Tongariro National Park - Round The Mountain Track

Tongariro National Park

Mt. Ruapehu

 

Before I left home, I spent time researching trails and terrain I would be interested in hiking in the north.  I discovered there is really only a singular "mountainous" region on North Island, which unsurprisingly is volcanic in nature. Because my preference for backpacking favors higher altitudes, it made sense for me to focus my energy on trails in this area.

There are multiple options for hiking in Tongariro National Park, but the most popular by far is an extended day hike known as the Tongariro Alpine Crossing.  Requiring a shuttle to complete, this strenuous track takes the hiker up and over the heart of the volcanic/alpine environment.  Another popular option is the Tongariro Northern Circuit, a multi-day trip covering even more of the area.  My choice was to do something called the Round The Mountain Track, which is just what it sounds like.

I really had no idea what to expect other than what I had read online, and I envisioned this hike to be more or less a not-too-difficult circuit of the volcanically active Mt. Ruapehu, traversing the slopes well below the summit but at a relatively high elevation.  Of course the experience turned out to be quite different, but more on that later.

At approximately 41 miles, the loop can be walked in either direction, but the DOC recommends studying weather forecasts carefully because two unbridged river crossings occur at either the start or end of the loop, and rising water from heavy rain can render them impassable.  I chose a clockwise direction, meaning I would face the rivers at the conclusion of the hike, as there is the option of bailout routes available should conditions deteriorate.

Know Before You Go....

I gave myself 4 days/3 nights to complete the route, which seemed reasonable with an average of 10 miles a day.  Hikers must stay at one of the designated huts along the way; the distance between huts is what determines how far I would have to walk each day.

I chose to stay at Waihohonu, Mangaehuehu, and Whakapapaiti huts.  Of the 3, Waihohonu is part of the Northern Circuit track, and it is fully booked during peak season, so reservations well in advance are essential.

Huts are Awesome, but....

Huts ranging from primitive to highly developed exist on most hiking tracks in New Zealand, and they offer those venturing into isolated areas a level of comfort to make the experience more enjoyable.  Every hut provides basic commodities - shelter, bunks in shared dormitories, some type of water source (subject to rain/snow collection), a space to prepare meals, and pit toilets.

The bigger huts generally have more amenities, being serviced with gas for cooking, solar powered lighting, and in some cases a wood stove with a supply of firewood.  Most of the largest huts are found on Great Walk tracks, and these typically have a Hut Warden to check visitor permits, provide information, and keep order.

But -  it is strongly advised by DOC to carry emergency shelter (i.e., a tent) and extra food in the event weather or some other unforeseen occurrence prevents you from reaching a hut. 

There are many rivers in New Zealand, and you can't count on the existence of a bridge.  In the event of heavy rain it is likely you will have to wait for floodwater to recede before being able to safely cross.  Alternatively if you are somehow injured and unable to self evacuate, you'd better have a means to protect yourself from the elements until help arrives.

I carried a full pack like I would on any trip, with the recommended equipment for such contingencies.  My experience in remote environments has taught me being prepared is the difference between an enjoyable time and an existential struggle.  Huts are great, but make no mistake - they only offer refuge if you can get to them. Even so, I saw many people in remote places traveling light without extra gear - not smart in my opinion, but it all comes down to what you are personally comfortable with.

Day One - Whakapapa to Waihohonu Hut

Maori Totem at the Visitor Center

 

The day before my hike I made the trip from Auckland to the community of National Park, where I spent the night.  The next morning I took a shuttle to reach Whakapapa Visitor Center, the starting point for Round The Mountain track.

From the outset the trail is well developed, beginning in what is called the "bush"; a Kiwi expression for a heavily wooded/vegetated environment.  Unsurprisingly the trees were unfamiliar to me (mostly Mountain Beech) as was the understory.  I got to see a lot more of the bush before the month was over.

The first part of the trail leads to Taranaki Falls, a popular day hike as it is only a couple of miles each way.  Incidentally, I saw numerous people on that first day - but after departing from Waihohonu Hut I didn't see anyone else until I left the trail at Ohakune Mt. Road 2 days later.

 

Bridges and well built paths

The Bush

Taranaki Falls

Once you leave Taranaki Falls the path climbs up to open tableland, featuring tussocks and expansive vistas of the mountain.  Visitors looking for a longer day hike can continue to Tama Lakes from here.

Yup, that looks like a volcano

I was surprised at how well developed the track was, with thousands and thousands of linear feet of wooden planking for long stretches. The labor and expense effort required to construct the path had to be substantial.

Along the way I passed a couple of vigorous streams which originate on the flanks of Mt. Ruapehu.  I should mention at this point that Tongariro has the distinction of being New Zealand's first National Park, with the land being donated to the Crown by Maori people for future protection.  Visitors are expected to respect the sacred nature of the landscape.  This is why camping at large is not permitted, and hikers are asked to refrain from swimming in lakes and streams.

The distance to my first nights accommodation was not far, only about 8.5 miles.  I had planned the trip around averaging 10 miles a day, and any distance short of that would have to be added to another day's total. But that's just the way it is; once I reached Waihohonu I could advance no further until the next morning.

Waihohonu Hut

Waihohonu Hut is fairly new, having been constructed within the last few years.  As such it is large and airy, and accommodates a respectable number of trekkers.  It has gas cooktops, tables, solar powered lights, non-flush toilets, 28 bunks, and water.  The water comes from rain/snow falling on the metal roof which is collected in cisterns.  Signs warn it must be treated or boiled before use but the hut warden told me she drank it everyday and had no issues.  I brought a filter and used it just to be safe.

The hut warden was personable and great to talk with.  She had lots of interesting information to share, and I found the experience to be very welcoming.  I settled in to the hut, chose a bunk, ate dinner, and reflected on an enjoyable first day hiking in a foreign land.  As I burrowed into my sleeping bag for the night, I had high hopes for the next day.

Day Two - Waihohonu to Mangaehuehu Hut 

The next morning brought two unwelcome developments.  First and foremost I woke in the pre-dawn hours with an unpleasant scratchiness in the back of my throat.  I have enough experience with that particular sensation to know that it presaged a looming sinus infection, which I seem to get once or twice a year.  And not at all surprising since two days before I had spent 12 hours stuck in an enclosed metal tube with 300 other people breathing the driest air known to mankind.

Mars? The Moon?

The other issue was a low pressure system had moved in overnight with light, misting rain, wind, and sullen grey skies - the perfect accompaniment to my soon-to-be stuffy head.  In spite of it all, I was there to hike so I packed up my stuff and resumed the trek towards the next hut - Mangaehuehu.

Immediately after leaving Waihohonu, the character of the landscape changed dramatically, along with the nature of the the track.  I encountered a stark, nearly barren volcanic desert, and what had been a well maintained trail became a chaotic ramble through abundant rocks ranging from pebbles to basketball (and larger) sized stones.

Instead of a trail, the route was now marked by a series of posts, some topped with an orange triangle .  The post ahead was spaced to be visible from the marker you just passed, but when low clouds and banks of fog rolled through could be hard to spot.  Trying to keep roughly the same heading, I often had to hunt for the next marker to be sure I was still moving in the right direction.

Progressing on somewhat level terrain at first, soon an endless series of deep gullies and high ridges began to appear.  The rocky slopes were steep and challenging and no actual trail allowed for picking the path of least resistance. I took minimal pictures during the day, primarily because I was focused on avoiding loose rocks and keeping my footing.  The image below is one of the few I captured, and it shows the general condition of the route.  If you look closely you can see the posts marking the direction of travel.

If you like rocks, we got rocks.

As if things weren't challenging enough, the wind had been blowing consistently all morning, but as the day went on it began to increase, reaching what I estimate to be a steady 30 - 40 miles per hour.  No trees or vegetation exist to provide a windbreak, and conditions became harder each time I climbed onto an exposed ridge. In these areas the winds were unopposed, making it difficult to stand upright, especially with a big pack presenting a large cross section.  As I stumbled along a hill crest trying to keep my feet, a particularly strong gust ripped the rain cover off of my pack, and I watched helplessly as it went tumbling away down the slope.

I'm usually able to maintain some perspective when hiking in difficult environments, realizing it's all part of the experience.  Someone once told me an expression that is useful in situations like this: "Embrace the Suck"

I am not ashamed to admit there were times I really struggled here.  My incipient head cold, the wind and rain, the lost pack cover, and the fact that I was making very slow progress all combined to discourage me in ways that I generally don't experience.

By early afternoon I had covered more than half the distance, but by the time I reached Rangipo Hut I was nearly spent.  The terrain had proved far harder than anticipated, and there were no indications it would improve ahead.  Then I saw the DOC sign indicating that it would take the average person 6 hours to travel the next 5.5 miles - that's less than a mile per hour.

Not a helpful sign at Rangipo Hut

Fortunately the hut allowed me a place to stop for much needed rest, and an opportunity to get out of the weather while replenishing calories and hydrating.  After about 40 minutes I felt some of my energy return.  Despite a lack of enthusiasm I knew I had no choice but to keep going.  I loaded up once more and headed out.

Down, over, and up - one of many

I'd like to say I was somewhat rejuvenated and tackled the remaining miles with renewed vigor, but in reality the afternoon was just as hard if not harder.  I was already tired after 7 hours of hiking to reach Rangipo Hut, and conditions going forward were as difficult as what I had been dealing with all morning.  The only bright spot of the afternoon was the strong winds eventually subsided to an intermittent nuisance.  

One notable passage occurred when I came to a sign warning that the next 1/2 mile was a very dangerous section, and hikers should proceed through it as quickly as possible.

The area in question was yet another barren, rocky river valley, but here the unmistakable sulphur stench of volcanic fumes filled the air, and the water was a muddy brown slurry.  The river originates near the active vent of Mt. Ruapehu, and in the past has been the conduit for multiple lahars, a violent, fast-moving debris flow composed of a slurry of water, mud, pyroclastic material, and rocky debris.

The channel provides evidence of past lahars

One person at a time - even then it felt sketchy 

The smell alone was enough to prompt me to move along, although climbing out of the valley was anything but quick - a slow, awkward pace on the steep, rocky, and unstable slope was all I could manage.  Still, it was a relief to leave the danger zone behind.

After lots of stops and starts and more than a few bad words directed at my own foolishness for underestimating the track, I reached Mangaehuehu Hut.  The sign was not wrong -  It took me just over 6 hours to struggle through the broken landscape to get here.

There was no one around, and I literally collapsed on the bunk, unable to do more than just lie there for 30 minutes.  Unfortunately that was a mistake, because when I attempted to stand every muscle in my legs immediately seized with massive cramps.

It took some time and stretching for the cramps to subside, but once they did I started a fire in the wood stove.  And above the stove - a very useful wooden rack which could be raised/lowered to hang wet gear and clothes.  Nearly everything I owned was suspended on this indoor "clothesline" to dry.

One other unfortunate event marred my otherwise "perfect" day - climbing over the steepest, rockiest parts of the route had caused my rain pants to split through the crotch.  After dinner I spent time with needle and thread attempting to repair them by headlamp - I managed to pull the two halves together but ended up making them so tight they eventually split again.

All in all it was one of the least favorite hiking days I've ever had, but the bottom line is I survived to tell the story.  And most fortunately it was the only truly awful day I experienced for the rest of the trip, although New Zealand still had a few things to teach me.  And as a reward of sorts for the difficulties I encountered, I got a great sunset.  Plus since no one else showed up, I had the place all to myself.  So, not all bad.

My first New Zealand sunset

Day Three - Mangaehuehu to Whakapapaiti.... Almost

I should have fallen into an exhausted sleep immediately on crawling into my sleeping bag, but when I have pushed my body to its physical limit it is sometimes difficult to find rest.  Also my head was very congested, so it took a while before I finally slipped into a restless slumber.

I awoke around 6:30 the next morning to the sound of rain.  The night before the clouds had broken, giving me false hope that the weather would be more cooperative, but it was not to be.  At least all my stuff was dry thanks to the fire I had set in the wood stove - a small mercy. I gathered my things, ate a meager breakfast, loaded my pack, and wistfully headed out into the drizzle.

Prior to reaching Mangaehuehu Hut the previous day, the landscape had changed again, this time back to bush.  That didn't make it easier, just different.  The folds and creases of the mountain flanks necessitated climbing into and out of numerous drainages like the day before.  But the rocks had all but disappeared, with the terrain becoming muddier, marshier, and dense with vegetation.

As a result, long stretches of planking like I had seen in the beginning returned.  These walkways are mostly elevated above ground, and in places many, many steps negotiate the multiple ups and downs of the landscape.

Mind the gaps

Cable bridges

Lots of steps

Miles of boardwalk

The skies remained moisture laden as the day progressed, and views beyond the immediate surroundings were very limited.  While it had been raining fairly steadily through the morning, showers began to increase in intensity that afternoon.  I started to contemplate the notion I might not be able to cross the two unbridged rivers ahead.  Accordingly my thoughts turned to the next bailout opportunity and modifying my plan.

Fortunately there's a road up ahead (Ohakune Mountain Road) visitors use to reach the flanks of Mt. Ruapehu, and it is fairly heavily trafficked in the summer months.  I decide if rain is still coming down when I reach that point I will try to get a ride down to the nearest town - my head and ears are thoroughly congested and I'd like to try to find some type of medicine that will unclog me.

Before I get to the road, I come to one of the places people visit using the road - Waitonga Falls.

I have Arrived...

 

Waitonga Falls 

Sadly I'm not that interested in a side hike to the falls, mostly because I am soaked through to the skin, and my skull is pounding with a sinus headache.  I carry on doggedly through the bush heading for the exit.

Once I reach the road and parking area for Waitonga the skies really open up and confirm my strong desire to retreat to civilization.  Fortunately I only have to wait about 15 minutes in the driving rain before someone heading down takes pity and offers me a ride.

I arrive in the town of Ohakune, an unforeseen destination with my plan for completing the Round The Mountain Track brought to a halt.  It's also where the storm I didn't see coming has something to say about my future plans.  But after finding a place to stay, it's off to the pharmacy in search of some much needed congestion relief.  

Coming Up: Man Proposes, Nature Disposes.

Spiderwebs capture droplets of rain

 

 

 

The Other Side of the World - New Zealand

 

Auckland

A Different Perspective

I have lived a fortunate life in many ways - I have access to one of the most beautiful regions on the planet, and for many years explored extensively into remote and breathtaking places that enriched my soul and inspired my mind.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I haven't seen every place on the Colorado Plateau that is worthy of visiting, but life has a way of redirecting purpose and plan.  In my case that redirection included a realization that time is slipping away, and any ideas I had about seeing other incredible places would need to become a priority.

On my list of things to do:  Visit one of the most diverse and scenic countries found anywhere - New Zealand.  I thought at one point I would like to hike Te Araroa, the 1900 mile Kiwi* version of a National Scenic trail.  This serious physical undertaking would require around 4 months of living out of my backpack, something I've done before but never in a foreign land.  After reading quite a lot about the conditions I would likely face, I decided I wasn't ready for that kind of commitment.

*New Zealanders are commonly referrred to as "Kiwis", a reference to the small flightless bird that has become a national symbol

Instead I chose a much more modest goal - spending a month in pursuit of a variety of backpacking trips, a sampler of sorts.  Now a month may sound like a good amount of time, but I have learned that it really only allowed me to get a glimpse of the possibilities.  Over the course of the next several posts I will present the hikes I did manage, and hopefully inspire others to make the journey to this truly magical place.

Getting There

The most amazing thing to me about traveling from America to New Zealand is the idea that you can board a plane in Phoenix and 14 hours later you are on the opposite side of the world.  I went in February, technically winter here in the U.S. but summer "down under".  To be fair, we didn't have much of winter in Flagstaff, and perversely the weather in Aotearoa (the Maori word for New Zealand) was distinctly un-summer like for at least part of my visit.  As a seasoned outdoor enthusiast I was prepared for whatever Nature chose to offer, but everywhere I went people talked about how unseasonably cool and rainy the season had been.

The major international airport is in Auckland, on North Island.  The country has a distinct environmental personality based on the 2 major islands that make up the landscape, and I spent time on both to try and get a sense of the geography.  More on the differences in subsequent posts.

Thoughts and Observations On Arrival

Downtown and the Sky Tower

My first impression of course was the city of Auckland itself.  With a population of nearly 2 million (close to 35% of the country's total), the city is an interesting mix of old and new.  The downtown business district has the requisite number of sleek modern skyscrapers, and surrounding areas reflect a variety of architectural styles dating back to the early to mid 1900's.  Because the country is relatively "young" by most standards, any sense of long term history truly belongs to the indigenous population, the Maori.

There is a very strong Maori influence in many aspects of New Zealand culture, quite the opposite of what we see here in the U.S.  All official aspects of Aotearoa life are presented in both English and Maori languages, and there is a greater awareness of Maori presence in everyday life.  Despite this I saw the majority of people sleeping rough (homeless) to be of Maori descent, a sign that modern life has left many of the native people behind.

A Cruise Ship at Queen's Wharf

There is also a pronounced Asian/Southeast Asian influence and presence in the city, not a surprise given the proximity to this part of the world.  It appears that not only is New Zealand a popular tourist destination, but many people from Asian countries come here to go to university and also to work.  I met many students and temporary workers who were here on various types of work visas, spending roughly 4 months doing mostly menial jobs in return for a month of leisure travel.

Prior to visiting, I had been reading as much as possible about the current state of affairs just so I would be a bit more familiar with my surroundings, and one of the most common themes is that the New Zealand economy was struggling quite a bit, especially in terms of wages and opportunities.  This has led to a significant exodus of Kiwis, mostly to Australia where jobs are more plentiful and pay is higher.  Like America, there appears to be no shortage of service related jobs, but wages in the sector are uniformly low, and most positions were held by international citizens here on work/holiday visas.

As to the landscape, there is lots of greenery in and around the city.  The major metropolitan area is situated amidst low hills and lots of open space.  Because it is a maritime climate plants and trees of many varieties (native and invasive) thrive, imparting a very pleasing aesthetic. 

Overlooking a settler cemetery in the city

Although I am not a city person, overall my impression was quite favorable.  Everyone was friendly, and I never felt unsafe walking the streets.  Getting around was easy, as the Auckland Transit system is comprehensive, affordable and timely.  And because at the time the exchange rate was currently well in favor of the dollar, most things were quite affordable.

Planning the Hikes 

New Zealand is a Pacific island nation located in proximity to the Ring Of Fire, the boundary line of tectonic plates where both seismic and volcanic events are relatively common geologic occurrences.  But as I stated earlier the two islands that comprise the country are different, particularly in one notable respect - North Island has an active volcanic region along with significant geothermal activity, which is absent on South Island.

Before I continue, I need to elaborate on a couple of things: First, although North Island doesn't have the same extremes of elevation found on South Island, by no means is the terrain gentle.  I traveled by coach through a great deal of the island and got to see firsthand lots of countryside, and and I was really impressed by the sheer hills and deep valleys found in the interior.  I understood why grazing livestock, especially sheep was a big part of the the New Zealand economy, as traditional farming looks to be nearly impossible on the steep slopes.

The second point I want to make is that New Zealanders have a well established "trekking" culture.  The country is incredibly rugged, and roads are somewhat limited, which is understandable given the inherent obstacles.  Both Maori peoples and early European settlers had to make many journeys on foot due to the unforgiving geography, and the resulting legacy is a network of paths and tracks that provide access to remote areas.  

In addition to established tracks, New Zealand offers something quite different from what I am used to: a sprawling network of huts that range from somewhat primitive to highly developed.  Another unique feature of the hiking ethos is a set of trekking routes designated as Great Walks, some of which are very popular and require long term advance booking (think Bright Angel campground or Phantom Ranch at the bottom of Grand Canyon).  I'll detail my one experience completing a Great Walk in a subsequent post.

The absolute best source for learning about these routes is the New Zealand Department of Conservation, which is roughly equivalent to the National Park Service in the U.S.  The website offers reams of helpful information about hiking in all parts of the country, including how to make bookings for the more popular hikes and huts.  There is also an incredibly helpful app for your phone or PC at Plan My Walk,  provided by the New Zealand Mountain Safety Council.  Together these two resources can provide all the necessary information for planning your adventure.

Of course, I didn't travel halfway around the world to see the city, so with all due haste I made my way to the interior of the country. Up Next: The First Backpack - Tongariro National Park

 

The Sierra

Half Dome

The first time I ever saw the Sierra Nevada (Spanish for "snow covered mountains") was in 2016, on a student trip I was leading to Yosemite National Park.  The overall intention of the trip for the teacher and students was to summit Half Dome, a prominent granite spire in the heart of Yosemite Valley.  We were there for a total of 4 days, and the itinerary was tightly structured, so the opportunity for me to explore was limited.  Nonetheless I was suitably impressed with the landscape and vowed to return in the future.

Little did I know then that my next encounter would occur 2 years later, when I would attempt to through hike the Pacific Crest Trail, a continuous 2600+ mile trek from Mexico to Canada through California, Oregon, and Washington.  That story is for another post, but on this occasion I entered the Sierra at a place called Kennedy Meadows, and for the next 400 miles walked through the most awe inspiring and rugged mountains I had ever seen.

Even though I traveled through the heart of the range, which extends north and south through central California, I did not have the luxury of time to enjoy it.  Hiking the PCT in a single season requires the diligence often associated with a full time job, as the hiker needs to average 18 miles per day in order to reach the Canadian border in Washington before the snow flies in the Cascade Range.  It was frustrating but necessary to pass quickly through the majesty of the "the range of light", which is how John Muir referred to the mountains.

When my PCT hike ended later that summer, I committed myself to return to the Sierra the following year and take more time to really see and experience the place.  Accordingly, I have been back on three separate occasions to immerse myself in the spectacular scenery.

The Range of Light

John Muir always disagreed with the name Sierra Nevada, proposing instead that the name given to the mountains reflect what he called their luminous quality.  I can't say that I disagree, as early morning and late afternoon light make the mountains appear to glow.  But in all fairness nevada is appropriate, as in winter the range can get buried in massive quantities of snow.

As the first geographic obstacle to storms originating from the Pacific Ocean, the peaks (many rising above 14,000 feet) wring prodigious amounts of water from the clouds, resulting in tens of feet of snow in a single storm and leaving the Great Basin region to the east without appreciable moisture.

Geographically defined as roughly 400 miles long and anywhere from 50 to 80 miles wide, the Sierra is part of what is known as the American Cordillera, a chain which roughly parallels the western edge of both North and South America.  This part of the range is relatively young, with uplift beginning around 5 million years ago.

Glaciers then carved steep valleys which resulted in some amazing prominence, defined as the verticality measured by distance from valley floor to peak.  On the eastern slope of the Sierra, it's not uncommon to see 10,000 feet of elevation gain in just a few miles, which helps explain the jaw dropping perspective.

The environment here is undeniably rugged.  Although there are a fair number of trails that allow travel into remote backcountry areas, they are inevitably steep, rocky, and subject to damage from rockfall or heavy spring runoff, and not all trails see maintenance or frequent use.

On extended trips such as the PCT or the John Muir Trail, the ability to resupply is extremely limited, in most cases requiring exiting the mountains via steep, high passes with a long descent to the nearest town, with a similarly difficult return trip.  And in much of the Sierra stringent bear deterrent measures are required, meaning all food must be carried and stored in approved bear resistant containers.

Muir Pass in early June 2018

Sierra weather is surprisingly temperate in the summer months, but snow can and does occur anytime of year, and after heavy snow years there can still be significant amounts that linger well into June and July, especially on north facing slopes and at higher elevations.  In those circumstances hikers would be wise to carry additional gear such as spikes or crampons, gaiters, and an ice axe (as well as the knowledge how to use it).

Of course snow melt is what feeds the numerous rivers, creeks and streams, with early season (May - June) runoff that can make it dangerous to ford the many unbridged crossings.

Also it is not uncommon during what is sometimes referred to the monsoon season (late July - August) to experience daily afternoon thunderstorms, which necessitate being well clear of higher, exposed areas like summits and passes due to frequent lightning.

The Lay of the Land 

Devil's Postpile National Monument

The Sierra encompasses a wide range of public lands, comprised of Sierra, Sequoia, Inyo, Tahoe, Eldorado, Stanislaus, and Plumas National Forests. Inclusive to the forests are designated Wilderness areas such as John Muir, Ansel Adams, Desolation, Emigrant, Dinkey Lakes, Monarch, Golden Trout, and South Sierra.

Then there's the National Parks and a Monument; Yosemite, mentioned at the beginning of this post, and Devil's Postpile National Monument near Mammoth Lakes.

Equally beautiful but not as well known is Kings Canyon - Sequoia National Park.  Here is found one of the oldest and largest living organisms, the mighty Sequoia tree.

Sequoia

The largest Sequoia ever discovered measured 311 feet tall, and another specimen had a trunk diameter of 29 feet.  If left to grow undisturbed, a lifespan over 3000 years is not uncommon.  The tree is natively found only in the Sierra, but has been introduced widely in other parts of the world.

The mountains themselves are composed mainly of granite, basement rocks formed deep underground.  The presentation is dominated by light colored, coarse grained multi-faceted stone, which is likely why Muir attributed an incandescent quality to their appearance.  The overall steepness, lack of soil, and harsh high altitude environment limits trees and other vegetation to low angle slopes and valley floors, leaving naked rock to soar high above the landscape.

Many people are surprised to learn that the highest mountain in the continental U.S. is not in Colorado.  Although the Rocky Mountains have 58 peaks that reach 14,000 feet or more, the prize goes to California for Mt. Whitney at 14,505 feet, with an additional 11 Sierra peaks rising over 14,000'.

Plaque placed in 1930

View from the summit of Mt. Whitney

Yours truly at the summit in 2018

The trail to the summit

A defining feature of traveling the Sierra are the many mountain passes.  The most commonly hiked trail south - north (or vice versa) incorporates both the PCT and the John Muir Trail, and traversing this route means encountering 9 major passes over 10,000 feet, with the highest being Forester Pass at 13,180'. Approaches and descents of the passes frequently require vertical gains/losses of 6000 feet or more; this combined with lower oxygen levels at altitude and a typically heavy pack means a sustained physical effort is needed to negotiate them.

Another primary feature that entrances me - water.  As a long time resident of the desert southwest, water is usually the most important consideration in any extended outdoor activity.  The absolute scarcity of this precious resource where I live is why I hold it in such reverence, and to travel in an area where it is abundant beyond need is a paradigm shift for me.

What It's All About 

I have spent a considerable amount of time in the Colorado Rockies, as well as extensive travel throughout the Intermountain West.  I lived in the foothills of the Wind River Mountains in Wyoming, a classic example of a superlative mountain range.  I'm no stranger to massive, towering peaks that reach for the sky.

But there is a something, an indefinable quality about the Sierra that gives me a feeling I have not experienced elsewhere - and it makes me keep wanting to go back for more. Whatever it is, I'm not the only one who has felt that way.

So instead of continuing to convince anyone what a profound effect the Sierra has had on me, I am going to simply post a selection of pictures from my travels to the region.  The images after all will do a much better job than I at trying to explain that feeling.