Electra loop: Stormy skies

Enormous puddles and damp campers were testament to the previous night's inclement weather. Driving through the Tuolumne Meadows campground en route to the trailhead, I eyed the uniformly leaden skies, confused and unsure. What did they signify? Were they just the remnants of a storm clearing out, or were they harbingers of worse to some? It was humid and still, almost oppressive. The conditions were unlike any I'd seen in the area before. The weather forecast called for 30-40% chance of thunderstorms for the next week; I packed rainpants, storm matches, waterproof stuff sacks.

The first couple of miles climbed gently on a well-used trail to Elizabeth Lake, where the beaten path ended and the adventure began. Retracing the steps of our recent family backpacking trip, I followed the inlet stream  up through open forest and meadows to some unnamed lakes west  of Johnson Peak. Unlike the previous trip, when these jewels had glowed sapphire under the great Sierra Blue, the lakes were pearl grey.

Unnamed lakes near Johnson Peak on the last trip; this time the skies were leaden...

 The sun almost peeked through, and I thought my theory of a passing storm might be correct. A traverse down across slabs and  through forest to the east of Rafferty Peak on a carefully computed compass bearing eventually brought me out to the Rafferty Creek trail just a few minutes from Tuolumne Pass. I congratulated myself on my superior navigation skills. This trail is a backcountry highway leading to the Vogelsang High Sierra Camp, where, for a price you can ride a mule to outfitted tent cabins and enjoyed chef-produced fine food and wine. Maybe in another few decades! Of course, all the necessary provisions have to be transported somehow... and that means mules. I had to jump aside for no fewer than five mule trains and dodge their inevitable unpleasant output in the mile or so up to camp. Curiously, there were no other backpackers to be seen.

During lunch near Vogelsang HSC, the clouds seemed to thicken, and first clap of thunder rumbled around in the nearby high peaks. Time to hurry along. One possible spot for the night was at Vogelsang lake, a mile above the HSC - we had stayed at this gorgeous lake last year on our family trip - but it was exposed and the prospect of a stormy night there in the ultralight shelter wasn't appealing based on previous experience (see "Bad-Ass Mamas Go Peakbagging"). So I hurried along past the lake and climbed gently up across granite slabs and pocket meadows of wildflowers to Vogelsang Pass at 10,800 ft.

Vogelsang Lake from near the pass with Rafferty Peak at rear left. Lots of black clouds...

There the view changed abruptly. Two fat and happy marmots occupied a perfect perch overlooking the Lewis Creek Canyon which headed west below, and the lakes in hanging valleys to the south side, nestled under the highest peaks in Yosemite along the Sierra Crest. Stunning. I wanted to linger, but black clouds roiled and grumbled their warnings. So it was off down the precipitous switchbacks hewn out of the flanks of the canyon to the wooded (and hopefully more sheltered) valley floor. 

Stone steps lead down into Lewis Canyon. Looking towards Bernice Lake and Mt Lyell , the highest point in the park on the Sierra Crest

Upper Lewis Canyon

It started raining on and off, and so around mid-afternoon I saw an appealing campsite on the side of some cliffs through which the river cascaded noisily and decided to call it a day; I was a couple of miles further on that my most optimistic prediction. Getting down to the river was a bit of a scramble, but I was rewarded by views up to several waterfalls....and a patch of wild onions. Fresh greens for dinner! I couldn't help but think of all the climbing potential along the cliffs lining the gorge. What fun it would be to return with gear and partners and explore more thoroughly.

Lewis Canyon camp. How deluxe is that?!

The rain let up enough to get up the shelter (you'd need delusions of grandeur to call the thing a tent), to enjoy a snack of crackers and freeze-died cheddar (yes, seriously - Moon Cheese is da bomb!), and to relax a bit.

If only I'd been prepared to carry the weight of the backcountry beer......

However, I'd barely finished dinner when the heavens opened and all hell broke loose. Hail pelted down and bounced into the shelter while thunder reverberated in the narrow canyon. One blast was so loud that it rattled my teeth, pounded my chest and scared me silly.  If I were inclined to religion, it would have been a good time to pray. As a mere atheist, I could only hunker down and hope. Fortunately, the shelter stayed up and the worst of the storm passed in a couple of hours. I went to bed to flashes of lightning and the sound of thunder rolling around over the pass towards Vogelsang lake. It was a fitful night punctuated by more rain; I burrowed further into my bag and tried to ignore it. Ostrich. Head. Sand.