Last Call for Mt. Tallac

Just days before predicted snow, it was my last opportunity to get a sixth peak knocked off.  I decided to use the Mid-Tallac Trail instead of the more popular one on the North side of Fallen leaf lake.  Instead of a long, gradual approach, the trail climbs right away, much of it through scree fields until turning into a gully, then leading onto a long, forested slope.  I followed a lightly used trail through the forest, delighted by a few patches of frost. I must have gotten distracted, because though I was on what appeared to be the same trail I started on, I got a ping from Al Trails asking me about my detour.  Instead of backtracking, I adjusted my heading, off trail, through brush, fallen trees, and eventually, a large field of fractured basalt, planning to rejoin the real trail higher up. Late morning wind gusts were strong enough that I seriously questioned whether to go on. To this point, I had seen no other parties.  I sheltered behind a large pine long enough to get water, eat a protein bar, throw some gardening gloves on and plan my descent, but after rejoining the proper trail, which intersects with the main trail just after it tops the ridge. I couldn’t help but continue a little further, just to reassess the challenge. I began to see multiple small groups of hikers from the main trail, all heading on up. What the heck, there’s hours of daylight left. I fell in line.
Once on the main trail, I passed a few, a few passed me. I was passed twice by the same lanky couple, wearing beanies and armed with trekking poles. Not sure how that happened, because I really only took standing breaks except that one time sheltering lower down. I didn’t notice them up top, where irregular gusts of wind weren’t nearly as severe as I had experienced earlier on.  Over a couple of decades, this was my fourth Tallac summit, and as the cliche goes, it never gets old. Clouds hovered over the Crystal Range, lakes Aloha and Gilmore nestled underneath. The sun intermittently pierced the clouds, throwing light down over all of that granite. It was more than enough to rekindle that appreciation of things that are wild and beyond my own feeble influence. I thought I could almost make out the place on that ridge where I lay flat on my stomach years ago, holding my camera over the edge, trembling hard enough that I didn’t get a single clear image. I remember a short petition I made, “God, don’t shake this place right now!”

I lingered for a little longer with about twenty others on Tallac’s broad summit, sloping down towards Lake Tahoe.  A couple of summers back I shared the same space with fifty or sixty others on 4th of July weekend.  Today there was room to breathe a little. I took a selfie and sent it with a text to my wife for proof of life, put my gloves back on and started down.  I followed the main trail until reaching a flat hunk of rock where mine went down to the right and the other went forward a little further until ducking left over the ridge.  I passed through an enormous field of low grass, with a view of Tinker’s knob, far across an expanse. I was just there a few weeks ago, and had that bit of the PCT to myself for a few hours. My field of yellow grass grass transitioned into forest and my lanky friends passed me up one more time. I thought I’d try to match pace this time. They still got a bit ahead until they paused at the place the trail dives back into the gully. I thought they were taking in the view. Sunlight was embellishing a sheer rock face across the narrow valley at the far end of Fallen Leaf Lake. I stepped up to comment on the view. They cast a puzzled look at me. It began to dawn on them that they had just given up 1,000 feet on the wrong trail. “We’ll have to go back over, one of them said.”  “Or we can keep going and walk around the lake to the other trailhead,” said the other. “Why don’t we go o down together, and I can drive you to you car?”  So now we were three. They asked me to lead. We got back on the scree. Even though it was a clear trail, a slip would get you 500 feet in a hurry, and just about skinned alive. I was sorry for the first time that I had chosen not to carry my own trekking poles. You know how the last bit of the hike drags on? My knees were getting more sore by the step.  I began to wobble. We finally reached my truck in the lot. Soon we were headed over to the other side, talking about kids, work, and our Tahoe experiences.  The Aspens were showing their gold.  I dropped Mike and Beth off and was soon heading home. I had done my sixth peak of the Tahoe challenge two days before forecasted snow. That’s cutting it close.