A Sierra in the Sierras
Special to The ARS Sojourner
We opened fire with a fusillade of tiny pebbles. The marmot stayed put, completely unfazed. Thus defeated in our attempt to teach our furry visitor to stay away from us (marmots are capable of destroying a pack in a quest for food), we relaxed back against our packs and watched from the shade of our little tree island. Our marmot was soon joined by at least eight others that sunned themselves on rocks, munched on the tundra vegetation, and chased each other around the meadows and through the tree islands.
Doug Rickard and I were camped near Moonlight Lake in California's Sierra Nevada Mountains, right at the upper tree limit at 11,200 feet. This was the high point of a four day hike into the Middle Fork of Bishop Creek area, which was sort of a shake down cruise for a longer trip to follow.
During the summer, some of my friends and I like to get away from Arizona's heat by planning a backpack trip in one of the alpine mountain ranges of the west. One of my favorite areas is the Sierra Nevada.
The range has a reputation as a backpacker's paradise, and it is truly deserved. Weather is seldom a problem from July through September, and the range is easily accessible via a network of excellent trails. My favorite country, though, is the timberline region, which in the Sierra is especially extensive. At altitudes between 10,000 and 11,500 feet, the glacially carved wilderness is dotted with blue alpine lakes, islands of timberline trees, carpeted with meadows and flowers, and laced with mountain streams. The white granite backbone of the range sets all this off to stunning effect.
Most established trails in the Sierra spend little time in the timberline country, but cross-country travel is relatively easy for those hikers with the skill and experience. Mountaineering skills are not necessary, except early in the summer when steep snow may still linger on steep slopes.
For years I've planned trips that use the trail system to get into an enticing section of timberline country. From there I've wandered happily up meadows and valleys, over high passes, and among the peaks. Then, in 1982, veteran Yosemite climber Steve Roper published a guidebook to something he called the "Sierra High Route."
Recognizing that many hikers preferred the high country to the dense forests traversed by famous paths such as the John Muir Trail, Roper pieced together a route that stays in the timberline country for most of its 195-mile length. Although the route is almost entirely cross-country, Roper avoids terrain that requires mountaineering skills, except in unusual conditions.
I was delighted to discover his book, especially since there's a very informative chapter on the explorers who found the key passes and routes that make the Sierra High Route possible. Roper's excellent book has helped me plan many enjoyable explorations of the high country. The original book has long been out of print, but Roper recently published a revision 1, which features better maps, many black and white photos, and a more accurate description of the High Route itself.
The maps are especially welcome, as they are reprints of the classic 15-minute USGS maps that are now out of print. The newer 7.5-minute maps are more detailed, but it takes 22 of them cover the high route. Roper describes access trails to the start and end points of each the route's five segments, as well as loop trips that are possible along each segment. The new edition also describes enjoyable non-technical climbs that are accessible from the High Route.
I have to caution you that this book is not a guide to a hard-wired route. There are no lines on the maps to show you exactly where to go. With a few exceptions where the local terrain concentrates use, the traveler is free to choose his own route. Roper merely guides you through the key passes and other critical sections along the way. It is not a route for beginners on their own, though novices can handle the route when accompanied by an experienced Sierra cross-country backpacker.
This particular trip was originally planned as a ten day trip, but the realities of physical fitness soon caused us to change our plans. I'd been doing a lot of dayhiking, but hadn't carried a big pack for a few months. Doug had just returned from a family vacation on which he couldn't do any hiking at all- and unlike me, he lives near sea level. So we split our ten available days into two easier trips.
Doug is not a radio amateur, but when I mentioned that the Flight of the Bumblebees would fall toward the end of our second trip, Doug enthusiastically suggested that I carry my Wilderness Radio Sierra so that I could operate multiband. He pointed out that I would be carrying it, not him! My usual backpacking rig is a Small Wonder Labs DSW-40. Although the Sierra is just as power-efficient as the DSW, it's larger and heavier, and I would also need to carry a tuner. I ended up with 4.2 pounds of radio gear, including an Emtech ZM-2 tuner, a 40 meter half wave wire and quarter wave counterpoise, an eight AA alkaline battery pack, ear bud headphones, and a homebrew set of miniature paddles to use with the Sierra's built-in KC-2 keyer. I decided to carry a second set of batteries because of the contest. I carried band modules for 40, 30, 20, 15, and 10 meters.
On the first trip, the paddles caused trouble right from the start. I've used several different lightweight paddles, but they all have the same problem when operating from a backpacking camp - they move around unless held with my other hand or anchored with a leg strap. A while back, a comment I saw on the QRP-L reflector sparked an idea. I could make a very small set of piano-style paddles 2 that would stay put on any level surface, as long as the base was larger than the paddles.
I made a set from printed circuit board material just before the trip. On the first trip, I quickly discovered that they required too much pressure to operate, especially with cold fingers, and I hadn't really mastered the new keying technique. So I did a lot of listening!
When we re-supplied in town between trips, I bought a small file and notched the paddle arms to make them more flexible, which solved the problem. (When I got home, I made a new set of paddles that are more easily adjusted. But that's another story.)
Station setup at camp (or in several cases, at our lunch stop), was quick and easy. I've found that I just won't bother with complex antennas on backpack trips, because I'm usually tired and hungry at the end of the day. I used a half-filled half liter water bottle to launch 15 pound monofilament fishing line over whatever trees were handy. I usually tie off the near end of the wire to my tent, so I can set up the station outside and move it inside the tent after dark.
The 66 foot wire is end-fed right from the tuner, and the far end goes over one or more trees. The counterpoise simply lies on the ground. The wire was never higher than 30 feet, and usually at 20 feet, but I could always hear plenty of domestic stations on 20 meters, and quite often a lot of DX.
Despite not knowing the code, Doug was interested in hearing what was going on. Since the Sierra doesn't have a speaker, we shared the earphones, an awkward arrangement at best. Next time, I'll bring two pairs of earphones and a Y adapter. I described what was going on I tuned the bands, and after a few sessions Doug could recognize common words and phrases. Maybe that's the best way to learn Morse!
On the way down from the first trip, we took a side hike to gorgeous Hungry Packer Lake set in a stunning glacial cirque below Picture Peak. You can see the type of horrible Sierra weather we had to contend with! So why the tents? Mosquitoes… Actually, the bugs weren't too bad, except at dusk, and as compensation, the flowers were incredible--entire hillsides painted purple with lupine, and yellow columbine peeking out from every timberline boulder.
We hiked past Loch Leven and camped near 11,400 foot Piute Pass on the first evening of the second trip. There were no trees at this exposed site, but I strung the wire from a boulder and used our two hiking sticks to support it. Even with the antenna only a few feet above the ground, I could hear plenty of activity. Doug listened in for a while, but the chilly breeze soon drove us into our tents.
After an easy day of cross country hiking across desolate but beautiful Humphrey's Basin we camped at stark Mesa Lake. As you can see, there are no trees at all, so once again I hung the wire from a boulder. I set up inside my tent this time, as Doug seemed more interested in his dinner than ham radio! In this photo, you can clearly see the band modules to the right, and the paddles on top of the Sierra.
Lunchtime the following day found us on an unnamed 11,600 foot pass near Pilot Peak, where I set up the antenna to see if 15 or 10 meters was open. Instead, I ended up making a local contact on 40 meters. We dropped off the steep northern side of the pass into an area known as the French Lakes. Here, a series of deep blue glacial lakes are scattered along a granite bench above French Canyon. From the pass, we'd picked out an area that looked promising for camp. The next day was the Flight of the Bumblebees, so this camp was special. It not only had to be scenic (not hard in this country!), but also had to have a reasonable antenna site. After a stop to pick up water from one of the lakes, we began searching for the perfect Bee campsite. We finally found the ultimate site on top of a granite ridge next to Paris Lake, back dropped by Pilot Peak.
On Sunday morning, the fourth day of the trip, I strung the antenna between the highest two tree islands and set up my operating position next to a granite backrest, conveniently carved by the last glacier. I'd gotten the hang of the piano-style paddles by now and they worked well during the contest. Notice that there's only 3 band modules visible in this close-up photo of the station. I stashed the 30 meter module so I wouldn't try to operate on that band by mistake. Thinking processes are not always clear at high altitude! Conditions were tough--most stations on 20 and 15 meters seemed to surf just above and below the noise level. And out here, maybe 20 miles from the nearest power line, the background noise level was very low. I doubt I would have heard more than one or two stations at home. Even the usual "big guns" were hard for me to copy. I'm always impressed by the skill and persistence of QRP operators, though. I must have been weaker than many of the stations I worked, running only 2 watts to an antenna with a high radiation angle. I put that factor to work on 40 meters and managed to snag a few local stations, ending up with a final total of 20 QSO's.
After the contest ended, we climbed over 11,800 foot Puppet Pass, one of the passes made famous by Roper's High Route, and headed for well-named Desolation Lake. This huge lake mirrors rugged Mount Humphreys, which is one of the few Sierra summits that requires technical climbing skills to reach. We finished the trip with a camp near Golden Trout Lake, which was dominated by the impressive Glacier Divide. On the final day, we retraced our steps over Piute Pass to the trailhead. I hope I can have as much fun with QRP on future trips.
Footnotes:
1. "Sierra High Route: Traversing Timberline Country", by Steve Roper, Mountaineers Books, 1997, ISBN 0-89886-506-9.
2. Piano-style paddles have two side-by-side paddles that are operated by pressing downward, instead of sideways. With practice, piano-style paddles are as easy to use as conventional side-by-side paddles.
* * * * * * * * *
Bruce Grubbs, N7CEE, has been active in QRP for the last fifteen years, and enjoys homebrewing, kit building, and field contesting. His favorite wilderness activity is exploring the Grand Canyon on trips of a week or more, and he also enjoys long backpack trips in the mountains of the west.