Wrights Lake

Once again, the trusted travel writer was correct. The campground at Wrights Lake is surely a nine out of ten for beauty, and as he said, there is lakeside camping. Regrettably, he didn't mention that the lakeside sites are reserved for tent campers only. I almost went on in there, thinking that the tenters have to get here somehow, and maybe they get here in VW vans. But when you think about it, if you're toting a stove, two beds, and a refrigerator, then you're driving an RV.

So I went over to the Meadow Campground instead. Since there wasn't another human soul in the place, I picked the best of sites. Site 33 is at the very edge of the camp, where a path leads to a big meadow across a little creek, and a little path leads to a big stream with little trout jumping for big, swarming mosquitoes. The situation was very pleasant.

One reason I wanted to camp at Wrights Lake was the travel writer's description of it as a "classic alpine lake, though small." To me, that meant lots of pines and no ski-doos. But the travel writer and I must have different mental images of a classic alpine lake; I was surprised to see the lake ringed with private summer cottages. I guess that, with their steep peaked roofs to shed heavy snow, they are classic alpine cottages.

The main reason that I chose this camp, though, was the trail to Twin Lakes, in the Desolation Wilderness. After getting GoGo level and popping the top to let some breeze blow through, I trekked out of camp to the trailhead. Unfortunately, it was already 3:00 o'clock - too late to begin a six-mile hike at 7,000 feet. But, as I had learned at Camino Cove, focus on the journey, not the destination. The walk would be good. I didn't really care if I got to the lakes or not.

The walk through the trees beside the lake was a nice warm up for the climb to follow. The parking lot at the trailhead had only two cars. I'd have the wilderness almost to myself. As I reached the trail, a couple of hikers came down past me. Soon a second couple passed me, heading out. By all logic, the wilderness was mine! In less than an hour I could see Wrights Lake shrinking into the distance below.

Emerging above the trees, you see a classic Sierra landscape of granite rock polished by ancient glaciers. For long stretches, the trail is visible only by the cairns of stones piled on the granite sheets.

After two hours of climbing - nearly 5:00 o'clock - I reached a saddle where I hoped and hoped to see Twin Lakes, but no. I saw a grassy meadow with a subtle watermark of crosshatched streams. I realized I was out of time, and I had failed to make it to Twin Lakes. I stood in the meadow, beneath towering crags of snow crested granite. I laughed. I should fail like this more often. But now it was time to get back down to the camp.

I saw a flash of white suddenly, through the trees ahead. An animal on the move!

Then some stupid dog was barking at me. I had fought my way up into the Desolation Wilderness to get hassled by a dog! What a damn letdown!

"Hey you big goofy dog," I said firmly and kindly, as if we were old buddies. "Are you the Abominable Snow Dog? The legendary White Dog of the Mountains?" (Yeah, that's a bunch of garbage, but dogs dig it. He quit barking and looked at me as if to ask, "What's the deal? Do I know you?") "Hey, you big old dog, you got any people up here?"

Two people came running at top speed around a bend in the trail. They probably thought their dog had scared up a bear. They were so relieved to see a man, it was kind of cute, but I could tell they knew they were wrong. Household pets aren't permitted in the wilderness.

They took turns calming their dog and apologizing to me. "Dammit, Pooder, can't you see he's one of the good guys?" said the man with the ponytail.

"I'm so sorry," said the woman, dressed head to foot in dark, dark brown. "You didn't hike into a wilderness to get barked at! I hope this didn't spoil things for you!"

I have strong convictions about wilderness, such as: the rules are bigger than we are, because wilderness is so fragile in this age. We have to overprotect, to coddle wilderness. Breaking the rules, like bringing pets in, is as wrong as murder.

But I felt like laughing. These people were obviously so upset and unhappy about their crime, I saw no point in being ugly about it. They were genuinely sorry. That's the best they could do, and all I could ask.

We chatted for a while, then they went on down. Even though I was ready to turn around, I didn't want to hike down the trail right on their butts, so I went forward another twenty yards. A big pool of water opened out in front of me, so big there was an island of boulder granite in the middle. Some people might call it a lake. Certainly not a big lake. More like a pond, really. Was it a Twin Lake? Absurdly, I looked around for a signpost.

I hiked on, and found another big pond... or small lake. Maybe it was the other Twin Lake. Maybe I had made it. Maybe not. Both of these lakes were awfully small... The Twin Lakes looked bigger on the map...

It was past time to get back down to camp. So I hastened up and booked down the mountain to my campsite. GoGo was waiting for me, and we cooked up a classic alpine dinner.

It was the night of the full moon. That always makes me pensive. Did that evil criminal dog in the Desolation Wilderness help me get to Twin Lakes? Or did I come up short, but in a beautiful enough place? Do I care?

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