Sierra Trek 2002

WHERE THE BEARS DON'T GO

Written by Bruce Wagner

Carl said, “you should go to this”, handing me some of the paperwork for something called "Sierra Trek". I asked him what it was. He said he couldn't explain, but he'd rather go to that than the Rubicon. There was something in the way he said it. "I'll do it." $110 each for driver and passenger (passenger mandatory.)

A month later we were on the road with Josh and Ashley. We towed Carl's rig on a trailer; they went in Josh’s Jeep, riding in the sun. We took highway 20 almost to Truckee, where we got food. I assumed we were coming back into town and got four peaches in a bag. Imagine my surprise and embarrassment when the three of them returned with two grocery carts full!

Then we drove an hour north into the high Sierras. We didn't get to the campsite until the dark, and each of us got busy setting up camp. Fortunately Ashley heard I didn't have a tent and brought an extra (believe me, you don't want to camp at 7500 feet altitude without one, even in August). Shortly we were set up.

I hauled a bottle of Evan Williams out of my bag and invited everyone to join me. Even though they all professed ignorance of sour mash straight whiskey they all sat down, and an hour later we all agreed that it had taken the edge off a grueling trip. Friendship is forged in many fires.

We went to bed and I tossed and turned, my usual style on the first night of camping. Eventually I dozed off, and what seemed immediately after, felt something on my cheek. I brushed it, and was stung awake. A tiny wasp had somehow gotten in. What followed was what Hemmingway would have called “death in the tall grass" (or was it more like Woody Allen killing the spider in "Annie Hall")

I saw what a beautiful spot Carl, Ashley, and Josh had chosen for us when I got up in the morning. I won't try to describe it other than to say that Meadow Lake is beautiful. Carl had decided we should arrive a day early so we'd have time to relax before we did the short wheelbase run on Friday. We went to the main camp to look around. Not many vendors yet, but we saw a Toyota pick-up featured in "4-WHEEL and Off Road" and had my first look at 37x12.50 GOODYEAR MT/R’s.

We then drove out of the main camp into the boonies. I noticed that it was a lot more rugged than I'd anticipated; far more rugged than the McGrew Trail in Oregon! Eventually we went out to the cliffs. The view was magnificent. It also overlooked the end of Winch Hill No. 5. We got there just in time to see a Toyota pickup almost roll over just as it finished the climb up the rock wall.

When we got back to camp we walked around some more, had a drink at "Winch Hill No. 6", and saw a rig that had three silhouettes of upside-down trucks which Carl explained stood for the number of times he'd rolled it over. We went back to camp to eat. Later, while it was still light, a rig that was being trailered in, had row upon row of upside-down trucks painted on its side, like an ace fighter pilot. "There goes "Killer Bee"! said Carl. Carl mentioned that it was featured in "4-WHEEL". (I still didn't get it though) Josh had a heat exchanger on his steed so we were blessed with hot showers that evening. I decided to take 5 extra rolls of film, and had a hunch I should be taking at least 8. So stupid! Reveille was at 2:45 am. I'd been awake since 2:00 am.

Carl, who had a severe head cold and hadn't eaten for two days from anticipation, was up and full of enthusiasm. We were out of base camp by 2:55 am. Ashley draped herself with a down comforter to ride in Josh's Jeep. I was so cold that compared to the air at 7500 feet the air down at Cisco Springs, which was 5800', felt tropical. It was still pitch black when we got to the staging area, which was a raised logging deck of 2" - 5" round stones, which was important. If you didn't have a locker on the front, it showed and you were not allowed on the run. I watched as a showroom new Jeep got the axe. Actually it was an act of kindness to not let them go. I drank coffee and ate a couple of wonderful apple muffins.

On deck there were eventually 125 Rigs (at least two of each kind), Jeeps, Scouts, Toyota Land cruisers, Pathfinders, Suzuki Samurais, and early Broncos in five groups that would leave in 15 minute intervals. The drivers were given their instructions (faces tense) and we were off, collecting our lunches on the way out. At first the trail wound through the woods. The only thing unusual was the tightness of the turns and the occasional deep ditch that crossed it. It was in the deep woods. Some of the trees had fresh bash marks. It lasted for about 2 miles according to the markers. Miss Piggy (my rig) could have done it. After that the mileage markers seemed to get progressively farther apart!

My first inkling of what lay ahead came as we rounded a bend into some brush up onto rocks, where it turned into rock steps that rose steeply and turned sharply to the right in the middle and went up dramatically in a space only 50 - 60 yards. It was not road!

That's when I told Carl about my friend with the showroom Jeep Wagoneer and the chains. Blivet swore it could go anywhere. I asked Carl if he thought Blivet's Jeep could have negotiated that first obstacle. His response was, "I doubt it." We laughed.

We broke into rocks and brush that we could see over. To the left the bluffs rose in sort of an open valley. We were at 6000'; and were climbing to 7500. Ashley was in the brush to the right picking up tin cans. We were given half-bushel produce bags to put our debris in so that we weren't tempted to leave it along the trail. There was plenty, although this run was only once a year. We did meet two separate groups of back-packers that day, and I suspect we're getting the blame for some of their trash. Their stuff can be seen along lots of hiking trails.

Fordyce Creek crossing No. 1 was about 40' across, up to the hubs, crystal clear, and had a large rock bottom. No sweat. It immediately wound up to the right along a narrow cliff and then to the left up into a chute full of 1 - 3' jagged loose rocks. Near the end where the biggest rocks were, we started slipping badly. Carl called on the radio, "Hey Josh, what's wrong? I'm not making any headway!" Josh called back, "Your front tires aren't turning." We had gone up most of the way through some very difficult terrain in two-wheel drive.

Winch Hill No.1 lay ahead. It was a long upward straightaway slope of 1 - 3' loose rocks about 150 yards long. I began taking pictures by holding the camera in the direction of the shot and snapping the shutter. It had become impossible to look through the viewfinder.

About three-quarters of the way up there was a "gate" of giant boulders more than 20' high filled with boulders five or more feet across. The Jeep with the winch waited on the other side. We didn't have to use it.

Then it was back to the open road again. Towering granite mountainside, and rocks mostly somewhat level.

On a gentle rise were four guys laying in the sun drinking beer. They were the inspection team looking for oil dripping from the bottoms of vehicles. We were at Fordyce Crossing No. 2. Carl had told me about it before, and said he hoped they had moved it. No such luck.

Some sadist had chosen this spot because, although the creek wasn't very wide or deep, and though it only had about a one foot shelf for a bank on the opposite side, there was a large tree root obstacle a few feet in, before you had a chance to get your rear tires on firm ground. The root was big, bare, and wet, and with wet front tires and the back tires still in the creek at the embankment there was no way to creep over it.Finally Carl charged it from out in the water.

Winch Hill No. 2 made No. 1 seem tame. The rocks were bigger and looser, and there was a hole (and steeper incline on the other side of the hole) on a dogleg to the right about two-thirds of the way up. And up at the top four Jeeps waited like vultures on a dead tree limb to pounce on the unfortunates. Winch Hill No. 2 was manned by "F Troop" (probably drink beer). They handed us drink caddies with their name on them as we careened by.

Then we were at Fordyce Creek Crossing No. 3. It was a gimme, a simple double-crossing; but if you've made it this far you're a good driver behind the wheel of a strong machine, and simple water crossings were therapeutic.

Then there was Luanna's Hill. Carl mistook it for "The Squeezebox" and opted to go around to avoid any body damage. That was hard enough. The guy ahead of us, a few rigs and a Toyota Pathfinder did hit a little on the door.

After that came The Grotto. On the map we got, it seems fairly straight. It’s not. And closer inspection revealed that we were now crossing a lot of elevation lines. It was here we saw that several drivers’ rides had degenerated into trailside artifacts. It was a Jeep driver's dream - a nightmare.

Progress stopped. We were at Winch Hill no. 3, or "The Squeeze Box". Halfway up the hill a guy was stuck in front of a 4' boulder. Finally the guys running the hill rolled it away and heaved in a bunch of smaller rocks and got him going. There was a Jeep at the bottom of the hill that had just torn out both front hubs. The third broken windshield came over the radio and the term "roll-over" was actually heard; and someone back there was calling for a complete distributor (another roll-over).

Near the top were giant rocks that tried to engulf "Red Baron" (Carl’s Wrangler). One of the crew walked down to help Carl pick a line. Too late, he almost got run over. Carl decided to go around the boulders that formed the "Squeeze Box" mounting rock steps that looked harder.

Now the elevation lines and winch hills got much closer together. The distance from Winch Hill No. 3 to the top was about a mile and a half. Winch Hill No. 4 was made up of giant broken rocks filling the gaps between 3 - 6' boulders. A vehicle being hauled to the top broke a tie rod so we had to wait while someone from behind with a portable welder came up and quickly patched it up. While we were going through we bottomed with a suspicious crunch, and found out later that the draglink took on a new kink.

I was drinking a soda. I held it out the window so I wouldn't splash any inside. We hit a lump so deep my arm flexed and threw soda halfway across the dash. We both laughed. We passed the Pathfinder, dead, on the way to Winch Hill No. 5. No. 5 was made of broken rocks, some really huge, and high rock shelves sometimes over a foot and a half high. And then it was over. It had taken us ten hours to go ten and a half miles.

It was a scramble, that’s the only way to describe it. The final meal was a steak dinner. I got in line in front of some National Forest Service guys. One of them started bragging about busting a couple of guys on the trail with a six-pack. Fortuitously, Ashley, Josh, and Carl got in line about twenty people behind them and I took refuge. When the line split left and right at the food service, none would get in behind the rangers.

A printed sign appeared on the stage and outhouses that night.

NO BICYCLES
NO DOGS
NO BEARS

That's "Sierra Trek" for this passenger!

GET IN
SIT DOWN
SHUT UP AND HANG ON