Search this site: 

 

High Uintas Wilderness

Red Castle Lakes
Backpack, June 30 -- July 2, 2003
Roundtrip: 26 miles, Elevation: 9,400-11,300 ft

Travelogue © 2003 Branislav L. Slantchev

Click for the trip map. After having spent nearly a monthly salary on new equipment, Margot and I decided that it's time to do some real road-tests. The target: Utah's wilderness area in the high Uintas. The duration: 3 days. The time: end of June.

See pictures from this trip.

Day One: The Hike from Hell

We packed well. All too well, in fact, because we overestimated our dietary needs. In addition to a budget-savvy 4 powerbars per person per diem, we stuffed around 10 lbs. worth of pre-cooked Indian instant meals, a lot of couscous, and probably around a pound of trail-mix nuts. We then added a lot of sugar-heavy candies, just to keep us going. Add to this the tent, a sleeping bag, cooking stove, water filter, and other sundries, and no wonder my pack weighed over 50 lbs and Margot's close to 30. Stupidly undaunted by the prospect of lugging all this extra weight around for three days, we set out early in the morning from Salt Lake City. We have a pleasurable 3.5 hour drive to the trail-head (although we have to veer far into Wyoming to get to it).

Around noon we park at China Meadows. It looks like a nice camp, although on that particular day it was populated by a bunch of ATV-morons. We pay the symbolic parking fee (new this year!), crack open the gate, and step on the trail, in high spirits, high morale, and low bearings. Our plan is to hike to Red Castle Mountain, camp there, then hike through Anderson Pass around King's Peak, on the second day, and then swing back to the trail head by way of Lake Hessie. Needless to say, we failed.

The first day hike is around 12 miles, give or take, and the elevation gain is a comfortable 1,280 ft. I think I have acclimatized well in the past week (otherwise the difference from San Diego would be too much), but China Meadows itself is high at 9,400 ft. Anyway, we set off, and I attribute my early puffing to the altitude.

The trail is stony and dry, with East Fork Smiths Fork River flowing nearby. At moderately high speed, we enter the wilderness area. We are pleasantly surprised that the forest trail has been improved immensely with a wooden pathway over the muddiest parts. We don't bother to note that the amount of mud even at the start is suspiciously high. We don't even suspect that it would become prodigious once we leave the oft-visited parts of the trail. For now, we smile confidently at each other, tell brave stories of compass-less navigational successes, occasionally curse the horses (actually, their riders) that have trampled the perfectly good path and turned it into a swampy mud bath, and generally look to see the Lake Hessie trail which is supposed to join ours about four miles from the trail head.

There are no people around, the day is fine (not too hot, not too cold), and the sky is blue. We enter the Broadbent Meadows with Bald Mountain on the West side and Flat Top Mountain on the East. The first half of the hike is through the Wasatch National Forest and so not much can be seen around except meadows, trees, and lots of mud. It's very nice except there seem to be many mosquitoes and other annoying gnats.

After about 2.5 hours, with nary a joining trail in sight, we decide that we have either been walking too slow or have not been paying attention. No worries, though, because the trail is so well marked, there is no way we're lost. Still, after sitting down to reflect on the weight of our packs and demolishing a powerbar, we decide to appraise our location when we encounter two cowboys on horseback:

"How far to Red Castle Mountain?"
"Hrrumph."
"Thank you. Nice horsie." (We deduce that we're at least half-way there.)

After another hour of hiking, I begin to wonder about the plan. My hyper-high-tech shirt is wicking away moisture like there's no tomorrow (which is a good thing) but that does not help much with the weight on my back. I am glad the Gregory Whitney is so comfortable that I almost don't feel the agony in my muscles. Margot is frolicking in front of me, leaping from mud pile to mud pile with alacrity that would put any well-toned scout girl to shame. I hate her silently.

We run out of water, and I jump at the opportunity to enjoy an unscheduled rest under the pretext that we must filter some water. We stop at a small tributary and I engage in the water purification ritual, which is mostly a flashy show, but which gives me an opportunity to pontificate on the chemistry and biology of the process. I, of course, know nothing of either the chemistry or the biology, which Margot is perfectly aware of, but she does not let on, having almost mastered the art of male ego preservation. (I say "almost" because the true connoisseur would loudly complain about how difficult the hike is and then ask to rest before her companion collapses in a pride-induced heart attack.)

I mill about for a little longer ostensibly searching for the perfect spot to photograph some rather picturesque piles of mud, but eventually I have to go, and with a sigh I slide under the pack, hoping that we've only a few miles left. We don't.

After five years of hard labor, we reach a wooden bridge over East Fork Smiths Fork and suddenly Red Castle Mountain leaps into view. It is simply breathtaking, the effect being naturalistically enhanced by me being out of breath anyway. We snap furiously pictures in all directions, and I feel a surge of hope in my veins that cannot be all due to the sugar. I almost feel like the Greeks in Xenophon's army: "The lake! The lake!"

Mount Powell suddenly towers to the left and I begin to vaguely recall that our intended trail must bend all the way around it, squeezing to the East of Red Castle Mountain. Carefully, I begin to mount a campaign for a travel route change. Margot plays along and actually suggests that we cut the trip short because "it will probably be too cold in Anderson Pass." (Notice how she does not mention distances at all.) I agree so vigorously that I almost trip into the river but at the last moment, I manage to imitate a reasonably convincing facsimile of mud avoidance. We decide to camp at the lower lake, then spend the next day hiking around without the packs, and finally return on the third day.

The final approach takes another two hours because of (nasty surprise!) switchbacks that pull us up to 10,800 ft. Almost the entire elevation gain is here! I would curse if I had any breath left. Margot hurries in front, and I have to remind her of the perils of getting lost in the forest without my manly protection. She looks doubtful because it is plain that at this point I can barely tackle a squirrel if it decided to jump me. But she waits.

Contrary to popular opinion, I don't die at the switchbacks, and we find ourselves in a broad valley. Briskly (ha-ha-ha), we take to the level trail and soon discern where the trail splits off to Mount Powell. We take the other one and within 20 minutes we see Lower Red Castle Lake, with a beautiful spot for a camp site on the East bank. There is one final small rivulet to cross, which we do, and Margot loses her balance and gets her feet wet as is her custom. I spare her nothing and for a while I wonder out loud how come women have no balance whatsoever. Before I have to stop the teasing to rest, we reach the pine trees at the intended campsite.

We put up the tent, pull out several old baked potatoes, and prepare for a sumptuous feast. I stare at the lake, my limbs aching, my body despondently taken over by general fatigue. Everything seems pointless and stupid. Why did we hike out here? This lake is so ugly! I've seen more scenic puddles on my balcony. Then, in no particular order,

After about an hour of whining, we both feel tired and get ready for bed. It's 10:00p and it has taken us close to 7 hours to get up here. I diligently pack all the food in the bear bag and wander off looking for a suitable tree. Having found none in the vicinity and unwilling to walk any further, I hang it up in a place where only a very lazy brown bear would be deterred from reaching it. I then march back to the tent and snuggle into the sleeping bad.

It (the bag) is, of course, too small. In the shoulders, I must emphasize. After wriggling uncomfortably for a while, I begin cursing TNF for not making man-friendly sleeping bags. Margot is tired but offers some of her space via the matching zipper trick. We join the two bags and I immediately invade at least half of hers. It works! I get ready to fall asleep and then I remember that the bag of nuts is still in the tent.

Margot and I decide that even if bears do not eat nuts, they might mistake the smell for something they do eat. I am, however, too tired to walk all the way to the bear bag, so I simply walk the nuts outside and leave the Ziploc bag about 20 feet from the tent. I know, I know. But I am too tired for more.

Day Two: A Visit to Red Castle Lake

We wake up early to high winds and the sound of munching. Although it does not sound like a bear, I cautiously unzip the tent and stick my head outside only to see a horde of chipmunks attacking, with great success, the Ziploced nuts. Emboldened by the general absence of bears, I run outside and grab the bag but on second thought (can you say "plague"), empty it behind the tree. The dumb animals soon come back to look for the bag. It takes them several minutes of disappointed sniffing to locate the new stash. In a couple of hours, it's gone. We have met the wildlife, and it ate our nuts.

The wind is really strong. As we're sipping the hot tea, we watch the tent bend in all sorts of impossible shapes. I wonder whether I should tether it to the tree to prevent it from flying off into the lake. In the end we decide to test its endurance (and our spiking skills). It holds. We are impressed. Fortunately, the high winds have also kept the mosquitoes grounded.

Breakfast is quick, with tea and a mutual satisfaction with water boiling rather quickly at the high altitude. The stream is cold but the water is clean, much unlike the awful stuff we drank yesterday. Cooking is not much fun when you have to filter the water to do the dishes. Neither is brushing teeth. But we are finally ready to go. Today's targets: Red Castle Lake, some waterfalls, and lots of enjoyment, mainly to compensate for the horrible previous day. This time around, we only carry fanny-packs with powerbars and water.

The 2.5 mile trip to the upper lake turns out to be a blast. We must have adapted to the place and it actually does look stunning. Beauty and fatigue appear not to have meshed well the day before. We hear the distant rumble of the waterfall, notice another moose, then more tracks in the mud. Crossing the next stream is easy although Margot (again!) manages to get her feet wet. What is it with her and (lack of) balance?

After hopping through some unmelted but soon to melt snow, we end up above tree line and, after 100 more meters, at the lake itself. It is serene and desolate. Huge rocks lie strewn around, having probably fallen from the mountain itself. The vistas are well worth the hike. We can see almost all the way back to China Meadows. It has been a long walk, it's obvious from up here. Margot gets comfy in order to read some papers, and I walk around the lake in search of the waterfall. It's there, of course, and, having scouted a nice eagle-nest position on the rim, I return to get Margot, losing the lens cap in the process.

We spend several hours enthralled by the views and uttering completely pedestrian praise. She goes back to the papers and I write some terrible poetry, and then some okay verse. It's time to head back. We take more pictures on the way, but it's obvious we both want to be back to the camp for better meals. After dinner we spy on some people fishing at the other shore of the lake and go to bed. The day has been uneventful but pleasing.

Since we can't really fall asleep so early, we decide to play a Bulgarian game called "Bulls and Cows," which involves guessing the other's five-digit number. Margot wins it hands down and then we find that her number is my number with the order of digits reversed! This is weird and spooky, and we have to photograph the two pieces of paper as proof. What are the odds? We then play "Battleship" but she cheats by placing ships in impossible configurations. Before she sinks my last sub, she falls fast asleep and I quickly finish off her fleet.

Day Three: The Road Home

We wake up early. No wind. Plenty of mosquitoes. This results in even faster breakfast. We pack up the tent and head back to civilization. We spend most of the time talking, which is now made possible by the easier walk, and this help time pass quickly. Here and there we stop for an occasional photo-op. It takes us 3.5 hours to reach the trail head. Then, only 2 hours later, we are back in SLC. We have survived our first backpacking trip. Will we do it again? You betcha. We are both bad Bayesians.

July 30, 2003