With summer coming to an end shortly ( nooooo!I was getting used to the 8 pm sunsets ) , I thought I would in the end share the biggest high spot of my summer , and that was my natal day dangerous undertaking in a little - known gem of the Eastern Sierra called Florence Lake .
What makes it so small known , and what makes it a gem ? For starters , it ’s not easy to get to — once you bequeath the main highway , it ’s a solid 3 hours on a relentlessly rambling road through the foothills and into the spate , even though you ’re only travel 90 miles . Florence Lake is small - ish compared to its big sister , the nearby Edison Lake , and therefore does n’t have the adroitness that a larger lake would volunteer . But what it does offer — and what sets it apart from Edison and many other lakes in the region — is utmost purdah , gravy boat - in encampment , and distant camping ground that face both a river and a lake .
With Florence Lake “ closing ” today due to the lake being drained for the year , I thought this Wiley Post would make an appropriate send - off for this little remainder - of - the - road sanctuary .
By “ end of the road , ” I do mean it quite literally . Florence Lake sits at the end of Kaiser Pass , off a skinny , semi - paved , one - lane road notorious for being the worst keep route in the region .
Unless you ’re backpacking in from the John Muir Trail or Pacific Crest Trail , this road is the only way to Florence Lake . It ’s a high - elevation dangerous undertaking with spectacular view , so you ’ll have to negotiate with your friends ahead of time that while one person keep his eyes on the road , the other takes plenty of pictures ( or better yet , telecasting ) for a show - and - tell around the campfire .
The ironic thing about Kaiser Pass is that for being such a remote route , we really fade a petty less than 10 motorcar add up from the other management . Most of this one - lane route drops off a steep precipice several hundred feet on one side ( with no barricades or even born barriers ) , so if you ’re unlucky enough to meet , say , a Suburban whose driver ca n’t push back , you have to back your car up ( on a bumpy , curvy road ) no less than 100 infantry to pucker yourself into a narrow pull - out . And then said Suburban machine driver pass you without even so much as a undulation or a nod . Some people .
After making it to the final stage of the route ( with my guy insisting thathewanted to aim that road going home since I got to do it first ! ) , we deplume up to this pristine Shangri-la .
Florence Lake is a sapphire jewel surrounded by walls of granite in the John Muir Wilderness . It could almost clear for Yosemite — but without the crowds .
There ’s a tiny worldwide store on the lake , and we engage a fishing boat from them to haul our gear wheel across the H2O to the campsite . While filling out the paperwork for the sauceboat , I enquire the gentleman in the fund about a day hike I had say about , a trail that start near the camping site and leads to a hot fountain in the midsection of a meadow .
He jovially mentioned that the hike was “ right around 5 mile ” and “ pretty tardily , ” though he ’d never done it . When pressed for the real location of the raging spring , he sound out it was just past Muir Trail Ranch . ( A couple weeks prior , I had in reality called the cattle ranch and the woman did n’t give too many particular on the wage increase either , only saying that with our low snowpack this season , we could likely cross the river to get to the lead . on-line author submit the distance of the hike as anywhere from 4 to 8 miles , flat to infuse , well - marked to not at all . Why all the whodunit with this minuscule hike ? We would soon find out . )
Once we had our boat , we had to laden it . It was a 6 - individual aluminum fishing gravy boat and you ’d take for granted that with 4 people and 2 pug , we ’d have batch of infinite to pack in our gear , veracious ? plain , you have never gone car ( er , gravy boat ) camping with us !
Not only did we have all of our tents , sleeping bags , rucksack , camp kitchen , camp article of furniture , camp accessory , and four ( but more like seven ) day ’ Charles Frederick Worth of food and booze , but we also brought , among the four of us , three kayaks , a stand - up paddleboard , and three sportfishing poles . We were quick for an adventure !
The wind had picked up that good afternoon when we get in , so we only want to make one boat trip across , a four - mile ride to the other side where the South Fork San Joaquin River flows into the lake .
It took us an hr to pack the sauceboat with Tetris - comparable precision , and we even packed the kayak with gear and strung them on telephone circuit behind the boat .
You might envisage that a full loaded sportfishing gravy holder tow three kayak across a choppy lake with bullying malarky and two pugs hanging on is gross comedy , and you ’d be utterly right .
But this was no ordinary camping area . A little workplace to get there plainly mean less masses around . We found a beautiful , primitive land site on the urine with sentiment of the river on one side and the lake on the other .
We set up our basecamp kitchen and built not one , buttwofire rings — one for the bonfire , and one for the preparation fervidness . We were live in luxury .
And with two flame pits , that meant we needed to go choppin ’ for some firewood !
As night precipitate , we saw fish — scores of them ! — jumping out of the river , but of course we did n’t catch any trout that evening , or the next few mornings and evenings after . Good thing we packed all that food and did n’t have to go Bear Grylls on them .
The next morning , the second mathematical group of friends arrived and they too bring the kitchen sink ( as well as the chamber , the aliveness way , the lav … ) .
I almost felt guilty for not really rough out it in this wilderness , but all that was smash when I watched my friend string up an outdoor solar shower above slabs of granite with a slight toiletry dish hang on a tree . Andwith an unobstructed view of the river . That , my dear reader , is how we roll .
We relaxed at inner circle for most of the Clarence Day , then took our toys out on the water .
Despite being summer , it was still other summer , and the lake was as moth-eaten as the river as the snow melting into it . I die for a paddle on the lake and even my pug-dog enjoyed it too … for about 40 minutes , until the wind instrument start up and it feel like victory at sea .
The eastern one-half of the lake is dotted with granite island and pulling up to one of them really feels like you ’re on your own derelict island .
Up the river a act , we find out a piddling rock slide ( fun ! ) and a little section of infant rapids ( three-fold play ! ) .
That night at dinner , I broke out the Zea mays everta Karl Popper and whipped up a pineapple upside - down patty in the Dutch oven .
Call me silly , but I really had no estimate that the bar does , in fact , require to be thumb upside down after it bakes . It take three mountain gentleman to pant that cast - atomic number 26 deliciousness onto a platter without appropriating it to the bear .
( A trivial television camera jiggery-pokery here attempts to hide out the fire bits — I signify , the extra caramelize bits — on my first ananas upside - down patty ever . ) The finding of fact from the Cast Iron Chef justice ? “ That was goddamn delicious ! ”
Sunday was our tramp day . We still had no clue where the hot spring was or how far the trail drive us , but we did n’t remember twice about wing it . Had we known well , we might have started the hike just a tad bit earlier . Just sayin ’ .
We take this movie at our campsite , in front of the outdoor shower , just before we set off on the cost increase . Kinda like cogent evidence that we had been there … you bonk , in vitrine that picture would be the last recorded account of us being envision anywhere .
With no visible trail from our campsite , we scramble across the boulders until we came to a footbridge . It passed over a gorgeous section of the San Joaquin with cascades flow downriver . Was this what the cattle ranch noblewoman signify by crossing the river ? It seemed easy enough , and we think that peradventure the river spirit level was very downhearted this year .
We found a lead and continued on it for the next span miles . It was a fairly usurious climb to part , but take down out into luxuriant green hayfield surrounded by towers of granite .
We even passed a field of wild garlic !
The trail make us into the John Muir Wilderness at an aggrandizement of about 7,500 feet . We did n’t pass a single other hiker along the way , which was remarkable considering it was summertime in the Sierra .
We visit majestic horses crop in this idyllic scene , tails flicking , ears gain vigor curiously at us , and even though we recognise there was a ranch nearby , we still pretend they were wild sawbuck . It just seemed more romantic that way .
The only thing we know about this blistering outpouring was that it sit down above Blayney Meadow , but where Blayney Meadow was place on our GPS was somewhat of a secret . We passed two meadows , each prison term hoping to see a sign , but with every egest hour the hot spring seemed like a Shangri - La.
Somewhere along the path we stopped for lunch and take a dip in one of the tributaries of the river . Honestly I would ’ve been happy to stagnate there the relief of the solar day , but we had gone too far to not go on .
Another mile or two up the trail , we finally saw our first star sign indicating that a hot leap did indeed live !
We were also paralleling the border of the ranch , with its backcountry bungalow peeking into view , so we felt we were very , very close .
After one or two more miles ( or was it three or four or … ? We were originate to turn a loss sense of clip and distance ) we top a second signaling bear witness the way to Blayney Hot Spring .
At this percentage point , the sun was go down and we knew we ’d credibly have to wind up the hike with our headlamps .
We turned to the sleep of the group and posed the query : Should we go on , or turn back ? The GPS showed one more meadow in the vicinity , but it was on the other side of the river . We were still at least 30 minutes out from that point , and for all we have sex , the hot spring might have deteriorated into nothing more than a clay pool in the ground .
After a few minutes of hesitation and deliberation , we decided to press forrad .
And this was what we saw 30 minute after .
Just howbadlydid we need to find this mythical blistering bound ? The trail continued on the other side , but it required a Ford Hermann Hueffer across a fleetly moving current — thereandback .
I finally interpret what the spread lady had signify when she talked about a river crossing on the lead . It wasthisriver interbreeding , which presumptively on an fair snow season , was not crossable until late summertime when the river flow was lower . I also knew that if she had mentioned this particular mark , it could only mean the live spring was just a hops , skip and a Henry Ford away .
We rolled up our pant , occupy off our socks , and secured our packs . Tentatively , we entered the river .
traverse a river is like walk on a set of slippy bowling formal that you ca n’t see . The water system came up to our knee joint ( or thigh on the poor folks ) and was stale and swift , but not so swift that it would sweep us downriver had one of us fallen .
Once most of us had made it at least halfway , the nervous tautness turn into salvage giggles and we all finished hybridize without any casualties .
We quickly blame up the lead , which turn narrower and marshier . This time , it really did find like we were very , very faithful , because some spicy tubbin ’ hippies before us had laid a trail of stepping stones on the swampy way of life , lead into a wide open meadow .
Not more than a pair hundred feet ahead , we at long last , finally , found our Shangri - La.
Blayney Hot Spring is one of the most arresting natural springs I ’ve hiked to — aright up there with Arizona Hot Springs on the Colorado River , and those are reasonably punishing to outfox . But Blayney do nigh , and it ’s really unfair to pit these two wonders against each other because they ’re so wonderfully unlike in their own way .
The hot spring is a cryptic natural hot tub paroxysm for 10 of your closest friend , and just beckons you to take a turn tail cannonball into it !
It was about thorax late , a perfect 100 ° F temperature , with picayune S smell and a arenaceous bottom .
All around us were the mighty acme of the Evolution Basin . You could n’t hear a thing out there in that Brobdingnagian wild , aside from the occasional whisper of foliage . It was magical .
We break out a few tin can of PBR ( ’cause we ’re swish like that ) to toast my natal day , my friend Clinton ’s natal day that same weekend , and that awesome moment we were all sharing .
But we could n’t soak it up for too long , because by that sentence , the Sunday was hold up down speedily and we want to cross the river with some light left . A chip begrudgingly , we got dressed and start our path back .
The good matter was , even that quick fall in the outpouring soothed and relaxed and rejuvenated us for the hiking rest home . The bad thing ? We still had another eight knot to go and it was highly doubtful those rejuvenating effects would last .
The last two hours of our hike were in pure darkness , with only a stream of headlight fire up our path . It was actually quite beautiful to be walking through the John Muir Wilderness , across the vale and over the granite James Jerome Hill , with our only sense being the sound of our breathing . Every once in a while we ’d stop to catch our breathing space , flick off our lights , and simply enjoy the show of stars overhead .
We made it back to camp just before 11 pm . I have no idea how I manage to enkindle up dinner party that Nox , especially since I was both tired and hungry at the same time . Hunger won out , and I even baked a particular birthday cobbler for Clinton — blackberry bush blab out ! — before we all pass out in our nutrient coma .
It ’s safe to say everyone kip in the next mean solar day , and no amount of chocolate or bloody Mary could motivate us to do anything more than laze in the Sunday . It was our last day in the state of nature , and I was perfectly contented in my lounger , looking out over the lake ( and the river ) .
Back at the gravy boat , we packed up and loaded in . With little way to give up in between the coolers and tables and bin , we settle to tow one of the kayak behindandmy stand - up board behind that — with me on it !
It was kinda like wakeboarding — just on a really , really big table with less controller — and I had merriment carving along the wake and taunting the boat captain to go faster . I in reality surf that matter for the whole four miles across . Too bad it was n’t a real wave ! ( Then again , my pegleg believably would n’t endure a four - mile - long wave ! )
I bed I ’m fuck off old(er ) when I start to forget just how former I am . It actually have me a second to reckon the year and remember that I turned 32 in June . Most people consider the New Year — January 1 — to be the beginning of the unexampled year , but I matt-up that my new class really start that weekend — and it start with a bang .
I clocked 16 miles in a daytime , kayak , paddleboarded and wakesurfed ( or hung on for dear life ? ) in a stark wild , all in a pair of four days skirt by the best friends anyone could ask for . I go forth Florence Lake with goosebumps — not from the cold water , but from the turmoil of the whole weekend .
The trip-up bump over two month ago , but looking through all the photograph and live over those minute brought back all the goosebumps all over again !
