and not anywhere near the trail, anyway. With that considered, and although it felt like betrayal, I decided I’d not take the Teepee Pass trail or touch Trail Lake. Rather, I hoofed it over the boulders and alongside Lake 11023. A sharp ridge was present near Lake 11035 (elevation on the old USGS maps), that I might climb, and I had looked at it on the way in, but while it had some grassy ramps, it also had just a ton of rocks and became very steep before the flat top of the mountain.

East around Lake 11,023 ended up being my choice. The lake had excellent framing for pictures, as well as some waterfoul. I got a little water at the far eastern edge, then began the grueling ascent. It had me demoralized and winded for 200 of the vertical feet at least, and then things got much easier to climb.

Snowfields fed creeklets and for the most part I stuck closely to the grassiest sections, slowly jogging east, as directly to the south the boulderfields seemed interminable and steep. I continued southeast until 11,600, at which point I intersected the black intrusion that I had seen earlier at both Musembeah and Grave Creek Pass. It continued its obliterated path through the ridge to the northeast. I went a little beyond the dark belt of rock until I could see over the edge and look down at the lakes below.

From the vantage point above Teepee Pass, I was forced by the sheer cliffs to head southwest, making my way carefully along intermittent snowfields, using caution lest I fall through, and also lest I slip and slide back down. Eventually the cliffs un-sandwiched themselves from the broken, black spine of the mountain, but I stayed on it regardless, heading up to one of the higher points, point 12,252. Once there I stopped, had a snack and water, and got some meager cell service with which to call my beloved wife. I considered making my way to the other high point, the overlook at 12,285, but I didn’t find it that appealing, and it was a rocky, out-of-the-way hike to get to.

Following my 30-minute break, I walked down the flat top of the mountain, which despite being rocky also had plenty of grasses and mosses to make the going easier. I went up to a cairn and came to an abrupt interface with a sheer cliff over 1,200 feet tall. It was one of the more disturbing experiences I’ve had while hiking as it didn’t appear that a cliff could be present, and it hid itself well amount the surging sea of boulders. The view, however, was staggering, but I didn’t get too close to the edge, as I couldn’t tell how stable it was, and that would be a long time on the way down to question why I’d been so stupid.

From there a chokepoint along the mountain popped into view, which happened to coincide with a descent down to around 11,600, where I could go down the chute to the lake I’d fished at earlier if I wanted to. I certainly DID NOT want to do that, so I stuck as best I could to western slope of the mountain, walking for over a mile about 1000′ above the way I’d come in. There wasn’t too much up-and-down, ad for the most part I was able to stick to a pretty straight path. Finally, at 1733, Grave Lake started to appear back into view, and I had to decide how I wanted to go back down to it, as there were two slopes I could choose from, with one being further east and maybe not quite as steep, but also slightly more out of the way. I chose the most direct route.

The trip down was quick until at least 11,200. I listened to Clint Russel of Liberty Lockdown and some other (can’t name them) podcasts talk about Vivek Ramaswamy as I descended. It made me feel slightly better, as seeing my campsite so far in the distance left me feeling so empty inside–it’s so strange given that I truly rarely feel any loneliness and often hike with others somewhat out of necessity rather than desire. I can’t explain it, but it wasn’t a good feeling to have at all. A patch of stunted trees at 11,150 was utterly impassable, so I had to deviate right of course and do some cliff ledge hopping down lower. It wasn’t all too bad, but it slowed me down a wee bit.

I re-integrated with me former path at the creek/marsh area at 10,800, but this time I didn’t had to cross it. Coming from above I didn’t realize at first that I’d crossed my own path. This time I didn’t go up the ridge, but rather made my way down by the creek, encountering tons of whortleberries as I went. The trip downward was surprisingly easy with no obstacles to speak of; I did scare a few elk, though.

I really zipped along and soon crossed the creek just below 10,200, this time being west of it and thus not having to deal with the marshy area. From there a sharp, wooded hillside brought me to an expansive wetland/meadow, the side of which I skirted. I did find a nice campfire ring and marked it as a possible future camping spot. The ring was beside a trail which began (or ended) nearby, and which traveled down by a cute waterfall. I was correct in assuming that it was the same trail that I’d explored two days earlier but stopped before going far.

I popped out from the woods only 400 feet from my tent and zipped along over there, arriving at my tent at hour and 10 minutes after having first re-spotted Grave Lake. I was alone again; the other people had left, and of course my family was elsewhere. It was one of the nicest evenings I’ve ever had in the mountains: perfectly calm, warm even as the sun started to set. The colors of the sunset lit of gentle clouds of multiple varieties, turning them variously aflame or into pastels. Mount Chauvenet and Cathedral Peak looked otherworldly, and the lake trout were hitting my flies as if it were their last meal.

To the southeast I saw one other person near the lake, a young woman, and I was glad that someone else was there to experience such an amazing moment. I quit fishing as the clouds lost the light and greyed out, just after 8PM, then collected loose scraps of wood (some of it not so much scraps as engineered material left by outfitters) and made a fire. Tonight I allowed myself a Tuscan Beef Stew & Italian Polenta as well as Boston Cream Parfait, both by PackIt Gourmet. Obviously the Boston Cream was yummy, but the beef stew wasn’t to my taste. It was good, mind you, and many would probably choose it, but I had to add a lot of salt and pepper before I liked the flavor profile. Sitting by the small fire I made, I was blessed to be there, yet remorseful to share it with no one. However, I’m sure everyone was glad to not see my naked butt camp showering. (My usual fee is $150 not to show you it.)

Clean and fed (not like my friend Julie S., who is a literal fed honeypot who has nabbed many a foolhardy conservative man), I went to bed. The night was completely still.

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⤑Day 6: Boredom, So Baptiste and Out

I got up at 6-something, dressed for the day, and was out and eating off food by 0715. The sky was a solid, grey overcast, almost featureless, and while placid for the moment, any person familiar with the Winds would know it held weeping hostility yet to be unleashed. All the more reason to eat my crunchy Cheetos before they became soggy! I also ate some of the rest of my munchies to cut down on weight, but left some nuts and such for later on, just in case.

The day was not really one I found myself being that happy with. While I could perform yet another day hike up to the lake 10604 and 10568, that seemed to perhaps not be worth the effort, as it was only 6 miles and I likely wouldn’t really do anything there, plus I’d seen into the area from Musembeah. Mostly I didn’t want to backtrack yet again, but I also didn’t want to pack up and move my tent a few miles, then unpack, and Grave was beautiful, but I was wearing out my welcome by her. Of course of top consideration was my strong belief that it was going to rain, and I really didn’t want to be in a high-altitude, treeless area only to spend time hunkering down under a rock. So what was I to do, then? Hike the 3 miles to Baptiste and camp there (beautiful but a waste of a day)? Hike to Baptiste and then onward, over Hailey Pass to somewhere in between? That would be boring since I’d already been everywhere in between with the exception of the East Fork…which I had seen from above, so I also had less interest in visiting. Conflicted, I decided to just hike as if I were heading out to the Jeep and see where I ended up.

As I marched out at 0845 it began to sprinkle, so I put on my purple poncho. As soon as I did the rain went away, which is just the luck. After a constitutional well off trail and up a hill (where, by the way, the digging was stupidly difficult), I packed away the poncho and continued on. The trail was picturesque! Pilot Knob also ended up being pretty cool; I hadn’t expected the switchbacks, but I always love sheer cliffs. I was surprised at how far uphill from the lake the trail stayed past Pilot Knob. While there were a couple of camping spots one could choose on this side of the lake, none of them were on par with to the east. Of course you might not have any “friends” on the west side…but if you did, they’d likely be close to you.

Cascade Creek Cascade popped into view at 1000 and I climbed up above it pretty quickly. By 1008 I was at the junction to Baptiste Lake. It would be a lot of miles to go to Baptiste and out, and the weather was turning cold and sucky, but I decided that I was close enough that I might as well nail it, even if the conditions weren’t ideal. I stashed my pack and climbed toward Baptiste; a few switchbacks and 200 vertical feet later and I was on the roughly 3/4-mile long flat that runs up to the boulder field which leads up to Baptiste. I chose to run this section of the hike to save time. A lone man in his 20s or 30s with one of those white, ultralight packs (and on which he had tons of extra gear dangling, making me think that the suspension must have felt miserable to him) stepped out of the way. I told him cheerfully as I passed, “Thank you, I’m going to try to make it out today.” His reply was a quite terse, “Good luck with that.” Hmmm.

The creek out of Baptiste pools into ponds underneath the boulder field on which the lake is perched. I hopped rocks across just before the largest pond and ended up on the south side, which I would find heading back out is not the preferable side to be on–more distance and also marshy. Soon I was climbing through the rocks which had intermittent paths, barely discernible, and tons of cairns, very discernible. It was somewhat tedious but not difficult. I would have been less irritated if I had just figured out my own route.

Baptiste is a beautiful lake, but the conditions weren’t great, so a lot of its glamour was lost, dulled underneath a sea of grey which soaked the high peaks above it. I didn’t stay long, and when I headed out, I found correct trail, such as it was. I got back to my pack 15 minutes after leaving Baptiste and then went to the river crossing, which at this time of year was a nice leap from boulder to boulder.

It started to rain, so back on the poncho went, and up I climbed toward Horrible Hailey Pass. It drizzled steadily for quite a while. As I got toward the base of the pass, I saw two hikers ahead of me, heading the same direction. I gave them a little extra time by taking off my poncho (the rain quit and I overheated), but they were slow, so I was forced to bypass them on my way up, which meant that I would consequently have to be speedy and make the pass with a quickness lest I forfeit my dignity. I was friendly as I passed them–and old man and old woman–but they said nothing in return. Later I would wonder if these were the neighbor jerks we picked up at Grave Lake.

The pass was pretty as usual, though it got chilly and a bit windy on top. I didn’t bother stopping at Twin Lakes, but did take a break just beyond, which gave me an opportunity to feed and charge my phone. Overall I still had 50% battery left in my one of my packs, so that had worked out well.

Since I’ve reviewed the area so many times, I won’t type of too many details of the trip out. My WillowAce socks held up well, even though wet! On the way back I passed a group of 4 20 y/o females (not affable), a group of three older men (two kinda fat and fun, one skinny and elitist), a deranged squirrel, a lone man at the Washakie crossing, two more women at Washakie Park (photographers with long lenses, and let me add that the rainy weather cleared out suddenly and the heat of the sun scorched me), numerous people near Dads Lake (mostly bedding down), and two Asian folks near Mirror Lake, heading in. Oh, and the horse-train gal (who maybe I didn’t mention earlier) was heading back out, ignoring the attempts of the Pinecone Pigs to block off the good trail. Lastly, while heading back down past Meeks Lake, I bypassed an older lady wearing cool gaiters. She was the nicest woman I’ve ever met!

I arrived back at the Jeep at 1849, a day earlier than planned. Hank, Peggy, and mom were not out yet. I would learn that they made it to Pyramid Lake their first day, then had taken my advice and stopped at Shadow the next, exiting on Sunday! Those slowpokes…way less miles than me and a full day extra spent in the wilderness. As for myself, my tracker said I did about 23 miles and had completed the trip in about 10 hours. Not great, not terrible, but a nice day nonetheless.

It was late as I headed out, so when I got cell service I called my wife and told her that I would be getting a room in Pinedale, and we’d go on a date night the day after, since I was home a day early. I stayed at the Quality Inn (close to the gas station, easy access to drinks and food) and was in bed by 10PM. The shower was glorious!

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➤Conclusion and Rating

This may be the prettiest scenery in the Winds yet for me. I truly loved the forested camping spots, the horrible fishing, and how relatively easy it all way. Nothing bad to say about the trip, but I wouldn’t bother with the day hike over to Roberts/Trail.

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