Backpacking to the Wind River Range (August 14-20, 2013)

I have gone camping with my children since they were very young. Kathy and I took the kids when they were all little on “car camping” trips. Acting on the theory that shared misery brings people together, these camping experiences were defining connecting times for our family in the formative years (Will any of us ever forget the severe thunderstorm that blew through Enchanted Rock in the middle of breakfast?)

When the kids got a little older, backpacking (defined as camping some distance away from the car) has been the camping style of choice. I took all three kids to Hill Country State Natural Area when they were about 7, 9, and 11, respectively, and more recently took Erin to Lost Maples. Sadly, there were few mishaps, but she was gracious and allowed that we connected anyway.

For the guys, backpacking has been more of a regular occurrence. Now 30 and nearly 28, I’ve taken week-long trips to the Rockies with Ben and Zach on most summers since they were 11 and 13.

While I’ve sometimes combined these trips with others, this most recent trip with Ben was the only time I’ve ever gone backpacking with only one of my sons. While the trip was an overall success, some of the details contained in this trip report should put Zach on notice.

Most trips begin long before they start, and this one was no exception. With Zach and his wife, Courtney, enjoying a year of adventure while living in New Zealand and Southeast Asia, Ben and I thought it would be great fun to take a trip to the Wind River Range in Wyoming. The three of us had gone to this area before (2011) and had enjoyed a great week, taking in the Cirque of the Towers among other highlights. Knowing that Zach was unavailable, Ben agreed to go. Still, he meant well.

The trip planning process consists of months of poring over maps, thinking through gear lists, and perusing trip reports. For this trip, our map study pointed us to the northern Winds where the mountains are somewhat higher (as if they weren’t high enough in the southern Winds), the glaciers are very prominent (and we had exactly zero experience with glaciers) and the grizzly bears are reportedly the most populous (No. We saw no grizzlies. The largest mammal sighting on this trip was a smaller than normal marmot.)

We lifted off from San Antonio on Wednesday, August 14, having been dropped off by Kathy’s loving taxi service (Melissa being in Korea, visiting her grandmother Sadie’s country of origin). A three hour trip to Salt Lake City and a puddle-jumper to Jackson Hole, Wyoming and we were there, greeted by the obligatory arch of elk antlers outside the Jackson Hole Airport.

Driving our rented Ford Focus to Jackson Hole’s Café Genevieve, we both ordered “mac and cheese and chicken” which just happened to include the largest serving of mac and cheese I’ve ever seen and a very large half chicken. No, neither of us finished it (and yes, at least one of us had some glutenous symptoms arising from this meal).

After dinner we drove to Pinedale through the beautiful Hobach Valley, arriving at the Best Western at about 8:30 or so. At the hotel we packed and repacked and packed and repacked in eager anticipation of the adventure coming the next day.

We got the light turned off about 10:30 and set the alarm for 5:00, hoping to hit the trail as early as possible. I’m 57 years of age and slept like a six year old on Christmas Eve. However, we both got up easily, enjoyed a really good egg/bacon/sausage and gravy breakfast at the hotel, loaded up and drove to the Elkhart Trailhead (about 9300 feet elevation). It was a short trip from Pinedale (17 miles on a paved road) and we hit the trail by 7:15am - a record early start for any backpacking trip I’ve ever taken.

Day One - Elkhart Trailhead to unnamed lake above Island Lake

The weather was fine - about 40 degrees - but the skies were smoky from the Idaho fires. We had hopes that the skies would clear - which they did - but the views of the higher Winds were hidden all during that first day (as they would be on the last day, too).

The first day of hiking was really pretty. There was a steady but gentle ascent over the first few miles through pine forests, mixed with aspen. One of the trees that we saw most frequently at the lower elevations was the magnificent whitebark pine. These trees can live upwards of a thousand years. They are huge, sometimes having multiple, twisted trunks, and are currently under attack by the bark beetle.

We estimate that at least thirty people passed us on this day, heading back to the trailhead. We were encouraged as they described in glowing detail the country into which we were heading.

During this day’s hike of about thirteen miles we gained a net elevation of slightly over one thousand feet, but we gained it over and over again, as there were many ascents and descents while we passed numerous large and small lakes (Eklund, Barbara, Seneca, Little Seneca, numerous unnamed ponds, and Island Lake).

We stopped at Island Lake to have dinner on a white, sandy beach. Yes, it seemed totally out of place, but bare feet on the sand feels as good at 10,000 feet as it does at sea level. After enjoying a great dinner (both of us having meals we had dehydrated at home) and conversation with several other campers, we headed off to the next lake on the trail - an unnamed one - for our first night.

(One note about our bear canisters: We were in a decided minority of packpackers in the Winds who carried them. In fact, some folks from Wyoming asked us, “So what are those plastic jugs you have there?” Even though the Forest Service is on record as requiring them, they are almost never seen in the backcountry. Truth be told, where we were heading - above treeline - bears have no interest in going. There is nothing for a bear there and except for keeping our food stores from the truly pesky marmots, the canisters were superfluous. So, yes, it was annoying to have carried them. Doubly annoying that it was VERY hard to get the silly things open, especially with cold fingers!)

The first evening was somewhat mosquito-filled, but not enough to warrant bug spray, which we never used at all. They weren’t THAT bad and the mosquito netting worked fine. Yes. I did spit once with the mosquito net down, to Ben’s utter delight.

As always, the Sierra Design tent, Big Agnes mattress, and “Quilt by Ben” worked great. As always, I slept poorly. Sadly, my maximum time in the woods caps out at about four nights because I can’t go much longer than that without sleep.

On this first night Ben and I had our first of several wonderful talks. Fellowship was rich, it was never very cold, and we managed to stay up till well past 9 o’clock (a real accomplishment when camping!).

Day Two - Unnamed lake above Island Lake to Indian Pass and back; on to Titcomb Basin

The next morning we arose early to get going as quickly as we could over Indian Pass to the eastern side of the Continental Divide.

Our plans for this trip were quite ambitious. We intended to hike over Indian Pass and from there travel off-trail for two or three days through the Winds. Indian Pass Trail ends at the Pass, so we planned to hike down the other side to a river, then point ourselves to such major features as Blaurock Pass and Glacier Trail, Klondike Creek, and then up to Klondike Lake. We would then hike from Klondike back to the Continental Divide, cross over and then work our way down to the Titcomb Basin through Knapsack Col and head out via a long hike on the fifth day. As you might be able to tell by the subjunctive mood of the above, we did not, in any meaningful sense, do this.

The hike up to Indian Pass was a beast. While the map would indicate something shorter, the Forest Service sign says that it is six miles up. We believe it was six miles (and it felt like ten). It took us four full hours to make it to the top, and by the time we arrived, these flatlanders from San Antonio were both beat. Yes, the views were stunning, but we were greatly disheartened to look down the eastern side of the Divide and see that we would immediately lose all the elevation we had just gained - and that we would lose it by walking over large boulders and scree. To me, it looked painful, as downhill is always harder on knees than uphill. It also looked dangerous, but as we were to find out on this trip, dangerous is relative. (Reminiscent of a scene from the show “24” where a man Jack Bauer is interrogating says, “You’re hurting me” to which Bauer replies, “No I’m not.”)

Reluctantly, but completely united, we agreed that the Lord had blessed us with the wisdom we had sought before the hike began. We knew we could not make the original hike and started trudging downhill. That downhill took another three and a half hours - and it WAS painful.

When we got back to the bottom, we decided to hike a bit further up toward the Titcomb Basin, into what we had heard was one of the best features of the Winds. We were not misled.

After another hour or so of hiking we came to a small lake at the southern end of the Basin, set up camp, and ate supper. Again, the mosquitoes were annoying, but not terribly so, the food was edible, the conversation stimulating, and the views of the peaks at the northern end of the Basin were simply off the amazing chart.

Ben and I decided that we would spend the next day taking a day hike up the basin, just to see what we could see.

Day Three - Epic

The next morning broke beautiful and sunny. We arose early, ate fast, and hit the trail with day packs by 8am. We hiked alongside first Lower and then Upper Titcomb Lakes. The amount of water was simply astounding! These lakes were big and Upper flowed into Lower with a huge volume of water.

So… after about a half hour of hiking, I turned to my good hiking buddy, Ben, and said something like, “Hey, instead of taking a day hike, we could probably just climb up out of the Basin over Knapsack Col, find Highline Trail, and then wind our way back to the Elkhart Trailhead by the end of Day Five.”

Ben agreed that this sounded like a splendid idea, which at least meant that there were two [idiots] fully responsible adults making the decision to turn around, go back to camp, break camp, load up packs, re-hike the mile we had just hiked, and then go off-trail through the Titcomb Basin to find our way to a recognizable trail. Thus did the day become (in Ben’s words) “epic” and thus was my definition of “dangerous” re-defined.

By the time we were back on the trail (this time with fully loaded packs), it was well after 10:00. The sky was clear and the shadow was off the trail. On the way up Titcomb Basin we passed a group of five guys who were bathing in one of the lakes. They had been rock climbing for the previous seven days and were just washing up before heading back to the trailhead.

They were effusive in the extreme about rock climbing in the Basin. I may not have the quote exactly as they said it, but the gist was, “We have climbed in the Cirque of the Towers. The Cirque is world class. But the Cirque can’t hold a candle to this. The mountains are higher, more massive, colder.” (Note to Zach and Courtney: You guys need to see Titcomb Basin.)

After a couple more minutes of visiting, we hiked on, agreeing with their assessment, even from laymen’s viewpoints, that Titcomb Basin was impressive, with peaks rising all around, snow hidden in rock faces. We were both overwhelmed with the size of it all.

Eventually we came to the end of the Upper Titcomb Lake, noticing a large waterfall that cascaded down a cliff face on the other (western) side, which obviously helped feed the lakes. We wondered where the water was coming from, a wonder that would soon be revealed.

One of the couples we met on the trail was a fellow and (I assumed, correctly) his girlfriend who were on their way in to Titcomb Basin for a few days of rock climbing. Really nice guy. Probably about forty or so, my first impression had been that he was out of his element. He looked tired, even bored. Probably one of the great crimes of misjudgment of this century.

We had already passed this couple on Day Two. On this day (Day Three), we passed them on the trail going toward Titcomb Basin. When we told him where we were going, he immediately pulled out his Winds map and helped us orient to where we needed to go. He was, in fact, quite at home in the mountains and had a great sense of what the Winds were all about. We talked with him for a few minutes, telling him of our plan to hike up Knapsack Col, about which he seemed quite impressed. (We should have taken his being impressed as our first “red light” omen.)

We took our leave of him and his friend, and rested for a few minutes at the top of the upper lake, filling up water bottles and resting tired feet.

Once we got going again we immediately started gaining elevation, angling toward Twin Sisters glacier.

The run-off from the glacier was enormous. To cross this run-off river, Ben went barefoot and I put on the lightweight shoes I had brought along for the purpose. The stream was cascading downhill very steeply, was obviously extremely cold (yes, glacier run-off can be chilly), and the current was very strong. Both of us made it across safely. Despite being a very strong 200 pound power lifted, Ben still has the natural coordination of a cat. My natural coordination trends toward the cat’s clumsier cousins, but was sufficient to get me to the other side.

Then we crossed over a short wrinkle in the mountain and got our first look at the glacier. It was amazing! Beautiful and white and snowy looking in places, torrents of water were leaking from it to fill the Titcomb Lakes and beyond.

We looked up at the ridge and thought we saw Knapsack Col, which we assumed would look like a notch in the ridge line, and decided to try and skirt the glacier and follow some evident seams in the rock and climb to the top.

So off we went…

At first, it was just kind of tricky doing a bit of boulder hopping. Then, we realized that we were still ON the glacier. Ben described it as walking on asphalt. There was good traction because the ice was dirty and filled with rocks. It was a few minutes into this part of the hike that I started to think that we were committed to the ridge. We had to press on because I couldn’t even imagine going back down this!

So up we continued, angling back to the left. Very quickly it got to be very hard climbing. At times, it felt quite dangerous, especially challenging, too, because we both were climbing with full packs. At one point the sky darkened and we felt raindrops. Thankfully, the rain never came and the weather cleared, but we realized that time was of the essence, so we didn’t dawdle.

We were getting near the top, but each step had to be carefully thought through. We were looking for foot-holds and finger holds at every step to pull ourselves up to the next shelf.

Then, finally, after about a two hour ascent, Ben emerged at the top! It was great. We had a wonderful view of the lake at the bottom on the other side of the ridge, a lake which we assumed was Peak Lake leading to Highline Trail.

After a couple minutes of rest we started the descent, which turned out to be difficult. It was a scramble over huge boulders and ice fields, something that we didn’t expect based on the map. (Omen #2: When the sight in front of you doesn’t reflect what the map says, you’ve got a problem. Trust the map.). What with exhaustion, hurting knees and feet (and for Ben, calves and ankles), the descent was painful. But we finally made it to the bottom, having probably lost a thousand feet in elevation.

With Ben leading the way we hiked the length of the lake (still thinking that it was Peak Lake). And just a note about the lake. It was gorgeous! Not a stretch to say that it was actually turquoise, nestled among rocks. Probably nothing living in it, but as clean a lake as I’ve ever seen. We had no qualms about drinking water, untreated, from this lake.

At the end of the lake we expected to see a trail and Cube Rock Pass, but there was no trail to be seen. The lake emptied out into a broad valley with two very large lakes at the bottom - again, something that was NOT on the maps. All of a sudden we couldn’t figure out where we were. Where the lake emptied, the water flowed down a precipitous drop-off into the first of the two lakes below.

It was at about this time that Ben turned to me and said, “Dad, those are the Titcomb Lakes!”

Sure enough, we were both convinced within a couple of minutes that we had somehow circled around one mountain and were now one descent away from simply re-entering the Titcomb Basin. The run-off from the lake we had just hiked past (which was not Peak Lake, but Summer Ice Lake - gotta love that name) was, in fact, the enormous waterfall that we had seen from below. Sadly, now we were going to have to hike down the waterfall chute.

THAT turned out to be a very dicey proposition. The course was very steep. Ben went first (Thanks, son!), got about twenty feet ahead of me, turned to face me and said in about as panicky a voice as I’ve ever heard from him, “Dad, don’t come this way. Stay where you are!”

Ever the obedient father, I did as I was told and waited for him to tell me what was up. Evidently, to continue going the route Ben had hoped to follow brought him to an eighty foot cliff. Our only option now was to cross the waterfall and try going down the other side.

Crossing wasn’t that hard, as the water was flowing under the boulders at this point, but it did require a three foot drop which I was loathe to take with bad knees and a full packpack. Ben suggested that I simply slide down on my belly, which I did, leaving various anatomical parts, for the most part, intact.

From that point on, it was a scramble down to the lake. At first, it was very scary because the terrain was dirt and loose rock. We had to be very careful to not dislodge rocks and start a landslide that would have made our other disasters seem less disastrous. After a while, the terrain changed to short grass and stable terrain - but still very steep. Not sure if I have mentioned that my knees hurt, but I’ll mention it now. And with hurting knees this descent added insult to injury. Ben’s main bodily pains were still all about calves, feet, and ankles. As usual, neither of us said a word about our aches and pains, stoically and silently (except for the occasional wry comment) bearing all hardship with courage, strength, wisdom and skill. (Yeah, right!)

At any rate, we finally got to a level, grassy spot near the Upper Titcomb Lake at 7:30, the end of eleven and a half hours of travel. We saw that the weather was cratering, so set up shelter as fast as we could. The weather held off, giving us time to boil some water for dinner. Ben’s usual noodles and meat and seasoning was wonderful, as always. My chili con potatoes was equally sublime.

The wind shifted - Ben re-set his tarp - and we stayed outside talking for a bit about what we had done, amazed that we had been stupid enough to miss Knapsack Col, that we had decided to go through with the hike, that we hadn’t gotten hurt, and that we actually pulled off a pretty epic day.

(Our decision to climb up where we did was due to our total inexperience with glaciers - and to our failure to really study the map with a compass! We thought we were going up and around the glacier, but the glacier was really much larger than the snowy white stuff we could see. It continued under the rocks for a good distance, and it was over this that we walked up and over the ridge, not around the glacier, but right up through the glacier.)

Days Four and Five - the hike out

We got up early on Sunday, but didn’t try to leave in a hurry, still tired after our Epic Saturday. Still, we hit the trail a little after 9am. (It is amazing how efficient you can be when you don’t have campfires.) We had to hike down to the lake and then up river to cross over to the trail side of Titcomb Lakes, which added about an hour to our day.

Shortly after we got to the trail we encountered our rock climbing friend, whose name is Henry Bauer. He told us a bit about himself - very interesting guy - including that he has mountain-climbed in the Tibetan (Ana - something or other) Himalayas. When we told him what we had done yesterday, he seemed truly impressed, perhaps both by the lack of our route-finding skills AND (I like to think) by our ability to navigate some really nasty terrrain. Among his comments was a very emphatic, “Holy **it!”

The rest of the day was spent walking, walking, walking. About ten hours worth, with another 13 mile day, hiking past Island and Seneca and Barbara all the way to Eklund Lake where we spent the only somewhat crowded night on the trail. With a full moon rising at about 9pm, it was like trying to sleep with the bedroom light on. We didn’t. Then, when the moon went down, the fog/haze/humidity rolled it, making sleep again, unlikely.

We had a quick breakfast with smoke from the Idaho fires blotting out all good views and hit the trail, eager for our first off-trail meal in Pinedale.

The walk out was as annoying as all hikes out are. Our trip was done. We had seen the sights and been in the backcountry. Now we passed hikers who were hiking in to where we had been, telling them that they were in for a treat. We were also passed by a caravan of at least sixteen pack horses whose presence ahead of us guaranteed that we remained vigilant and sure-footed for the remainder of the trip (horses: the bane of backpackers everywhere!).

We made it to the trailhead around 11:00 am on the fifth day not having done what we set out to do, but accomplishing something we had never dreamed we would do. The physical exertion of the trek was complete (at least for me!), but so was the sense of personal connection that we had dreamed of from the beginning.

Yet once again, God proved Himself exceptionally gracious. He allowed me to enjoy one of His more impressive works of creative genius - and to enjoy it with Ben.

Over the years I’ve noted that whether with a group of high schoolers or college guys, my brother-in-law, Bob, my sons, my daughter, or my wife, camping seems to be one of the more reliable venues for establishing and maintaining deep, personal bonds. It was always been that for me and those I love, and it proved to be exactly that yet one more time. Thanks, Lord.