Wheeler Peak

When I was a young lad, me and my best friend Don would go fishing at swampy Simas Lake. The lake was inhabited by carp and we would easily catch carp by the bucket load. However, carp is such a singularly unappealing fish so we just tossed them up on the bank where they would flop around in bug-eyed panic, just trying to breathe. I was reminded of the carp fishing because as Dollie and I hiked above 11,000 feet of altitude on Wheeler Peak, I also flopped around on the ground and gasped for breath just like a landed carp. Having obtained some insight into the carp's experience, I vowed never to be mean to another carp as long as I live.

Thar she (Wheeler Peak) blows!

At Great Basin National Park, we had been putting off the hike to Wheeler Peak summit. Even though we were in the desert, each day of our stay brought in rain showers and lightning. A poncho can ward off rain, but there is no outerwear stout enough to repel 300 kiloamperes of electrical current so we waited, ever hopeful that the weather would clear sufficiently enough for a safe hike. The weather forecast for our last day at the park called for a sunny day so a trek to the summit would be the coda and grand finale of our Great Basin tap dance.

Trail through the aspen

Just past dawn we started the hike by walking on a trail through an aspen forest. In our local forests, Douglas fir grows everywhere like the world's tallest weed. We just don't see aspen and they seem sort of alien to us Oregonians with their twisted white trunks and round leaves quaking in the slightest breeze. The uniqueness of the trees totally distracted us from noticing we were walking uphill at about 10,000 feet of elevation.

Rock garden

In a grassy meadow, we parted ways with the familiar Stella Lake Trail and veered up the bald slopes of Bald Peak, Wheeler Peak's immediate neighbor. Short, round, and balder than ruggedly handsome Wheeler Peak, Bald Peak must feel like my brother does when he stands next to me. Anyway, it was back and forth through alpine meadows and rock gardens until we hit the saddle between the two mountains. And then the "fun" started.

Dollie begins to hate me

Shortly after the saddle, we climbed past tree line and entered a world of rock. A very steep world of rock, I might add. Up, up, up, the trail went, as merciless as Torquemada in a bad mood. Somewhere on the climb, we rose over the 11,000 foot mark and legs soon went rubbery and hikers began fish flopping due to the altitude.

Wind shelter

There were no trees here, but there were mats of tundra wedged between the rocks. Life is incredibly miniature at high elevation, and I noticed purple flowers in bloom, each the size of a dull pencil point. Amazingly, equally small beetles were crawling in and around the flowers! Because there were no trees, the view was tremendous as we trudged on upwards.

Incoming storm

We could see Spring Valley to the west, with wind farms dotting the valley floor. To the east lay dusty Snake Valley, ringed by a wall of confusion; that is to say, the Confusion Range bordered the northeast edge of the valley. Unfortunately, we could also see an ominous wall of clouds blowing in from the southwest. A storm was on its way.

We decided not to risk the lightning

Knowing when to stop hiking is a large part of hiking safely. Many hikers get into trouble with an affliction known as "peak fever", a condition that occurs when hikers must hike to the summit in sight, even though common sense says not to. We were talking to a younger hiker in his mid-20's about the high probability of lightning and he blithely shrugged his shoulders and said "If I get electrocuted, so will everybody else", and away he went towards the top.

Thunderclouds form over Bald Peak

Resting at 11,800 feet in a stone windbreak just below the final push, we dithered about whether to continue. We were so close, only 1,200 feet of climbing in about 0.7 mile of trail and the mountain was right there, tantalizingly close. As we dithered, the clouds began to embrace the peak and there was less and less blue sky and more tall towering clouds formed over the Snake Range. Boom! A nearby clap of thunder cinched the deal and we dithered no more, heading back down the mountain to safer environs. Several other parties likewise headed down, with (advanced) age being the common factor.

Snake Valley gets swallowed up by the storm

Leaving Wheeler Peak to the younger and foolhardier set, we hiked back to the trailhead under dark clouds as lightning flashed in the next valley over. The storm basically grazed Wheeler Peek and followed us instead. Snake Valley disappeared in the mist as we dropped into the aspen again. No regrets however, we got in a nice hike with fantastic scenery and carp will no longer have to fear my presence.

Yup, we were right up there

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album

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Rock Glacier Trail

Rock. Glacier. Two words that describe two of my favorite things. Because of these two words, my attention immediately gravitated to the Rock Glacier Trail when I perused the Great Basin National Park guide. Glaciers are ponderous and slow moving, which can also describe me now that I sadly think of it. But I can't carve chunks out of mountains like a glacier can, though.  Rocks are hard and unyielding as a wife and and speaking of which, Dollie came along with me on a loop hike that explored a stand of bristlecone pines, a pair of alpine lakes, and a glacial cirque full of rocks.  

Blessed be the shade

At the outset, the Bristlecone Trail climbed steadily through a beautifully shaded forest comprised of limber pine and Englemann spruce. We immediately began huffing and puffing which probably had more to do with hiking at 10,000 feet and very little to do with the grade of the trail. Literally, we were getting high on our hike (thanks Jim, for that remark!).

Older than John McCain, even!

After a mile or so, the trees thinned out and the trail took us into a stand of bristlecone pines, the living trees burnished orange with limbs all twisted into phantasmagorical shapes. The dead trees were likewise twisted but colored a more appropriate cadaver gray. Bristlecone pines are the oldest individual living organism on our planet, older than the Rolling Stones even. Their growth rings are packed so tight that a dead tree is nearly impervious to decay, taking several thousand more years to fully decompose. And here we were, walking among dozens of these arboreal ancients, the total age of all these trees added together being eclipsed only by the total age of the U.S. Senate.

Hiking on the moon

Continuing past the bristlecones, the trail left all trees behind and delivered us into a rocky cirque situated between Jeff Davis Peak and Wheeler Peak. This little world was all rock, with the odd lichen splotch and tundra vegetation stuffed into cracks between the rocks. The rocky bowl had been gouged out of Wheeler Peak's cheek by a glacier eons ago and on the jagged ridge above us, a rock finger was permanently raised upright in geologic disapproval of the awesome power of glaciers.

Lichen on a rock

As we hiked up the moraine, we met a young lady from Arkansas coming down the trail, gimping courtesy of a twisted ankle. A few minutes later, a middle aged man came down, his left arm a bloody mess from a fall he had taken. Between I and his companions, we had enough large bandages in our respective first-aid kits and we patched him up in short order, good enough to get him to an emergency room and stitches. Rock Glacier was a cruel taskmaster, indeed.

Down the moraine we go

However, I am glad to report that no injuries big or small were suffered by the O'Neill party of hikers, all two of us. Without ceremony and at 10,800 feet, the trail ended where we had a nice look at the glacier which was a thin strip of muddy snow and ice and a pitiful reminder of the glory of glaciers past. After spending a few minutes craning our necks up at the rock wall that was the base of Wheeler Peak, we turned around and hiked down the moraine, picking our way carefully as we went.

Teresa Lake

While spectacular, the hike wasn't particularly long so we took an additional loop trail around the alpine lakes named Teresa and Stella. Teresa Lake was more tarn than lake, reposing in a semi-barren bowl below the large rockpile that is Wheeler Peak. We plopped down in the shade (we were back in Tree World after leaving the moraine) and enjoyed lunch while soaking up the spectacular scenery.

Stella Lake

A short walk up and over a thinly forested ridge took us to Stella Lake which had even better views of Wheeler Peak. We entered a meadow as we departed from the lake basin and observed Ma and Pa Turkey taking all the little turkey darlings out for a walk. A short walk through an aspen grove, the trees appearing alien to we Oregonians, returned us back to the trailhead, camp, and the nightly thunderstorm.

For those about to rock

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Great Basin National Park (first day)

The first thing we did upon arrival at Great Basin National Park was to take the drive up to Wheeler Campground. The park is fairly underdeveloped and the one paved road was a windy goat path that snaked its way up about 4,000 feet from the Snake Valley floor. As an aside, I love the idea of a Snake Valley, my squeamish friends not withstanding. 

About one tenth of Wheeler Peak

The road was narrow and it was a slow drive but that's OK because we enjoyed unbelievable views down to the valley and the nearby Confusion Range (another name I approve of). Literally, we were looking down into Utah. As we gained elevation, Wheeler Peak sort of dominated the view. I say "sort of" because clouds covered up most of the mountain but the base of it was still impressive.

A sign we are not in Oregon

We had intended to camp at Wheeler Campground for quicker acclimation to the high elevation, the camp being at 9,800 feet. However, it was frigid cold with intermittent showers so we beat a hasty retreat down to Baker Creek Campground, sited at a more user friendly 7,700 feet. It was interesting to camp with both pinon pines and prickly pear cactus residing in our campsite.

Looking straight up

Lehman Caves is a must-see and we took the guided tour through the caves. Stunningly beautiful, the caves defy description. There were stalactites and stalagmites and the ranger turned off the lights so we could experience pure blackness, a state that occurs also in my ex-wife's heart. But hey, I'll quit talking and let the pictures tell the story:

Another sign we are not in Oregon

We took a short walk on an interpretive nature trail near the visitor center and also did the same on the Osceola Ditch Trail. About 15 miles away lies the ghost town of Osceola and back in the day they built a ditch and flume to transport water from Wheeler Peak to the town. All that remains today of that hydrological project is a faint ditch, old timbers, and a trail with great views of the Snake Valley. 

My kind of forest fire

We set up camp and went to bed early because it was cold, darn it! I thought we had traveled to the hot desert but it sure felt like we were in northern Fennoscandia. We had put in a full day's work and we slept comfortably, buried deep under every blanket and spare item of clothing we had brought with us.

Passing on to the next world

For more pictures, see the following Flickr albums:

Miscellaneous Great Basin pictures

Ooh and aah at Lehman Caves