I am no lover of car-camping (or walk-in camping in a car campground), but after a night in the Valley, the Tuolumne backpackers camp seemed downright serene. The day before, we had picked up our food at the store/post office and prepared it for travel by dividing it among our bear canisters. The trip was ready to begin.
Bound and determined to get on the trail at 7:00 (NOTE: This never happened; not once.), we popped (crawled) out of bed at 5:45, made the first of 19 breakfasts of supergruel (later to become known as "that shit") and tea and were ready to rumble at 7:35. It was quite cold that morning (around 30), which surprised us a bit, having come equipped for a balmy summer's hike.
We set a goal for ourselves of approximately ten miles a day, making that day's objective the head of Lyell Canyon (9,040') - at the base of the climb up to Donahue Pass (11,056'). It was to be an easy day. After leaving the campground, the trail parallels Highway 120 for about two miles, then swings south to enter the extraordinary beauty of Lyell Canyon. The splendor of the canyon grows on you, with the meandering of the Lyell Fork of the Tuolumne River, and the gentle glacial slopes of the wooded mountains coming down to meet the warm golden glow of the meadow. We were richly rewarded for our early start, as within the first four miles we saw a coyote, several deer, a small hawk and several marmots (the housecat of the Sierras). Surprisingly, this was to be the most wildlife we saw in a single day for the entire trip.
The gradual climb into Lyell Canyon was a perfect start to the trip (no serious hills), and a great proving ground for Julian's knee. Almost like clockwork, as we had made the decision to go another mile or so beyond our daily mileage goal (in favor of a better campsite), the knee sent off a few warning salvos, and we elected to camp at the very end of the valley in an area known as the Lyell Fork basecamp.
Just before turning off the trail, we encountered two women who were just finishing hiking the trail from South to North - one was from Maine, my home state. After sharing the usual trailside banter about campsites, bears and the like, we asked how they were getting back to their starting point to pick up their car. The answer, at the beginning of the trip surprised us, but by the end it wouldn't have: They had met two guys on the trail with a similar dilemma and simply traded car keys.
From the ankles up, our campsite at the basecamp was great. We had the place to ourselves; the mosquitoes, though abundant, weren't sure where to bite us and were a non factor; the view down the canyon was amazing; and the rumor of marauding bears did not materialize. There was, though, the small matter of the ground. You see, this was a packer's camp, and whatever packers had slept there must have bed down in the trees, as every inch of the ground was covered with horse footprints and road apples. This circumstance did not get us off on a good footing with packers in general, as they had completely trashed the place. It was with no small measure of glee then, several hours after making camp that we smugly told an arriving packer and his trail of critters that this spot was taken thank you very much. Score: two meager backpackers one, packer, his sidekick and sixteen one thousand pound hoofed animals zippo.
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