An Eastern Sierra redo

 In October 2020 not long after the first round of COVID restrictions were lifted in California, we headed to the Eastern Sierras for our first pandemic-era outing. We both look back fondly on that trip, but have wondered if it was truly great or if it is inflated in our memories because we had been housebound for over seven months. Last October, we decided to go back to answer that question. 

We had a slightly different route this time, in large part because we only had a week instead of three. We stuck to the northern part of our previous route, including Lundy Canyon, Mammoth, and the White Mountains. We added a stay at Pete's family camp near Calavaras Big Trees at the beginning and a drive through Yosemite on the way home. 

As we travelled east over the Sierras and north towards Lundy Canyon, two differences from our previous trip were already emerging. Firstly, we were going to be sharing our time with many more people than in 2020; and secondly, temperatures were 10-15F warmer during the day and night, so we were not going to have to worry about our water and food freezing overnight. We had hoped to find a camping spot at the US Forest Service campground near Lundy Lake, but all the spots were taken by the time we arrived. The aspens had started to turn, so fall foliage tourism was in full swing. Lundy Lake Resort, just a bit further up the road, still had a few campsites so we opted for one of those rather than driving to Lee Vining and staying at the private campground we stayed at in 2020. 

Lundy Canyon was just as spectacular as we remembered. We hiked from our campsite to the trailhead to stretch our legs. The afternoon sun made the aspens glow. The dirt road to the trailhead had been damaged in recent storms in a couple places, which was going to make navigating in our not-very-high clearance nano-van a bit challenging but likely doable. It was nice to be able to stand in the road, strategize a bit, and take some rough measurements (boot-high clearance required!) before driving up the next morning.  

We were up early the next morning to get to the trailhead before the limited parking spaces filled up. We made it through all the sketchy places on the road with the help of a couple of well-placed rocks. We had bluebird skies for our hike up the canyon. In 2020, we somehow lost the trail just as we got into the canyon and ended up wandering through the freshwater wetland to try to find our way. This time the trail was either more obvious or we were paying more attention, and we were able to continue much farther up the canyon. The golden foliage against the granitic peaks and the deep blue sky was spectacular. 

Our next stop was Mammoth and Devils Postpile. The site has been on my to see list for a number of years, but our last trip was too late in the season (it usually closes in late September or early October). This time the site was only accessible on weekends due to construction on the access road, so we hightailed it there after our Sunday hike in Lundy Canyon. The Postpile is made up of (mostly) hexagonal columns of basalt that formed when a lava lake cooled around 100,000 years ago. The hexagonal shapes are created as lava cools and changes from a liquid to solid state, a process called columnar jointing (fancy science words for cracks that release pressure). There are many other sites around the world where you can see this phenomenon, including the famous Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland (which is spectacular, partly because some of the columns descend into the ocean). The columns making up Devils Postpile can be seen from the side where they make up an impressive wall of vertical columns, along with more artistic swoops and horizontal columns. You can also hike to the top of the columns and see the extent of the columns beyond the initial layer that is visible from below. 

Our next and most anticipated stop was the ancient bristlecone pine forest in the White Mountains. We were able to camp at the US Forest Service campground a few miles down the hill from the visitor center on this trip, which was a vast improvement from the highway-side campground we stayed at in 2020. On our last visit, the visitor center was closed and we started the 5-mile loop hike about two hours before sunset, making for a brisk pace because of the fading daylight and plummeting temperatures. This time we listened to a talk by one of the docents and learned how the field of dendrochronology (using trees to understand historical climate) was advanced by the scientists studying bristlecone pines. Because the trees are so long lived, scientists have been able to create a record of over 8,000 years using cores from living and dead trees. Trees lay down a ring of cambium tissue for approximately every year of growth. The width of a tree ring give us clues about temperature and precipitation, which affect the growth rate of trees. Rings tend to be thinner during dry years and thicker during warm, rainy years. This annual growth pattern is present in other species as well, such as fish ear bones (otoliths) and coral reefs. These annual tree ring patterns can be used to match cores from different trees that were alive at the same time period for some portion of their lives. With that matching section, you can start to put together an additive chronology that is longer than the life of a single living tree and expand the chronology into the past using cores from dead trees. Dead trees are typically not a reliable source for cores, but the harsh conditions in the White Mountains mean that dead bristlecone pines decay very slowly, preserving the wood long after the trees die. 

The loop trail from the visitor center winds past the area where the oldest living bristlecone pine--the Methuselah tree--lives. It has weathered over 4,800 years of whatever Mother Nature has thrown their way, but due to the risk of vandalism from people, the tree is not marked in any way. Both times we've done the hike, we've tried to figure out where it is likely to be. We'll probably never know if we identified the correct location, but it is a fun mystery to try to solve while hiking along. Towards the end of the hike, the trail follows a north-facing slope populated only with bristlecone pines. The conditions are so harsh here that the bristlecones have no competition from other tree species. As the climate warms, scientists are worried this might change. Ponderosa and limber pine and white fir are all able to outcompete the bristlecone pine and may be able to gain a toehold with changing conditions. 

The campground at Grandview was sparsely populated and the campsites were spacious, giving us lots of room from our nearest neighbor, which is not always the case at a public campground. We got a lovely sunset, but a full moon meant no dark skies for us. Hopefully we'll time it better in that respect next time around. 

A stand of bristlecone pines on a north-facing slope - the environment is
so harsh that virtually nothing else is able to grow on these slopes

well-preserved bristlecone pine

"baby" bristlecone pine ~25 years old

Our next stop was Swall Meadows to see a friend. She took us to Rock Creek for a lovely hike. Even after being at elevation for five days, we could both feel the effects of a hike at 10,000 feet. An incoming weather system meant our trip over the Sierras might involve snow, so we cut our hike a bit short and made haste for Tioga Pass. It was snowing by the time we reached the Yosemite National Park entrance station, but not enough to close the road, fortunately. Our views of Yosemite were minimal through the snow and rain, but the trees in the Sequoia grove never disappoint. 

Trip #2 to the Eastern Sierras was just as lovely the second time around as the first, so it wasn't completely a COVID effect. I suspect the act of unplugging from the world was a common theme of both trips that made them immensely enjoyable. Maybe we'll do another redo again this fall...just to be sure.