Headwaters: Wind River Adventure

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!