Dallas' Sierra adventure: All the bread of Albania...Failure on Mt Florence

In the depth of winter, during the slog of work and bearing the various anguishes of the school year, I inevitably turn to the escapism of summer planning, hatching grandiose schemes, filling in every weekend with adventure, and generally basking in the imagined glory of these future experiences. I pick a lofty backcountry goal and throw myself into planning and training, every day, putting that goal in my mind as motivation to strive harder, plumbing the depths of the internet to dredge up ancient trip reports that might hold a skerrick of critical information, obsessively checking and rechecking gear. Eventually summer arrives, and with it adventure and misadventure, as previous blog posts have testified to.

This year was different. For the first time, I planned a summer European vacation. Three June weeks of visiting friends and family in England and Scotland, meeting our sponsored World Vision child in Albania, and exploring the mountains of that country. But as potent a drug as international travel is, it would still not provide my annual Sierra high. So, thinking myself a master of planning, I scheduled a quiet July for recovery and training (and catching up on work), followed by a string of forays to the high peaks, the first being a week in Mammoth Lakes with the family and a couple of hangers on (for mountain training and acclimatization), followed a few days later by the annual solo trip: that transcendental odyssey of self-discovery and rejuvenation, of reflection through exhaustion, of power through struggle...and other high-minded purple prose.

This year, I was captivated by Mt Florence, named for Florence Hutchings, the first European child to be born and grow up in Yosemite Valley. The daughter of James Hutchings who owned a sawmill in the Valley, Florence was a tomboy indulged by her parents and influenced by John Muir himself, who stayed with the family for several years. She was well known for riding out on horseback to the greet the stagecoaches entering the Valley in a great flowing cape, highwayman style, and for wandering off on overnight to explore the towering walls of the area. (http://www.undiscovered-yosemite.com/florence-hutchings.html).

Florence Hutchings

Not at all usual behavior for a 19th century girl. Unfortunately, at age 17, she was killed in a horse-riding accident, but by then her spirit was legendary and prompted the naming of a peak after her. Mt Florence was remote, hidden in the highest range of the park, inaccessible by trail. In other words, a perfect goal.

So it was that I set out from Tuolumne Meadows on a perfect August day, heading in a 'backdoor' trailhead that would eventually lead me cross-country to Mt Florence. I never got there. I never even saw the peak. I staggered back to the car a day early, utterly spent. I achieved none of my goals. I had set the bar high and slid under with the utmost ease. What did I learn from this?

1. A European trip with much travelling, some walking around tourist sites, a couple of hikes, and the regular sampling of culinary delights is not optimal for High Sierra adventures. The bread of Albania was superb to sample three times daily in the Accursed Alps....but not helpful to be carrying to altitude on my butt! The first afternoon, I staggered up to Vogelsang lake, 3 miles short of my goal for the day and collapsed in a heap.

Vogelsang lake from Fletcher Peak

2. Three weeks post-vacation 'training' is insufficient to return to 'peak' fitness. The first night not restorative. My legs still had the strength of limp noodles.

3. A week in Mammoth was undoubtedly helpful for acclimatization, but this was counteracted by the beer and wine...and of course the margaritas at the free Jimi Hendrix tribute band show. The 'ultralight' pack did not 'float effortlessly on my shoulders'. Did I really carry this last year?

4. Packing for a Sierra adventure while simultaneously unpacking from a family trip, getting back-to-school chores done, and binge viewing the first few days of the Olympics does not produce laser focus to the task at hand. I forgot my cup and utensils and had to make do with a tent peg for stirring, the cap off a gas cannister for a spoon, and the tiny container that the stove came in for a miniscule cup - Expresso anyone?

5. Lack of a firm plan will doom you to failure. In the frenzy of other summer planning, the solo trip was shoved to the side; last minute research resulted in changed routes. Instead of that obsessive focus on what needed to be done, I vacillated. Perhaps another peak would suffice? Fletcher Peak looked doable, and it had the added attraction of being 6 miles closer. The psych was just not there.

Fletcher Peak above Vogelsang lake

Scrambling up a wildflower strewn gully to Fletcher Peak

So, inadequately prepared physically (on the way out, the 1500 ft climb over Vogelsang pass seemed pure torture), mentally (the steep west ridge of Mt Simmons, my other goal, looked far too scary to attempt alone, and the endless talus slopes that guarded the route to Mt Florence overwhelmed me) and even emotionally (wouldn't I rather have company? Wasn't I being a bad mother leaving the kids to their own devices the week before school returned? Shouldn't I be there to share the excitement (or balm the disappointment) of getting the school schedule?), this trip dealt me a huge kick up the posterior loaded with all the bread of Albania.

Gallison Lake and Vogelsang Pass at rear - this had to be climbed from way down in the valley below

As far as I got - Mt Simmons at rear with west ridge.

But the positives? Gorgeous vistas, wildflower meadows, peace and tranquility, the exploration of new areas, successful cross-country navigation, a swim in a deserted high country lake, the evening Sierra light show on rocky peaks. My love affair with the High Sierra has not diminished. But I'm older and wiser. I'll be back next year to visit Mt Florence and pay homage to that lively girl who lived 150 years ago. And you can bet I'll be better prepared.