Red Peak

Clambering awkwardly off of the bus that cool Monday morning, I thought I knew everything about backpacking. Upon falling asleep on Wednesday evening of that week, however, I realized that I knew very little about backpacking. The first two days had been easy, hiking through forests and over creeks in Northern California. Georgia and the Appalachian Trail offered much the same difficulty as this trail did. So far, in fact, the California trail on which I hiked differed only in the scenery, with enormous trees, bears, and no mosquitoes. But Wednesday proved to be different. That was the day we hiked to the top of Red Peak.

I awoke dazed on Wednesday, unsure of exactly where I was. A cool wind blew outside the tent. “Tent?” I think to myself, and then I remember that I am camped on the side of a lake high in the mountains of Yosemite National Park. The wind continues to blow as I throw my shoes on and unzip the tent flap. Outside the air blows coolly through the trees. My brain begins to function almost immediately, as the cold forces adrenaline through my blood. I look out across the crystal clear lake across to the other side, where pines and hardwoods grow. This is not the direction that I am going; instead, I will be hiking up Red Peak, along with the rest of my fifteen person group. I look up and to my left, where a sharp spire of rock, Red Peak, climbs to the clouds 2500 feet above the surface of the lake. I look back at my tent, which, along with the rest of my gear, constitutes the 50 pound load that I must haul four miles up to Red Peak Pass, which isn’t much of a pass, since it is only 50 feet below the tip of Red Peak. I took the second step of many that day.

The rest of the group and I eat a quick breakfast of rather bland food, and then hit the trail. The first half-mile or so passes behind us, a slow, easy climb through meadows and light forests. Beautiful though the meadows are, there are places I must go, so I walk quickly while the hiking is easy. We pass over a creek and stop to take a break. The trees above me shield Red Peak from my view, but I know what lies ahead of me. After a quick snack, we continue walking, and in a short while come to an opening in the trees. The trail changes abruptly to gravel and rock, and trees and grass no longer surround us. We are at the tree-line, the height above which no trees grow. Ahead of us, the trail rises steeply, winding around boulders and overhanging rocks. Above everything but the sky lies the blood-red sandstone of Red Peak, the titan that our little group must climb before we can eat lunch.

With food and mountains on my mind, I begin up the now-granite trail, leaving some space in front of me for Thomas, the leader of our group. Everyone else follows behind, apprehensive of the coming climb. The trail narrows in between boulders and broadens to include whole slabs of granite, where wispy grasses grow and lizards scurry. These slabs of granite rise at odd angles to the trail. The trail continues to climb faster than any trail I have ever been on before, straight to the top of Red Peak. Now we enter a section of the trail where the boulders are replaced by gravel on the granite slabs. A creek runs across the trail in several places, flowing like air over the rocks. From my perspective, the path to Red Peak curves upwards like a bowl, and we are at the very bottom of that bowl. A mattress of snow rests on the side of the mountain, even though it is the middle of August. Towards the top of the bowl, I can see the trail zigzagging dozens of times in ever shorter zigs towards the pass, only fifty feet from the very top of Red Peak. I feel the weight of the pack on my back and know that this will be a strenuous climb. But I must travel on, so I do. Thomas lets me go ahead of the rest of the group; though I am not sure I will even make it to the top, let alone make it there before the older members of the group.

The trail slope quickly rises in the cool morning air. I begin on the switchbacks that lead to the pass, more than 600 feet above my head. Each switchback runs parallel to the top of the mountain, so that a steep hill can be climbed in a longer but shallower section of trail. However, even the switchbacks are steep, a testament to the sheer height and slope of Red Peak Pass. I spur my legs on, hoping to reach the top quickly without stopping, but the trail proves too hard, and I must stop about half-way up the trail. From this vantage point, I can look back down into the valley and see Lake Merced, the lake that I had camped on the side of earlier that morning. The wind whips through my hair as I take a swig from my water bottle and readjust my pack. Although I have hiked most of the way up to Red Peak Pass at this point, I know that the last leg of the journey will be the hardest, as this section of trail rises ever steeper towards the pass.

I begin climbing the trail again. Under my feet, the trail consists of red gravel and rocks. At many places here, the trail is less than a foot wide, and more than once I slip down the rocks. The trail winds upwards as each of the switchbacks grows shorter. However, even though I am more than halfway up, the trail becomes harder and harder to climb, and the pass seems as far away as it was when I started out earlier that morning. I trundle on, however, despite the weight of my pack and the fact that everyone else in my group are far behind me. Above the trail and to the right, Red Peak raises upwards, a horn of red boulders. After a half hour of travel, I arrive at the pass, out of breath and legs quavering. Finally, I have completed the journey that I sat out on earlier that morning. At the pass, I look around me and discover why I went on this backpacking trip in the first place. The view is an astounding panorama of wilderness at its best: deep green valleys, mountains with red and black rocks capped with snow, and brilliant blue lakes spread out beneath me.