Fall in the Sierra
It is the last weekend of October and autumn's grip is tenuous. Soon the first snow of winter will pass through the wide valley that separates the Sierra-Nevada Range from the White Mountains.
The cusp is a good time. The air is dry and crisp. Deer hunting season has ended and these are the final days of trout fishing. The mountain trails belong now to the stubborn few who would like to deny winter's approach. This is good country anytime. In autumn almost nothing compares.
One California writer called the land through which Hwy. 395 passes, "our piece of Montana." Be watchful. Hollywood money, it seems, has discovered Montana and is hell bent on buying up much of that paradise. I should speak softly.
As the road winds down the east side of Monitor Pass, the morning light looks warm against the rocks and sage. Beneath the slope, the vast Antelope Valley spreads south and east to the edges of the mountains.
There is hot coffee, pancakes and maple syrup at the Basque restaurant in the small town of Walker, and then it is only another 20- or 30-minute drive to the trailhead at Leavitt Meadow Campground.
Along the way a few sportsmen in hip-length boots wade or stand at the edge of the Walker River, hoping to catch the last trout of the season. Cars are few on the two-lane highway.
Except for day-use, Leavitt Campground is closed for the season. You park your vehicle and walk past empty campsites to reach the narrow bridge that crosses the West Walker River and connects to the trail leading into the backcountry.
In late autumn, daytime temperatures on clear days may reach the high 50s, or even low 60s, ideal conditions for walking on rugged trails at elevations above 7,500 feet. Once you get moving, it is comfortable in a lightweight shirt.
The trail goes south and slightly west and passes lakes named Secret, Poore, Roosevelt, Lane and Fremont. Walker (the Walker River) and Fremont are prominent names on the east side of the Sierra range. John Fremont was a U.S. Army officer and explorer who crossed the mountains in 1843 and Walker was his scout.
Stands of deciduous trees are splashes of bright yellow and orange in a predominately-evergreen forest. Looking down, the river is a meandering blue ribbon across rust colored Leavitt Meadow.The surrounding peaks above 9,000 feet are already laden with snow from an early storm that touched the higher elevations.
At Roosevelt Lake, there is a surprise. Two anglers have packed-in inflatable rafts and are fishing from them near the middle of the lake. They are the only people we would see the entire day.
The trail ascends from Roosevelt Lake. The ascent is benign but steady. We had hoped to reach Fremont Lake with enough time left to get back to the car before sunset. We stopped for lunch at about two, probably only a mile from Fremont, but decided to turn back rather than risk a night in the woods with only emergency gear to keep us warm.
We returned by an alternate trail, one that climbs to a higher ridge and provides a wider view of Leavitt Meadow, which was now in shadow. By the time we crossed the narrow bridge again and walked to our car, the sun had fallen well behind the mountains, with only another 30 minutes or so of light remaining,
It was Patty's first hike in the high country. We snapped a final picture before opening the ice chest in the trunk. There is nothing like a cold beer after hiking in rugged country.
Logan Franklin
Creative Drifting News
November 1993
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