Wind River Adventure - The Big Sandy Loop

I had always wanted to experience the Wind River Mountain Range for myself.  After hearing the stories of a true wilderness with big fish and serene wilderness and high vistas in all directions, I knew I needed to discover the place for myself. I had never had the opportunity to really do so prior to July 2017. Richard and Brett called me to ask if I wanted to join them on this experience. Doing these trips is never an easy thing from a scheduling perspective. But they are always an easy decision from a pure adventure perspective. So after juggling a few commitments around, I was able to make it happen.
I'm so glad I did.
Before taking the first step, the adventure really started with just trying to find the rendezvous point. It all started  out with me getting lost on the way to our designated meeting spot, the Big Sandy Trailhead, on the southern end of the Wind Rivers. Studying the paper map I had closely, as well as luckily running into an old road sign that had fallen down and begun to decay, helped me find the turn-off to the Big Sandy area.

The fragmented sign of fate.

Good thing the group was patient with me finding the place.
The trail meandered along the banks of a beautiful creek directly from the parking lot. We (mainly I) resisted any urge to take out our fishing gear at this time and moved forward to our first of many lakes: Meeks Lake. The best (or worst) memory I have of Meeks is my introduction to the carnivorous mosquitoes of the area.

Jeff and Brett, a great father-son backpacking team.

They are ruthlessly thirsty. Bug nets are a must up here next time, or at least some high-powered deet.

Upper Big Sandy Creek, very picturesque.

We then moved forward to an area called Fish Creek Park. We were gaining altitude by this time, getting above the tree line and into the wide open passes and meadows that would become so familiar on this trip.

A columbine sighted.

A columbine harvested.

Next up was Mirror Lake.  We would find out later that there was some nice brown trout here, which we unfortunately had to pass up on. The wildflower fields were amazing here, fully of lupine and bluebells, columbine and daisy.

Jeff contemplating the beauty of his surroundings at Mirror Lake.

We then came upon Dad's Lake at the bottom of a large alpine valley. Scouts were around this lake doing some Scoutish things such as swimming and cliff jumping while hooting and hollering. We stopped here for lunch and then caught our first fish of the trip here, some beautiful (and small) brookies caught on the needle lure. As with our other destinations on a backpacking trip with a set schedule, we could not stay long and had to keep moving forward.

Dads Lake overlook

The climb to Marm's Lake was somewhat strenuous, but, fortunately, short. This was a large natural lake in a divided basin. The original plan was to sleep here for the night and we found a nice protected spot to do so. But soon we met up with some returning hikers from the Washakie Basin and began chatting with them. They began bragging of some big golden trout, cutthroat trout, and rainbow trout all caught in the Pyramid Lake and Mays Lake region. Being the fanatical fly fisherman that I am, it didn't take long for me to plead with the other 3 members of our team if we could keep hiking and get into that Washakie Basin. Granted we were all tired, thirsty, and battle-worn after 8 miles of backpacking, but they too were (somewhat) taken in by the stories of 2-3 lb fish coming in at 18+ inches. So we threw the packs back on, had some gulps of water, and began slogging onward. It took some time to get the lead out of my legs, but eventually I was back in the hiking rhythm.

Brett, in the zone, while singing Les Miserables tunes.

We had another short and steep climb up a drainage that lead to a high plateau that overlooked the upper Washakie Basin. Looking out over the plateau, we saw some dark clouds brewing. Not thinking too much of them, we worked our way down toward the river plain. As we descended to the river crossing, the clouds soon were right upon us. A light sprinkle then turned into a steady rain. The sporadic winds by this time had turned into a strong gale. As we were crossing the rising river, the rain then turned into a sleet and hail mix.  Richard was ahead on the crossing, scampering into a sheltered area. I had stayed back with Brett and his son. Just as we had crossed the river, a bright flash lit up the area, followed by the loudest clap of thunder I had ever heard. I was now genuinely scared.  It was literally the perfect storm of strong winds, driving sleet, and stark lightning & thunder. Brett's 12-year old son was called on to say a prayer for safety right then and there. I couldn't have agreed more that this was the right place and the right time to call on some Divine Help.  What was amazing was how quickly the prayer for relief was answered: 15 minutes later the rain had stopped and the clouds were breaking up; by 30 minutes we were actually starting to dry out! Jeff and Brett hit the tent to stay warm. Wow - how the weather changes at 10,000 feet elevation in Wyoming!

The approach to Washakie Basin, with storm clouds looming.

Hard to believe it was raining, snowing, and lightning hard just 45 minutes before this pic was taken.

The next morning was cloudless and gorgeous. The moisture from the rain and the dew gave each blade of grass, each tree limb, each rock, such a well-defined, crisp feel to it. It was truly beautiful to behold. 

Watch out for those tree-climbing bears in the Wind Rivers.

We fished in the vaunted Washakie Creek and caught nothing more than a bunch of 6" brookies. While exciting for the first 5, the novelty wore off by the last 15. I clearly was disappointed that the story we had been sold was not panning out, at least on this section of the Washakie. At least now I could empathize with my fellow trout who are often alured into eating a meal consisting of yarn, thread and a sharp hook - I did the same thing in ingesting their story of huge golden, cutthroat, and rainbow trout. Were they purely fiction, or were we just on the wrong river? After some research, I've decided that those big golden and cutthroat trout indeed do exist in that section of the Winds, you just have to know where to find them and how to fish for them...

Frolicking in Washakie Creek after the big storm. The Cirque in the background.

Anyways, we decided to head back, break camp, and make a decision on which route we would take to hike back out. We had essentially 4 options here: work our way east toward Shadow Lake and the beautiful back side of the Cirque of the Towers, work our way north toward Pyramid Lake, work our way west toward Cross Lake, or work our way south back the way we came toward Marms and Dad's Lake. Wanting to make a clean loop of the trip and see new country and new trails, we decided to head west toward Cross Lake, and then follow the East Fork drainage back down south, and eventually cross back into the Big Sandy Creek drainage and associated trailhead.
Seeing the confluence of Washakie Creek with the East Fork was unexpectedly picturesque, even inspiring to me. I have always appreciated the headwaters of any major river.  The point where all feeder waters meet to form a river represent the end of the beginning of the brooks, streams, and rivulets consisting of snow melt and hidden springs. The point also represents a new birth for a larger, stronger, composed river, which has greater ambitions and greater force behind it. I love these subtle transitions that happen at the headwaters of rivers in the West. They are like hydro-logical on-ramps and off-ramps in the river's natural freeway system, defined by a river's constant quest to take the infamous path of least resistance through gravity's constant pull to lower elevations.

Headwaters of the East River, the confluence of 3 streams.

We too took that downward path following the drainage of the East River downward. The obvious benefit of following a drainage is that you are moving downstream so the contours on the map are always in your favor. The hike was very easy, compared to the steep climbs of the day before. The only annoying part of this stretch of our trip was that we had to take off our shoes and packs for 3 different river crossings. Annoying is much better than exhausting, but in reality it was just refreshing to our sweaty and weary feet. Singing and story-telling helped us through this laborious section of the trip, which criss-crossed the Highline Trail.

One of several "refreshingly cold" (i.e. painfully cold) crossings of the East River.

Our target site for the final night of camping was to be on the shores of Boulter Lake.  This lake is actually a reservoir built on top of an old lake. It is large by Wind River standards. The wonderful part of this lake, and the entire East Fork drainage, is that we had no other company there. We were entirely alone on this part of the trek and saw maybe 2-3 people over an 8-mile stretch, something we could not say on the Big Sandy trailhead. Wilderness is becoming increasingly accessed, used, tread upon, and, in the final analysis, less wild it seems. Social media is doing it's job too well it would seem of giving people a forum to share their adventures on.
We lethargically set up camp, moving in slow motion after this long day on the trail. After 3 hours, I finally began to re-hydrate and slowly my senses perked up again with higher energy levels.

After 8 hours of hiking, our more ornery, animalistic sides were coming out.

And it couldn't have come at a better time, for the sun had tucked itself behind the mountain, 3 hours of dusk remained, ring forms, and subtle splashes were starting to appear on the southern end of Boulter Lake. All this could point to only one magical thing, the thing that keeps me young, the thing that brings me unfettered joy: the trout were rising, and the fish were biting!

Jeff was all smiles about the fishing...

...and so was I...

...while Richard was just excited to  finally eat something besides trail mix.

We enjoyed some delicious trout for dinner around the fire that night.

Contemplating the long day on the trail.

Fresh brook trout for dinner, nature's protein bars.

It was a beautiful and serene lake. And a great way to end a memorable trip to the Winds.

Good bye Wind Rivers, until next time.

A New Range With Some Old Friends: Yurting in the LaSals

Since I've begun back country skiing in the winter of 2007, all of my focus has been on the Wasatch. Never have I ventured beyond the area bounded by Provo Canyon to the south and Logan Canyon to the north. I've heard rumor of people experiencing fine back country skiing in some of the lesser known ranges in the Basin and Range Country of Utah and even Nevada (Henry's, Ruby's, Deep Creeks, Stansbury's, LaSals). I've just never been able to pull off a trip to see if they were worth exploring. So when Art offered me the chance to join him and some friends down in the LaSal Mountains near Moab, UT, I knew I had to take the opportunity. Over the years on several Moab trips, I had only seen these distant and snow-capped mountains from a distance while at Arches National Park or Canyonlands or on Slick Rock. So the chance to explore these towering, less-traveled peaks on skis was too tempting to let pass by, even though I had no less than 3 other prior commitments that would need re-arranging that weekend. Not to mention my birthday was on that Sunday and missing those family events was not an option my wife was willing to leave on the table. So I simply had to be back Sunday morning.

The crew was comprised of Pete, Jesse, Aaron, Art, and myself. The gear would be towed in by sled and frame packs, or both. The destination was Geyser Pass Yurt in the central LaSal's.  The goal was to explore as much of the area as possible in the 3 days we had allocated for the adventure (which we quickly learned would not even scratch the proverbial surface of this vast mountain range). The weather was to be breezy and balmy with no recent or pending storm in sight. In other words, fresh powder would be virtually non-existent on this trip. We could hopefully make some turns on corn snow, or at least soft slush. But it did not take us long to learn that this trip was not going to be about snow quality as much as experiencing new wilderness.

Gearing up at the trailhead

I thought it would be smart to haul in a second pair of skis and boots...as if the pack wasn't already heavy enough

Team McMullin, with Mellenthin overshadowing.

The 3.5 mile climb to the yurt from the trailhead was not too strenuous, as it was all done on a snow-packed dirt road used by snowmobilers.  We worked through the mixed aspen stands up to the coniferous forest near Geyser Pass. Soon after that, we found our yurt, although it took some trial and error searching episodes to land at it at the end.

I have never been yurt skiing prior to this trip, but I am told it is one of the finer yurts available. It was in good repair, with no leaks or drafts, allowing us to stay cozy and warm.  It was well-stocked with living necessities, with my personal favorite being the cozy wood-burning stove.

Aaron, gearing up for the day

After getting settled in, we were eager to explore our surroundings on skis. So a few of us went to find some sheltered north-facing snow. We had to make good time because afternoon was wearing on towards evening and snow conditions were firming up in all aspects. We were able to watch the moonrise on the way back from this short tour.

Jesse with Mr. Moon, near the saddle.

Jesse had some weird questions for us back at the yurt over the fire that he was excited to pose to us...

We finally found some decent snow on this north-facing aspect of a saddle near Haystack Peak. Granted, it wasn't Central Wasatch powder that has spoiled me over the years, but it was still 6" of smooth and soft snow. It made for some fun turns on the telemark skis.

Yes, telemarking really does require that much concentration on easy and low-angle terrain... especially if you're a rookie like this guy. And yes, its a super fun way to get down a mountain! :)

 That night back at the yurt, we brainstormed some plans for an ascent on one of the local peaks. That fire sure felt gemutlich with the full moon out our front door.

Our very own "live" Bob Ross painting in the yurt...

We debated like we really knew the area and had strong preferences accordingly..., but in reality we had no clue where the good skiing was in this vast and new playground. We were all first-timers up there, making it a pure adventure, with all the associated real-time uncertainty, calculated risk, and dopamine drop-ins of any good adventure in wilderness. Ultimately, I feel like it was the path of least resistance to decide on skiing the peak that had been staring us down ever since we entered the yurt: Mt. Mellenthin.   After a bit more research on the map, I was just excited to be above 12,000 feet on my skis, something I had never done before in the Central Wasatch since you max out your elevation on Nebo at 11,900-ish.

Heading for Mellenthin's summit at 12,645 feet, via it's North Face. 

 As we approached the mountain, I felt like it was a boxer that was glaring us down across the ring leaning against the ropes, as it gave us the "evil eye."

Over these treetops, lies our goal

From the treeline. Bring it on.

Steep skinning on firm snow, even lower on the mountain

The thinking was that the snow may be a little softer on the north-facing aspect of the mountain. In retrospect, I'm not sure why we thought the snow would be soft anywhere with massive exposure and daily wind scouring above the treeline with no storm in the past 2 weeks...but, hey, our intentions were still pure. At least we weren't short on communicating the team's options and opinions. And this is a good thing to do in new situations and terrains.

Signs of wind blasting and that high altitude freeze-thaw cycle were everywhere. Pete taught us a really cool Scandinavian word for describing that kind of snow, but it currently evades my memory and my spell checker right now, so I won't even try to write it here.

Art, getting in the zone

Mandatory booting after the wind board became steep ice board.

Not exactly powder up here.

As the snow continued to turn to ice and the angle became gradually steeper, we decided to gain the east ridge rather than ascend straight up the North Face. Ridge climbing is generally easier and safer than exposed face climbing. Unfortunately, this was not the case here. The loose scree and ice board made booting up the ridge even slower and more precarious. We all wished we had crampons and ice axes (or at least the trusty Whippet) at this point to give us a bit more climbing confidence! But conditions were not safe with the gear we had and the going was very slow, so we played it safe and had to turn back about 2/3 up the mountain. I'm not sure if we broke the 12,000 foot mark when we turned around. Either way, our first view of the red rock from a snowy mountain did not disappoint.

Just below the turn-around point

If we only had some fresh powder right about now!

The view of Canyonlands and Arches from our turn-around point. This pic does not do the actual view any justice...

Pete, resigned to turning back, with a very icy and steep background.

Pointing to our tracks on Mellenthin...probably.

Art working it, with The Haystack behind him.

East side of Mellenthin is a completely different mountain, with some obvious history as well.

We found some fun tree and gully skiing on the way back to the yurt. It calmed our nerves nicely after booting up an ice field.

Celebrating finding some softer snow

Aaron, breezing through the trees.

One of the coolest things about yurt skiing is that you have a private, clean mid-mountain lodge just for you and your friends! We took advantage...

Lunch time and de-brief.

At this point, re-fueling felt so very good. We then decided to head back to the northern Haystack Woods. We wanted to see if we could find some more great snow in that sheltered northerly aspect, like we had the night before. En route to the Haystack Woods, we saw this sight that turned us on. Lots.

Fresh tracks on The Stack, calling us back.

So we weren't totally alone after all (although we were pretty close) as evidenced by this pair of tracks descending the east face of Haystack. And they looked  sort of soft and non-icey. Soft-ish, I would say. So we changed our plans and headed up the Haystack instead of to the woods.  I was admittedly not excited about another ice board booter. And, to my great joy, the booter was already in place and was much softer and easier to navigate than what we had just done that morning across the valley. It was actually a pretty fun booter this time around, thankfully.

Much improved conditions over our morning peak attempt

The views from the top of Haystack were stunning and rewarding. And we finally scratched the itch of getting on a high point down in the La Sals. Jesse and Aaron reported the name of pretty much every rock we could see. And we could see lots of them, in every direction on the compass, for miles and miles, spanning 3 states. Perhaps they invented some names while we were there as well, who knows...

The final approach on the flat top of The Haystack with perfect weather.

On Top of The Haystack.

All smiles this time around on the summit!

The descent was soft, but rapidly stiffening up. It was still better than our Mellenthin descent by any measure. I could not stop thinking of how amazing this place would be if you could actually time it  after a powder storm. Even 3" of fresh snow on everything would have made it a totally different ski experience. We never really found a good corn cycle either, unfortunately - it was always either too slushy or too icy. But the amazing wilderness and visual experience made up for what the skiing lacked. When I returned back to the yurt, I then had to pack up to be back home for Sunday. Art obliged to join me so I wouldn't fall asleep on the 4 hour drive home, with a nice stop at Ray's for a greasy burger. 

I'm told by Pete and Aaron that the best skiing of the trip was actually Sunday morning, 12 hours after Art and I had left the yurt to return back home. I think they were just rubbing it in to make us feel bad since we didn't experience it. Then again, these pictures do make it look pretty sweet...

A vast playground to explore...

Lots of cool lines on this peak...

...and this one...

...not to mention this one.

Looks like true powder was eventually found after all...

On the exit from the yurt back to the car, we were treated to an amazing desert-alpine sunset. This was the cherry on top of the cake of an already amazing experience in the mountains - not to mention a nice conclusion for my 40th year on the planet as well.  And I even made it home in time for my birthday the next day with family.

No they are not the beloved Wasatch, but these reclusive La Sals are certainly worthy of the efforts required to get there. And we hardly even scratched the surface...I must return one day.

Goodbye La Sal's, goodbye 40th life year.