Gloom

This smoke has been hanging around for more than two weeks, now, and coupled lately with the temperature in the low 100s has made for some miserable conditions. I haven't seen the sun—really seen it—in two weeks, never mind an actual blue sky. What's up there in lieu of the sun is a dull orange disk that nevertheless seems to manage to crank out the big temps and gives everything a sulfurous hue through the smoke.

This is all beginning to feel Biblical.

Camping

Susan wanted to go camping over the 4th of July holiday and invited me along. Destination: Lake Alpine, about 20 miles this side of Ebbets Pass.

Susan and her dogs, Bodie and Reno, picked me up early Thursday morning, and we were off . . .

We were glad we left early, because by the time we got to the lake, many of the campsites were full. But at Silver Valley campground, we lucked out and got the best site in the place—up away from the road, backed by the woods, close enough to the bathroom and the water spigot to be convenient but not annoying. Here's our tent:

Susan has a good-sized ice chest, so we could bring good stuff to eat. Our first night, we had chicken, cooked on the grill, accompanied by some rather strange-tasting Thai noodles from a box. The chicken was great; the noodles get a pass next time. Susan, being the barbecue maven, did the grilling; I helped by being hungry.

Friday morning, Independence Day, all of us went for a hike into the Carson-Iceberg Wilderness. Susan and I hike at vastly different speeds (my usual title for such activities is "The Hippo and The Gazelle Go for A Hike), so she and the dogs went on ahead and I followed along at a much slower pace, owing partly to my gimpy right leg and also to my desire to stop and look at things, maybe even take a picture. Here's some of what I saw on the trail:

Wildflowers . . . the lower photo is of sego lillies. I don't know the name of the others:


Lots of granite. I like being around it . . .

The trail led down to the North Fork of the Stanislaus River. Failing to see a crossing spot that didn't involve possible peril, I decided to stop there are eat half of my sandwich sitting on a rock next to a little eddy, where a tiny fish and some water striders were also hanging out. I tried to get a pictue of the water striders' shadow:

Four water striders row across the pool,
Making shadows of clipped poodles on the rocks below.
A tiny fish waits for food.

Susan caught up with me on her return leg and we hiked down to Duck Lake, where we finished our lunch.

Duck Lake is surrounded by lovely flower-filled meadows. There are cattle there, too, and some of them wear bells. You can hear the bells a long way off, and when you get closer, the effect is somewhat like being a spectator at the Tour de France—lots of jangling. Nice, though. The lake was calm and beautiful, set in amongst the granite.

In honor of the 4th of July, we had an All-American dinner of grilled steak and corn on the cob. And we were tired from the hike and went to bed early. Waking up in the middle of the night, I left the tent and saw so many stars . . . the moon was just past new, so the sky was quite dark, making it even more glittery.

Susan and the dogs took a two-hour hike Saturday morning, but I stayed in camp, reading. I also sketched a good rock at the back of our campsite:

When Susan got back, it was time to pack up and head back down the mountain. We'd had a wonderful time. Even a rock at our campsite was sad to see us go . . .