hilgard branch rolls (high sierra sourdough loop part 3)

So, it's now been over a month since this trip ended, but I just had to finish it up so bear with me.......

Before leaving Lake Italy and starting our trip downstream toward Bear Creek via the Hilgard Branch, I mixed up another dough to ferment in the pack. I tossed in the remainder of my dried herbs, so in essence I made the same dough as the day before, but carried it with slightly different intentions. Rolls this time, with a bit of grated cheese on top, and flipped once in the pan to brown both sides. I just love herbed rolls and was dreaming of a fish or three to go with them.

Our path skirted many beautiful wet meadow-ettes and I had my first real encounter with a wild sierra onion. My BIL dug one up for show and tell. Tough to remove and hardy as hell, like everything else up here, it was purple stemmed and rather fragrant. Mmmmm onion. Next time a few of these might find their way onto a pizza.

Winding our way through the forest and brief meadow encounters, we finally hit the last big meadow before joining the JMT. Looking for a well worn campsite was not tough. Despite the low traffic volume of this trail, years of repetitive use steered us toward a clutch of trees not too far from the creek.

The first cast into the creek brought in the first minnow of the evening. A beautiful little Golden it was but too small for eating standards. Hooked through only the outer lip, it was easy to release without harm. We worked the creek up and down for the few hundred yards lined by meadow. A few more hook ups resulted in more tiny fish. More than content to eat what was on the menu, we rambled back to camp. Not exactly triumphant, but happy to confirm the presence of the mythical golden minnow.

The sun was setting, beginning to make everything glow with warm colored alpine light. Even the piles of crap all over the meadow began to like nice with the sun glinting on them. Camp was eager to get eating so we concentrated on the task at hand, looking up now and then to get another glimpse of the mountains all around us. Not sure if I was sighting Hilgard Mountain or Mount Hilgard, I worked on the rolls as a compliment to tonight's final feast of the trip.

Getting absolutely feasted upon by mosquitos (they were actually trying my cuticles and fingertips!) we stayed as covered as possible. Happy to spend another night out in the majestic Sierras, we endured. It reminded me of a Northwest Indian tribe folk story about how mosquitos came to being. A monster was eating people. When someone figured out a way to trick the monster and toss him into a fire with the hopes of killing him, the ashes from his body floated up into the air and became mosquitos. Well, that must have been one huge monster because the mosquitos here were out of control. It was truly time for the mosquito netting.

The herbed rolls ended up as compliment to a delicious meal by my SIL. Curried chicken and black lentils with toasted cashews and coconut served on a bed of rice with some dahl. Wow. The herbed rolls were good but should have been flattened in retrospect; trail naan. Next time I guess. I cracked open a bottle of hooch to celebrate our having a good time and the tasty food we all packed.

The next day we hiked the rest of the way out, heading North, then East, while thunderheads started booming above. Just a few thumps and a flash or two nearby, we saw a line marching toward the crest off to our North. Good thing we'd be back at the car tonight. With a hot meal and a cold beer ahead, we marched on and with the kindness of a stranger, scored a free ride for the last two miles to the car.


We spent the next night in Reedley, home of my in laws and an enormous amount of fresh produce. With golden ketchup being a big hit last year, we made sure to come home with a few golden romas. Well, more like several hundred, as it seems that a 5-gallon bucket fits quite a few. Looking forward to some canning adventures, I got to work beginning with an ingredient list.



Turns out that five gallons makes a hell of a lot of tomato sauce. Doubling a ketchup recipe was all I could manage without thinking it was way too much, so I tried my hand at a golden hot sauce. The ketchup is a tad on the runny side, but continued thickening of the tomato sauce would have further caramelized the sugar in the recipe and made it too dark. Oh well, turns out the golden ketchup isn't a hit with the elder monkey this year. I like it though, and a few jars will make nice presents. I think the hot sauce came out nice too, so overall I'm pleased with the results. Even if I'm the only one eating it on my corndog.

Hope you enjoyed this years backpacking adventure! I sure did. With any luck, I'll squeeze in two next year.......

high sierra sourdough loop (part 1)

"The sourdough is the true adventurer.........I'm just along for the ride." - MW
August 12th, 2008 (Gabbot pass area at approximately 11,957 feet)

One of my sourdough starters was looking forward to a high country adventure.
One where the altitude would make it easier work.
One where the doubt of backcountry pizza being in the realm of possibility would be erased for some.
One where my butt would work overtime traversing steep terrain with a live dough in my pack to prove this point.

This year, the "ferry service" from the trailhead camping consists of a 16 foot bass boat that could fit 5 besides the pilot, plus backpacks. For ten bucks you get the seeming luxury of cutting off a few trail miles. This being a drought year it means you start by driving all the way down to damn near the bottom of the dam. After parking your car in what might be 40 feet of water some years, you drag your bag over to a small listing "dock" tied to some big rocks on the shore and get in line. The boat pulls up and instead of thinking ferry, I was thinking trolling. The body count ahead of us and some quick math determined it would only be another hour and a half until it was our turn. When that finally comes you toss your stuff in and then bounce your way across the lake some 3-ish miles. This year being special and all, since the lake is soooooo low (drought year remember) you get dumped off nearly a mile earlier than expected. After a warm and sandy slog we arrived at where Mono creek "spills" into the lake. After only 3 hours we came to the beginning of our hike.

After re-considering the sign we saw back at VVR (Don't complain about the level of the lake if you still water your lawn) we grabbed a snack and headed off East. Soon we were greeted by Volcanic Nob and signs of glaciation on the peaks around us. The canyon walls pulled in closer and rose a bit. The home made jerkey, dried figs and cherries were hitting the spot as we joined the PCT/JMT and made our first switchbacks of the trip. Greeted by our first pack train of the trip, I was suddenly hyper-aware of all the shit on the trail. Longing to get off after only a hundred yards of my heightened awareness to biting horse flies and such, my pace quickened and the next big valley to our South came into view: Second Recess. We were nearing our camp for the first night and I felt myself rejoicing with the idea of symbiosis; the sourdough starter needs me as I knead it. We agreed to share dinner duties so tonight someone else would cook for us all. I would cook on night three, meaning tomorrow the starter would get its first meal in a few days.

The following morning we broke camp. I fed the beast in my pack and then crossed Mono creek. With no water worthy shoes, I used a semi-treacherous log bridge, only to find we had to cross Mills creek to get back to the trail we needed to be on. With my right foot nicely moistened with clear cold creek water, I found the most obvious foot trail around and made my way uphill with the rest of our group. In less than 20 minutes the trail leveled out and began following a beautiful trout filled stream. Well, I imagined it being full with big old hogs, but spotted only minnows in the shallows. Could they be the state fish? We trekked on and I dreamt out loud of pan fried fish. My SIL and I began talking dinner hopes and the trail began to dissappear.

After bushwacking and bouldering, countless snags on small aspen and gooseberry bushes and much self-doubt, we determined that the faint use trails we were pursuing were either made by mountian legends or complete idiots. Being idiots ourselves, we sided with the latter group. After gaining a few hundred feet more than seemed necessary for where we needed to go, eventually we sat down for a snack and looked at the boulder field ahead. Mmmm, mmmm eating crow at 10,000+ sure is good! Determining (hoping, pretending even) that the worst was behind us for the day, we pushed on.

Arriving at our camp with the sun getting low, we set up quickly and scrubbed our dirty faces. The high peaks defining the pass and our path of travel was clear and high to the Southeast. Campers near us reported catching numerous "little guys" but having fun. I checked the starter. It was bubbly and hoochy smelling. I thought about making dough and letting it ferment overnight. Then I remembered that we covered only about four miles in twice as many hours for the day and so I lay down to catch a few meteorites before nodding off. The moon was in waxing gibbous mode so it made for poor conditions, but three good streakers revealed their paths before the chill got to me.

As I climbed into my itty-bitty tent and my head hit my "pillow" it dawned on me: we'll be having pizza at Lake Italy!
(in part 2 that is)

trail food

Preparing and planning for food on a backpacking trip can be a daunting task, requiring more thought about your diet than you maybe believed possible. Especially since it is after all, vacation. When the initial task of menu planning is complete, you still have a few major obstacles. First, you have to want to carry it. Second, you have to overcome the preservation aspects of no refrigeration and minimal packaging. Third, if you are anywhere near the bear superhighway, space is at a premium, as it has to fit in the can. For me, this adds up to making at least one old standby I've loved my entire life. Maybe you know the one. It's that salty, beefy, last forever at ambient temps, source of partially dehydrated protein: jerky.

This years batch came out good. The rump roast was double David'd; raised and sliced just perfect. (Thanks dudes!)
Of course, I couldn't stop there. I ran an experiment with a pound of tuna and a full chicken breast that I treated in the same manner. It failed to make the picture because I smoked it the next day (sorry) but was bomb enough for mention. The process goes as such:
Marinate overnight in a brine/soy sauce combo that is jazzed up with fresh fruit, onions and garlic.
Smoke with some peach wood for a few hours. 'Bout 225 is nice.
Put on the dehydrator for a few more hours. Few like anywhere between 2-6 hours depending on, well, everything.
Cool back to ambient room temps, weigh out, bag up for the trip, and write who's is who's.

Remember: the process is not complete until you bring it somewhere. Here perhaps:

Next up, I'll give you a trip report including but not limited to the effects on hiking distances caused by folks in so-cal's real need for somewhat renewable electricity and perceived need for a green lawn, a so called second recess, a few mythical golden minnows, a pizza at lake Italy, hard cider at 9000+ feet, and crap all over a botanical wonderland.

And yes, really. Just you wait.