For my first backpacking trip of the year, I chose to explore the tallest peak in the Toiyabe Range in central Nevada, Arc Dome (11,781'). My friends Van and Bill expressed interest early in the year when we discussed a few trips and decided to join me. What an adventure it turned out to be. Using a trip and map posted on Backpacker.com as a starting point, I did further research and had adequately (or so I thought) planned a 26-ish mile loop in and around the tall peak, including a trip to the summit.
The drive from Reno, where all three of us live, to the Columbine Campground and trail head is about a 3.5 hour drive, including some rather gnarly roads and creek-crossings near the campground. We left Reno at about 3:15pm on Friday and made the drive out, including a stop for gas and umm . . . beverages. We arrived at the remote campsite to find a nice large plot with a creek running directly behind it. There were two other campers there, but they pretty much kept to themselves. We pitched our tents and proceeded to get a campfire going. I had inquired with the Forest Service a few days before for fire restrictions and was informed that there were none at this time. Over the course of the evening, we enjoyed our rum and beer . . . err . . . umm. . . beverages over the campfire while giving each other a hard time about past trips, trips to come and live in general. It was a pretty standard drunk friends around the campfire evening. Eventually, we bedded down for the night and enjoyed the calming sounds of the creek rushing past as we dozed off into dream land.
We had decided that it wasn't necessary to get too early of a start, as we were only planning on going about 11-miles on Saturday and the weather was suppose to be calm and clear (never trust a weather forecast). Breaking camp and hitting the trail by about 7:45am, we started into the Arc Dome wilderness. The trail starts with a fairly steep section through some beautiful quaking aspen or 'quakies' as most people in the Nevada call them. Many of the trees display reminders of the sheep and cattle herding history of the region with carved initials, names and dates weathered and aged into the trunks. All throughout the high-desert of Nevada this can be seen, mostly produced by the Basque ranchers that have inhabited the area for the past century or so. Regardless of the marks, the forest here is still lovely.
Onward and upward we go, making our way towards the mountain itself. We reach a large sagebrush flat between two hillsides after crossing a moderately moving run-off creek and begin making our way around and up the adjacent hillside. As we reach the top, we start seeing snow patches. It was a good year in Northern Nevada with regard to precipitation. Off in the distance, Van spots a heard of grazing wild mustangs on a far off mountain top. An amazing site to behold. The valley separating us from the beautiful animals is vast and so they appear as colored specs on the distant hillside, but there is no doubt of what we are beholding. We pause and bask in the glory of this painting come to life for a few minutes before moving on.
The trail forks here and with the snow we are tramping through we struggle to find our turn slightly, but eventually do find the correct one. In the distance we can see the mighty mountain, as the wind starts to whip into us pretty hard, we tramp through a mud and snow soup and gray clouds gather in the distance.
As we reach the saddle just below the summit, we have becoming increasingly concerned about the weather. Storms have a way of just popping up at these elevations and we ponder our choices. Option one below us, is a snow ridge overlooking a crescent valley. While we can't see from this angle, we all suspect that the snow has formed a wind-blown cornice. Given the volume of snow and the steep hillside below, it is an avalanche waiting to happen. Not a good choice. Option two involves dropping our packs, gear up for winter/summit conditions and heading for the top, but as snow begins to fall on us and the wind picks up even more, we decide that would also be an unwise choice. We decide upon option three, which is to continue up the ridge towards the summit until we find the cut-off trail and then make our way down into the valley below the mountain. It means we won't get to summit this trip, but safety must always be the primary concern and these conditions are not safe.
We look around finally find signs of a trail on the other side of the snow ridge, we make our way to the least wide portion of the snow field and slide our way down to the trail. It's slippery and somewhat dangerous, but better than our other alternatives. As we descend the trail remains difficult to stay on as random snow patches cover it here and there, but eventually we reach the top of green knoll below the mountain top, as the snow has given way to a light misty rain. We continue along this ridge for a while, but soon completely loose the trail. Knowing that trails are generally cut parallel to creeks and washes, we cover a mile or more along the side of the mountain, slowly descending toward the creek below. Eventually, we decide to go for it, and carefully slide our way down to the bottom. It's a long descent, a few hundred feet at least, and the steep incline and loose gravel/shale makes it somewhat treacherous, but eventually we reach creek.
We take a couple of minutes for a water break and to get some energy in ourselves, before heading down the canyon towards where I believe we will be able to pick up the trail, the junction of this drainage into a larger creek. Finding the trail near this confluence, we continue back northward. The rain has stopped and started multiple times all the while.
Now circling around the large knoll we just descended we make pretty good time as the trail is in pretty good condition here. Eventually, we reach the junction of another canyon as the rain clouds start to look angrier. We begin looking around for either our cut-off trail on the other side or a place to bed down for the night. Not finding great choices for either, we stumble across a large marshy area, which has a few dry patches. As we survey the area looking for the best spot to pitch our tents, we encounter two other backpackers in the process of putting their tents up. We talk about the trails briefly, but it seems they are even less familiar with them than we are. Finally, we decide on a spot with lots of grass, which will provide some extra padding for our backs. Just a few yards away, we encounter something a bit vexing. Someone has placed a large truncated pyramid-shaped cage around a tree-trunk that appears to have been gnawed down by a beaver. We ponder why someone would have taken such an action, never arriving at any good answer.
Just as we get our tents erected, the rain starts coming down even harder and we each hop into our respective tents to weather the storm, guessing it will last through the night. While I dislike being rained on when camping, I'm curious to see how my new tent performs. A couple of months back I invested in a high-quality, ultra-light backpacking tent and this is my first out with it. Weighing in at only a pound and a half, the tent is surprisingly roomy and stable. I consume a few of my dry snacks, study for an upcoming certification exam and doze in and out of sleep as the sky darkens with night and the rain continues to fall at a constant rate.
I wake about 5 am to birds chirping and a fair amount of condensation on the mesh inner-lining of the tent, but it seems to have held up to the rain very well, as the rain cover has kept all of the actual rainfall off me and my gear. As it is cold and wet outside, I do as much packing and prep from the warmer zone inside my tent as possible, before finally putting my hiking shoes on and stepping out into the wet grasses. My companions have been preparing similarly, and after leaving our respective tents, quickly pack up and hit the trail.
While Saturday was a hard day with the altitude and snow, Sunday would prove to be much more difficult and treacherous. We start the day fairly calmly, as we continue down the canyon we started on. After a small creek crossing, we reach a fork in the trail. The left appears to go up a parallel canyon back towards Arc Dome, while the right cross another side-creek and continues north. We look at our map and decide to go right across the creek.
We can tell that Bill is not feeling well, as he begins lagging behind and frequently stopping to catch his breath. We ask him about his condition and he prompts us to continue on. Eventually, we reach an expected switchback and Van and I go to a nearby run-off to fill our water supply, while Bill rests. His condition has worsened a bit and I begin asking him a number of questions trying to get an idea of what might be going on. I think he has gotten dehydrated, which seems to fit all of his current symptoms. We begin prompting him to take constant sips of water as we hike up the tree-covered hill towards the summit of the North Twin. Reaching the top, we walk into a calm little grass and tree-covered flat, and take a moment to rest after the climb. Rejoining the trail on the other side of this saddle, we make our way down into the next valley. This, as I would discover after we returned home, was our big mistake.
At first the trail is calm, though a bit muddy, but we soon encounter the first of many, many roaring creek crossing we will be required to make. From the rain and dew on the foliage, our lower halves are already pretty wet and so after about the third creek crossing, we just give up looking for logs or rocks to cross and just plunge into the cold mountain stream. Bill seems to be feeling better, but the weather is getting worse. We toss on our rain covers to do our best to keep our gear and electronics dry, as we continue down into this canyon.
The trail meanders back and forth across the raging creek waters, as we cross five or six more times. Each time we cross, the water seems to be deeper and moving more swiftly. Stopping at a small, but angry waterfall, we look for a reasonable way to cross without plummeting to our deaths, and eventually decide upon a route that forces us to climb over some large boulders that came down as part of a rock slide at some point in the past. Normally, this is the type of terrain I would love to play on . . . though with a 35-ish pound pack, rain coming down and a raging creek flowing over the rocks, it's not idea. If there was one point on the trip where I was most concerned for my safety, this was it. We carefully maneuver over the refrigerator-sized rocks. As we cross over one small stretch, Van notices the creek water flowing rapidly over what could be carved steps below us. Finally reaching the bottom of the pile, we discover that the 'trail' has become an overflow for the raging snow-melt/rain and that those actually were steps.
Having lowered ourselves down 5-6 feet in a couple of place to pass this obstacle, we realize there isn't really any going back now, which becomes more of a concern as we look for any familiar peaks nearby and find none. In fact, all of the faces is in this canyon and beyond as far as we can see are rock-covered, as opposed to the green tree-covered hills we came in on yesterday. Without any other recourse, we continue down the canyon. The rain has picked up and we are forced to cross the creek again and again and again. Soon, we come upon a large forested area and discover a number of forest-fashioned corrals. The cattle tracks, ropes and stone-fire rings make it obvious that this is a cattle camp from sometime in the past, but who knows how long ago it was used. The corrals are made up of fallen or down aspen logs stacked on top of each other. It is an interesting find out here in the middle of nowhere, but we struggle to find the exit from this clearing as we search the perimeter. Van finally finds it and we move on.
More creek-crossings, more rain, more damp foliage, more rock scrambling, a few cattle remains, and a few more miles, before we finally reach a trail head, but not the one we were hoping for. We are all soaked to the bone as we exit the canyon and hit the main valley floor. Passing through a campground along the gravel and dirt desert road, we try to get a bearing of where we are. Unfortunately, we are completely turned around and soon discover, with the aid of compass and map, that we have actually popped out on the eastern side of the Toiyabe range instead of returning to original campground, Columbine, on the western side of the range. We know there is no going back and while we might have prevented this by more frequent map and compass review, the terrain and weather made it less of a concern. It is certainly a concern now though, as we cannot possible hike back up that canyon and are roughly 100 miles to campsite where we left Van's jeep by car. We walk about three miles down the dusty road back road out to highway 376 and start thumbing it. Pretty quickly, a local rancher offers us a ride up the road a ways. The nice gentleman ends up taking us a few miles further than he had planned and drops us off at Kingston Station, which is till in the middle of nowhere, but at least has some buildings we can shelter in should the approaching dark clouds decide to continue pouring on us.
There isn't much traffic on these old desert highways, probably a car passes once every 5-10 minutes, with most going the opposite direction of where we need to go. After being rejected by many cars speeding by, a commercial truck stops and asks where we're trying to get to. We summarize our plight and tell him that we would be most grateful if he could get us up to the town of Austin, about 15 miles ahead. He rearranges a few things and welcomes us and our packs aboard. As we make our way to Austin, he tells us a number of humorous stories and also informs us of the terrorist attack in Orlando, which we were completely unaware of, having been in the outback for the past two days.
Arriving in Austin, we hit the local gas station/food mart and scarf down a few calories. While Van talks to a couple of locals getting gas, I make my way up the street to one of the local bars asking if anyone would be willing to take us to our Jeep. We had agreed at this point, to offer up $100, as it's a 50-ish mile drive from here over some rough terrain and a couple of creek crossings. The son-in-law of one of the bar maids ends up agreeing and as we toss our packs into the back of his FX-150 and climb inside the roomy passenger cab, we make our introductions. As we drive towards the Shoshone community of Yamba, the dark clouds begins tossing lightning bolts at he ground and the rain picks up again. Luckily, Matt, our new friend, is undeterred and drives us all of the way to the campsite, through the mud and creeks and everything. He waits for us to start the Jeep and we thank him for his kindness with the promised payment.
Uncovering the jeep, and tossing our packs in, we start back down the way we just came, but this time with Reno as our end destination. It was one harrowing adventure, but it was certainly fun and I'm glad for the company I had with me. In total, we hiked about 26 miles over the two days, with the majority on Sunday. While didn't summit Arc Dome, we walked (or hobbled) away with quite a story to tell. And now for the cold ride back in an open-topped Jeep!
No comments:
Post a Comment