This story picks up in Yosemite on the banks of a lake in the Ten Lakes Region 6.5 miles from Tioga Pass Road. I was out there with Susan and fellow Benicia senior retirees Bud Donaldson, Carl Kittrell, and Deb Kittrell. That was the evening of our first full day of primitive living. We had a busy day of fishing, exploring, and wood gathering.
That evening we have a unified mission: eat a lot. Get rid of weight for the hike out. I contributed five trout to the effort. Carl had purchased freeze-dried meals online in bulk canisters, broke them into zipped bags, and passed them out, one breakfast and one dinner for everyone. Bud had also purchased freeze-dried meals online by the case, so he brought too much food, too.
I began with an early lunch of freeze-dried chili mac that I was supposed to eat yesterday.
Susan cooked up my five brook trout spiced in foil and oil over a hot rock. Succulent and steamy. We tore the meat into small pieces and mixed it into Carl’s barrel of freeze-dried pasta primavera.
It’s illogical but to be expected. Everyone brought too much coffee. I thought I was assigned as the coffee provider, so I brought three days of coffee for five. Deb and Carl have no recollection of me being assigned that responsibility. They toted in a huge bag of coffee to share. Bud brought coffee as well. We kept the water boiling and stayed pretty jazzed up into the starlight of night.
Day two was again choose your own adventure. Susan was happy as campground hostess. She sat looking out at the lake reading her book. It’s exactly what she’d planned to do from the get-go. She strolled along the lakeside trails, ever searching for firewood. Carl joined her. He wanted to filter water and do campsite augmentation and lounge in his hammock looking out at the lake reading his book.
Bud, Deb, and I hiked 2.5 miles up to the far ridge. Again the steep trail was mostly staircases with slopes connecting them. It was nice to hike without a pack. At the top was an unobstructed view down to our lake, and over the crest sat another lake once filled with rainbow trout stocked decades ago. That ended recently I heard to protect an indigenous frog. We spent an hour fishing in this beautiful but trout-free lake because I hadn’t heard about the frog yet.
We hiked back down the staircases early to hang out in camp. It was Thursday. On Friday morning, we would be packing out for the hike home. “Last call for leisure!”
Deb broke out her Fireball. Bud had a flask of Crown Royal. I had fishin’ whiskey, but it leaked out into my creel. Honest.
We had to eat everything. Cocoa and coffee for everyone. I ate eight bags of instant oatmeal just to see them gone from my pack. People were gnawing on extra Cliff bars. Bud actually gave away a cooked freeze-dried rice and beans meal hot in the pouch to two guys hiking by. I had in cute little camping bottles soy sauce, hot sesame oil, honey, and olive oil, all unused. I mixed everything into my freeze-dried chicken teriyaki.
We were all lounging after our meals. “Three hours of sunlight remaining,” announced Carl. He kept us alert to our lunar cycles and whereabouts at all times with his always-on Gaia Map app.
Suddenly Bud said, “I’m going swimming. Who will join me?” We all declined, so Bud donned his swirly purple trunks and jumped in. “It’s warmer than Tahoe,” he said, and swam about a good while. For the rest of the evening, Bud was perky and jovial, invigorated by his swim.
We had casualties and injuries of minor scale, and Deb. Bud got a fish hook stuck in his finger. Deb cleaned the wound and bandaged him up. Carl nursed a toe blister from the hike in. Deb cut out moleskin to size and fitted it around his hairy toe. I got bit on the upper lip by a mosquito while asleep the first night. I woke up with a swollen lip the size of an inner tube. Deb brought me anti-histamines and the swelling went away. Sue and Deb stayed focused and were injury free.
The final morning we calmly, slowly climbed out of our bags and made massive Carl’s barrel-size breakfast medleys and drank copious cups of coffee. Then we collapsed our wonderful chairs and broke camp.
While dropping our tent, I noticed Susan had been sleeping on a flat Therm-a-Rest pad for three nights. The valve was never closed. “I didn’t know,” she said. I should have checked it.
We were ready to go quick, eager to feel our lightened packs on our backs, eager to tackle this uphill climb in the early hours and be on the mountain top once again.
At the top one hour later we dropped our packs and took a break. Carl, Deb, and Bud climbed to the highest peak for pictures. We took pictures of each other standing in wild flowers. We took pause.
The hike down the dreaded Switchbacks from Ten Lakes Pass was hard on our toes, constantly jamming them into the fronts of our boots. We could have stopped and re-laced our boots, but no one wanted to stop. We were horses headed for the barn.
We stopped at the Iron Door Saloon in Groveland for burgers and beer.

Steve Gibbs is a retired Benicia High School teacher who has written a column for The Herald since 1985.

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