at the edge of light.

It comes blundering over the

Boulders at night, it stays

Frightened outside the

Range of my campfire

I go to meet it at the

Edge of light.

The mountains are your mind.

~ Gary Snyder, excerpted from The High Sierra Of California

granite grey sierras below and topaz blue sky above.

Day Two. Trying to find a rock on which to sit where there's a breeze even slight so I can enjoy my coffee in peace from the mosquitos. I'm watching this group of three climbers wandering around this basin near Sailor Lake where J and I made our camp last night. Not sure where they stayed maybe down lower at Dingleberry. We met them coming up the trail yesterday morning and breezed by them pretty much leaving them in our dust. Last night we climbed up this ridge separating Sailor and Midnight Lakes and didn't see any signs of tents or people below. Could've been the hard side light but this place seems pretty remote for now. The first night was kind of restless for some reason. It's not really cold but my feet were which kept waking me up. Julian seemed to sleep soundly as usual so that made me happy. It's quiet now. Just the sound of this outlet stream from Sailor and the waterfall below Hungry Packer Lake above us. It was an impressive sight from the ridge last night - Hungry Packer - still littered with chunks of ice along the northern and western shores. Maybe I'll get a shot of it and Picture Peak on our way back through here in two days after we have a go at crossing the Sierra Crest via a col beneath Mount Haeckel at just under thirteen thousand feet. The rangers had promised solid snow above ten-five but we're here at eleven thousand feet and there are just patches of the stuff. I can tell higher up there is more - and more than usual - but my worry of spending our Sierra summer sleeping on snow is no matter. The basins here are what I wanted and how I always picture the Sierra littered with the squatty hulks of juniper pines and granite boulders open for exploration. Today the plan then is to climb back up that same ridge and continue on up to the col. Then drop down the southwest side more-or-less directly into the most spectacularly-remote Evolution Basin to meet up with the John Muir Trail winding through and head a bit north for Evolution Lake to set up camp. The original plan was the literally closer-by-a-mile Sapphire Lake but from photos I checked out back at the hotel in Mammoth Lakes it seemed pretty desolate there. Great for photos as I for some reason am particularly drawn to remote and desolate Sierra scenes but not so great for camping and trying to hang our food where the tallest thing around is maybe a six-foot boulder. It seemed Evolution Lake was surrounded by pines and places to hang our stuff and I guess then just that much more hospitable and inviting. I do like the quiet J still in the tent not sure what he's up to maybe playing with George and Stanley trying to keep away from the swarms of mosquitos. Yesterday back in Mammoth we were eating breakfast and watched as a young couple geared up for their own backpacking trip. The girl set down her pack outside the lobby door and I spied a stuffed Tigger sticking out of a water bottle pocket. I poked J and pointed to it and we laughed. He said he felt better knowing he wasn't the only one taking stuffed animals into the wilderness. So we're back now and I'm sitting on a rock in the shade to jot down some thoughts before heading off to cook dinner. Big day. And it's only four-something in the afternoon. We gave Haeckel Col a go. Climbed seven hundred feet up the ridge on our way to the cirque beneath Haeckel and everything was going marvelously. But all of a sudden we found ourselves quite quickly on some pretty sketchy terrain. There was seemingly no easy way around this couple-hundred-foot-tall knob of granite talus at the top of the ridge. We tried climbing high to get around it and traverse more-or-less to the top of the cirque but it got pretty dicey and I turned us around. Julian threw out some suggestions but they all ended up cliffing us out with drops of anywhere between twenty and fifty feet to the dusty solid ground below that which then in turn led up to the cirque. We ended up backtracking to the top of the ridge and skirted down lower to find a narrow loose gully leading a couple hundred feet down to where we could then climb easily back up and into the cirque and all the way up past Lake 12345 and finally the col to crest the eastern Sierra and get our first glimpse down into Evolution. The gully was not pretty nor did Secor's guide or anything else I read about the route to Haeckel Col over the past couple of months ever mention any of this sort of terrain but it honestly seemed there was no other or easier option. I had figured it to be a pretty straightforward - albeit inevitably more difficult than trail - cross-country hike and final climb to the Col to get us to the coveted Evolution Basin and putting us more remote than we had ever been on any of our Sierra adventures. We had been going for three hours to get to that point and still only halfway to the Col - a mile away and maybe eight hundred feet higher. From the top of the crest, we then still had to drop down three miles and sixteen hundred feet to the JMT and then another mile or so north on trail to Evolution Lake. Four maybe five more hours I was guessing from the base of that gully. I could tell J was overwhelmed. I had led us down to the base of it and J had followed expertly negotiating terrain that likely no eleven-year-old had gone. At the bottom once again on solid ground we gathered ourselves and talked a bit. He was as much a part of our plan as myself and I wanted to make sure he knew that. Make sure he knew if we turned around we could explore the wildly-fantastic Sabrina Basin for our remaining three days. No worries. No worries at all not one single bit. I admitted to him that my plan had been ambitious. That off-trail terrain always takes longer than plodding steadily along on-trail. That I hadn't considered the eleven-plus-thousand foot elevation at which we were doing all of this us just a couple of low-landers from Seattle. So with a bit of a heavy heart for both of us we decided we'd turn around. Go back. I know he was so excited to get to Evolution Basin. Just like on Agassiz last summer I had put together a route that pushed him until he made the call to go back. But realizing and telling him that was part of my job. To push him beyond his comfort zone with no worry of ever turning around. But I still felt a bit guilty. To get his hopes up of such an incredibly wild trip and then have it be out of reach. But also just like Agassiz as we headed back down the ridge - taking a shortcut from near the top straight down to Hungry Packer Lake - we talked about the adventure. He told me how it was just not meant to be this time and there was a reason we would not get there. His insights were spectacular. He shed a few tears it seemed maybe surprisingly at least to me out of some sheer gratitude he felt and then I wiped away a couple of my own as I listened to him tell me how fantastic all of this was and gave him a big hug. Maybe at the end of the day despite being a total hack I am doing alright with this kid of mine. I was so proud of him back up there I thought as a smile came across my face. He was so ambitious. So excited. 'Dad let's try going up there' or 'Dad how about going down here?' he asked with exuberance and experience beyond his eleven years taking it upon himself to try forging a route ahead. I got some photos of him climbing with the granite grey Sierras below and topaz blue sky above. Even that last attempt down the steep and loose and sketchy gully I was hesitant to go but no ... he persuaded me to give it a try. The kid is a climber at heart. Desperate to experience wild places just like his dad. To give this or that a go despite an uncertainty hanging over it all and a col a mile away and almost a thousand feet still-higher. No fear. Just eleven-year-old legs that wear out much faster than his incredible spirit which seems to show no bounds and for which I start to tear up thinking about. So no Evolution Basin this year. But just like Agassiz yet again no worries. It's really not about the destination we agreed. Be it the summit of a fourteen-plus thousand-foot Sierra peak or a super-remote basin most people take days to reach by trail. We were in the mountains and 'we never have a bad time in the mountains Dad' he told me. And then as we neared the base of the ridge and the edge of the lake - also like on Agassiz - we spotted our first marmot eyeing us from a sunny rock. As we approached he quickly jumped into his burrow, but Julian blew his marmot whistle on his pack strap and the little fellow immediately poked his head back out and called back in reply. It's just about dark now and I'm writing this by headlamp in the tent while Julian tries to sleep next to me. He's not feeling super-great tonight maybe the altitude we hit at the top of that ridge. I'm waiting for the Milky Way to come out. Maybe will try for some photos.

Day Three. At last found a spot on a granite recliner above the icebergs quickly melting out away from the bugs. There's enough of a breeze to keep them away for the moment. J is throwing rocks at the ice. The chunks at the shore I included in my attempt of a photograph last evening of Picture Peak reflected in the lake are gone today. Melted. An enormous waterfall of snowmelt plunges over the sheer cliffs above the southwest shore of the lake. It's an impressive sight. It's hard to be motivated under the blistering sun and cloudless sky. I just wish a storm would roll through to shake things up a bit. Sitting in the shade found a spot away from the bugs now thinking back to our third day in Dusy Basin last summer. How the clouds had rolled in that morning and changed the light. How I also had sat under a juniper pine in the shade middle of the afternoon zipped up in down against the ever-constant wind mesmerized at the changing shadows as the clouds chased each other from west to east across the blue afternoon Sierra sky. How much more incredible Dusy Basin seemed. Which maybe is unfair I realize. Maybe it's cos we haven't had any drama here with the weather. Maybe cos a quick climb up the ridge towering over us to the north gives a view back to Owens Valley and Lake Sabrina. Maybe cos we're not in Kings Canyon or any national park for that matter. But unfair because Picture Peak is really quite impressive. And we can see glimpses of the summits of the Evolution peaks surrounding us on three sides high above and at least sense their remoteness. It is amazing. But for some reason I am afraid I may leave here feeling slightly disappointed without knowing really why. To think of a reason I go back to our past Sierra summer holidays. The first one Julian was eight. I had an overly ambitious plan then as well. Two back-to-back double-digit-mile hikes under the weight of full packs for us both. After our first trip fell a mile or two short of Thousand Island Lake under the shadow of Banner Peak and we set up camp next to Badger Lake for our second we headed south to climb over Kearsarge Pass at just shy of twelve-thousand feet into Kings Canyon and dropped down a thousand feet to camp by the lakes under the crazy-impressive craggy Kearsarge Pinnacles. From the top of the pass we could see an afternoon thunderstorm raging in the remote heart of the park to the west. Each day we were greeted with changing weather. It was hot and we swam in our underwear in the lakes and dried off on warm sun-bleached granite. I remember tossing a pad on the ground and lying next to a stream one morning thinking of how fantastic and unbelievable it all was. I didn't heft a tripod or any of the medium-format gear I had brought along but instead left stuffed in the trunk back at the trailhead just my small but trusty G2 in hand to try and capture the place. But the four-megapixel pics still remind me of that spectacular spot. Of J wrapped in a towel staring up at peaks awash with alpenglow. The following year we were actually aiming for Dusy but a fire on the highway leading up to South Lake scuttled our plans so instead we backtracked our way to Yosemite and spent a night at Cathedral Lake. A thunderstorm had rolled in like clockwork during the afternoon giving me a bit of concern having chosen to leave the rainfly tucked back in the trunk rather than carrying it but the light and clouds later that evening were more incredible beyond any description I could ever muster. And last year of course we did indeed make it to Dusy Basin. We had missed a spectacular thunderstorm the evening before we arrived instead witnessing it from the safe haven of the town of Bishop. But on that third day the clouds arrived and the light that evening was miraculous. We're not far from Dusy now as I think about it. Maybe ten miles or so to the east. So maybe on all of those earlier trips we had just gotten lucky. I don't know. I do know I am weird and think there is just something - something magical about being in a national park. Particularly Kings Canyon and the North Cascades. Probably the two most inaccessible national parks in the whole collection of them scattered across the West and the rest of the lower forty-eight. And that of course appeals to me. Of crossing into them on foot over impressive mountain passes. And I think to the idea of climbing over those passes and the sort of magic then that brings. It's of course because of the remoteness. Of being on the other side of the rest of the world. Kearsarge Pass into the eastern heart of Kings Canyon. Bishop Pass into the northern heart of Kings. Over Easy Pass then dropping down into the fantastic Fisher Basin. Jackass Pass on to the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range of the Wyoming Rockies. You cannot see a road from the other side. Had we made it over Haeckel Col we'd be out there. Evolution Basin is pretty remote. Maybe more remote than anywhere short of the Cirque of the Towers I have ever been. And I really think it's that allure that now more than ever appeals to me. No doubt about it. And so maybe when it comes down to it that's the reason afterall that I feel this tinge of disappointment. And I say tinge because of course it's been an incredible trip. And we still have two days left. And I can't do much about the weather. But yesterday's attempt to climb over the crest will absolutely go down as one totally unforgettable moment. Just like Agassiz. These tougher times the ones where we're together in it one hundred percent the ones where I'm admittedly for better or worse pushing him beyond what he thinks he can do end up forging some unbreakable bond between us. Not really wanting to create a repetitive theme of over-ambitious trips for my still-young son I like to think of that at least to alleviate the bit of guilt that hangs over me for my failed plans. I see now the idea of five miles a day was not necessarily over-ambitious. But maybe those same five miles over rough terrain off-trail above eleven thousand feet over sometimes sketchy terrain and crumbling Sierra cols was. As opposed to sitting in one spot like we did in Dusy - although we did explore each day - I do like the idea of moving each day. See new sights. New angles. So next year I'll have to remember that. Maybe look again at the trip I originally planned for us deep into Kings Canyon over Kearsarge and Glen Passes to Rae Lakes and Sixty Lakes Basin. All trail. I liked the bit about my plan of two days of work followed by a day of rest and just exploring and then the two last days working again to get ourselves back to civilization. Despite my plan this year I am still left amazed. Amazed at our time spent here so far and of course amazed with him. Even if maybe it ultimately was the sight of the col from the bottom of that dirty gully seemingly high above and still far away too knowing we had as far to descend that blew the wind out of his sails it had not blown the wind out of his spirit. Like he said there was a reason we would not make it to Evolution this year. But we will. We will.

Day Four. Well we moved our tent for the third night this time in between Sailor and Hungry Packer Lakes in this big open granite basin Picture Peak towering above us to the south the outlet stream from Hungry Packer flowing through with quiet calm. I am sitting on a rock in the sun. It's still early listening to Moby's 'Stella Maris' and 'The Violent Bear It Away' watching the water fall its course. I love this time of day in places like this. The sun just having risen over the mountains to our east the shadows still long it is still quiet. Last night was spectacular. Never even saw a single person yesterday. After dinner early around five-thirty Julian grabbed for his summit pack and me for my camera and a liter of water and we headed off to climb the other ridge separating us from the Moonlight Lake basin and Thompson Ridge to the east up to the base of where Picture Peak fell abruptly to Hungry Packer Lake far below. Halfway up I stopped to snap a video of J climbing up a snowfield to me then past the setting sun blinding behind washing out the folds and crags of the mountains everywhere alpine and unveiling themselves to us from this new height. I felt an energy I had not felt yet on the trip surrounded by such desolate incredibleness. The Clyde Spires. Wallace. Darwin. Powell. Lamarck. The whole of the Evolution range lay awash in backlight. We could see Echo Lake surrounded in a deep granite cirque still covered in broken ice. I took photos of Julian climbing up. And then more photos. And knew instantly this was the highlight of the trip. I had needed this. This alpine setting remote-feeling and barren above the trees a world of ice and rock still even end of July. Scrolling through the pics later in the trip I could flick from the first frame I took on the trip to the last earlier that evening and thoroughly enjoyed the juxtaposition of the first CA-89 stretching straight out from Monitor Pass a few wispy clouds clinging to an otherwise flat blue sky to the last of J on a ridge the sun behind jagged Sierra peaks mountains and granite surrounding him seemingly in all directions. After our nightly ritual of washing up in frigid stream waters we took turns going through our pictures and looking at them all. When it was dark enough he and I scrambled out of the tent to a spot nearby to shoot the stars. The sky was littered with ten thousand of them and the silky stream of the Milky Way hanging overhead arching its way down to meet the horizon to the east beside Picture Peak. He was excited his camera was able to capture the scene and it was fun feeding off his excitement of the moment to try to take some pics of my own. It was a perfect evening not too cold. Us both wrapped in our warmest layer of light insulation to ward off the just-slight chill before tucking ourselves back in down bags for the night. But first some Uno by headlamp of course. Then to fall asleep to the sound of water falling its course from the mountains to the ocean. Today our plan is to pick up our camp one last time and head cross-country over that ridge we climbed to try for Haeckel Col and pitch our tent somewhere near Midnight Lake with its impressive view up to Mount Darwin. And of course directly on the other side of Darwin ... Evolution Lake. Separated from us by the thirteen-thousand foot crest of the Sierras. No clouds again today. Sitting in the tent with a slight breeze. We found a pool in between Midnight and the outlet stream that we'll try dipping in later this afternoon once we've had a bit of lunch. Almost down to the last of our food. Probably didn't bring quite enough but we'll survive. I'm realizing for some reason that out in this crazy-wild splendor it's hard for me to relax instead always feeling a need to be doing something or exploring somewhere or just on the move. I want to go climb. Go wander. But I know I should just enjoy relaxing in the still-quiet of these mountain afternoons just reading from the book I picked up back at the ranger station in Mammoth Lakes of John Muir's 'My First Summer in the Sierra.' I thought it would be fitting reading his rambling but lyrical prose as he describes his love affair with his aptly-named Range of Light. Or writing in this journal. Back from a dip in the pool. The water was cold! Maybe not as cold as the ice-laden waters of Hungry Packer but still too cold for swimming. The bugs are still swarming. But ... clouds have begun to roll in! It's hard for me to contain my excitement sitting in the tent constantly gazing out every minute or two to see how much they have multiplied and billowed. I can tell weather is moving in. There's a palpable feeling in the air I feel dialed into and I find I quite like watching the weather change in the mountains. The Sierras. The Cascades. A classic afternoon thunderstorm brewing here for sure. I can see an enormous cumulonimbus cloud ever-building to the north over the Owens Valley its top having just begun to flatten out to the telltale anvil shape of a perfect maybe slightly menacing-looking thunderhead the underside of it and the surrounding clouds turning more and more grey as the minutes pass. The wind picks up and howls through the tops of the juniper pines as we find ourselves under the shadow of a cloud for the first time in four days! Just to be safe I've guyed out the four corners of the tent. There is a ginormous cloud building over Darwin and the Sierra crest. It really is fascinating to witness this all from our vantage point on this high granite plateau-of-a-basin. Thunder! The distinct rumble still far away in the east. And now in what seemed like just seconds the cloud to our east beyond the ridge has darkened and broiled and I know in an instant it's headed our way now probably unleashing its rains over Sailor Lake and the basin where we were earlier today and I suddenly realize our slightly-exposed position in the thinning of treeline at eleven thousand feet. Enough so to cut dinner short to scramble down the trail and check out other options more protected amongst the trees. Finding some pretty quickly I raced back up to kickstart Julian into action. We stuffed what we had lying about in our packs and picked up the tent carrying it full of our bags and pads and everything else down the trail. Dumped it and quick staked it out with a handful of heavy rocks and jumped inside just as the rain began to pour all around us. The thunder intensified as we breathed a sigh of relief huddled again back in the tent the fly whipping about precariously but held stout by the solid granite weighing down its corners us tucked in our down bags and blankets sheltered amongst these pines. The thunder is coming from the west now so the storm has already passed over us. 6:25. Reminds me of the night at Cathedral only then I had opted not to bring the rainfly so I had crammed our tent under some low pines and draped our towels over the top as the wind howled all night overhead. Here and now time for some Uno to wait this storm out. 7:04. Rain more or less has subsided. Opened the fly doors and can see clearing blue skies to the east. I stepped out of the tent to check on the weather. Yes it had passed. And in its wake left clouds and light unbelievable! J and I both grabbed for our cameras and were off. He said he would try to catch up to me but by the time realizing where I was I had already left for another spot. I laughed and told him I moved fast with light like this cos it doesn't last and changes in an instant. We shared the tripod and I swatted away or tried to swat away the swarms while he focused on taking photographs and then we'd switch. The light changed ambient from hues of purple to pink to orange. We found crashing waterfalls amongst the granite boulders and patches of summer snow. Slabs of polished granite. This place in this light was too spectacular almost to behold. A spectacular final evening we were able to share before we hike out tomorrow morning. There is a quaint and humbling feeling hunkered down in a tent its nylon walls zipped up to a thunderstorm raging outside first crashing to the east then overhead then to the west abating and leaving in its wake a whole new world refreshed. The granite dries quickly I found. The birds were out and singing. The wilderness exposed in its most raw form. I am always impressed and grateful for the experience of riding out a storm in the mountains and this one was no different. Now here under headlamp writing this we tuck ourselves in after our final nightly ritual of washing up next to each other along a stream scrubbing off the dirt from a full day in the mountains. Brushing teeth. Hanging food. Or what little is left now. To snuggle in and look at each other's photos one last time before a few hands of Uno 'just one more Dad' Julian pleads and to which I cannot say no. Our last night of sleep peaceful to the sound of water but all else quiet the rest of the world.

Day Five. Morning of our last day. Last night after darkness fell the clouds completely evaporated to once again reveal the stars and the whole of the Milky Way. J took some more photos. I tried to get a shot of the tent under the trees the Milky Way streaming above but was having trouble with the focus. Don't think they turned out. It's quiet again now. Just a few clouds clinging near Mount Darwin and far north in the distance across the valley to the White Mountains. Maybe another storm is brewing. The hot air hanging over the Sierra crashing with a cold mass moving south from the Pacific Northwest. Home. J will be up soon. With the bugs buzzing back to life we'll no doubt be anxious to quickly break camp and head down the trail to Spencer patiently awaiting our return. Real food. Swimming in the Bishop pool a few leaps off the diving board for me maybe the big slide for Julian. Our holiday isn't over but I know tomorrow I'll be ready to just be home. It's a long drive. But all the same I have come to realize that after each trip each time into these wild crazy-beautiful places I leave with photographs and memories and - and maybe most importantly - an even deeper more insatiable desire to return.

--- journal entries dated July twenty-six through July thirtieth, John Muir Wilderness, California