Kibbie LakeCopyright 2008 Lydia Hinshaw
YOSEMITE, CA -- Last Tuesday's hike was once-in-a-lifetime. Not because it was all that wonderful, but because we'll probably never again set out to get to the trailhead, perhaps 60 miles and three hours away.
In our own vehicle, we'd never have made it, fearing damage to the undercarriage. In a company vehicle with an employee driving, we held on tight as we bumped and bounced over the last few miles on a long-neglected fire road.
The hike, according to my Yosemite hiking book, was supposed to be mostly in a forest. But the book hadn't been updated since 2006, when said forest burned. So we were out in the sun most of the way, looking at charred tree trunks.
The lake was worth the hike, if not the drive. As my hiking book promised, there was hardly anyone there.
Using my own route-finding skills, I managed to wind up on the wrong side of the water and had to wade 15 yards through a chest-deep stream, holding my pack with camera, cell phone and hiking boots over my head.
The four women in our group all went swimming. Prince Charming elected to stay on the shore where he recorded my wading adventure for posterity (pictures on his blog), and made friends with a family who had backpacked out to the lake to came for a few days.
The water was quite nice, particularly for someone who had not been swimming since we left Ormond Beach in early May. In this land of non-existent humidity, my wet clothes were dry by the time I went back behind the big rock to change out of my swimsuit.
After that it was two hours back to the van, and then three more to get home. At least there was a stop for ice cream on the way.
In our own vehicle, we'd never have made it, fearing damage to the undercarriage. In a company vehicle with an employee driving, we held on tight as we bumped and bounced over the last few miles on a long-neglected fire road.
The hike, according to my Yosemite hiking book, was supposed to be mostly in a forest. But the book hadn't been updated since 2006, when said forest burned. So we were out in the sun most of the way, looking at charred tree trunks.
The lake was worth the hike, if not the drive. As my hiking book promised, there was hardly anyone there.
Using my own route-finding skills, I managed to wind up on the wrong side of the water and had to wade 15 yards through a chest-deep stream, holding my pack with camera, cell phone and hiking boots over my head.
The four women in our group all went swimming. Prince Charming elected to stay on the shore where he recorded my wading adventure for posterity (pictures on his blog), and made friends with a family who had backpacked out to the lake to came for a few days.
The water was quite nice, particularly for someone who had not been swimming since we left Ormond Beach in early May. In this land of non-existent humidity, my wet clothes were dry by the time I went back behind the big rock to change out of my swimsuit.
After that it was two hours back to the van, and then three more to get home. At least there was a stop for ice cream on the way.
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