Day 5, Friday: Lower Goddard Canyon to Piute Canyon

Morning, hiking down Lower Goddard Canyon

And indeed a new day brought a new outlook on life. I felt revitalized, the gloom of the previous afternoon blowing away like a thin miasma. Now that I had some energy to walk around my campsite, I noticed there was a much better camp-spot maybe fifty feet away downstream, complete with a little access trail to the river. Oh well! But I took advantage of the river access to take a few shots of the river flowing by from up-canyon in the morning light.

Shouldering my pack once again (and now with a real bounce in my step), in short order I came to the next bridge and crossed over to the north side of the river. Traveling down-canyon now was easy and uneventful on the well-maintained trail. The waters of the South Fork of the San Joaquin tumbled downstream alongside me to my left, passing through various pretty little rock clefts and other features. Puffy white clouds floated in a pale blue sky, casting dappled light on dramatic towering granite domes and cliffs bordering the canyon. Before long I reached Aspen Meadow, the aspens now in late August still green, not yet having taken on their golden colors. A grim, gaunt, older couple hiked past me, their skin tough and creased like jerky. A faint aroma of butane wafted off them.

Before I knew it I had reached the confluence of the San Joaquin and Piute Creek, where there was another heavy duty bridge. A sad notice was posted adjacent to this, about a cross country skier who had vanished into this country a few years back. It described his equipment in order to keep an eye out for it. I dropped my pack, ate a cliff bar, and drank my fill of water: I was resolved to not repeat the mistake of becoming calorie starved again!

A boy scout troop crossed the bridge, and a group of boisterous, bountifully tattooed (and beautiful), day hikers played and shouted in the water and on the rocks under the bridge. I was certainly within a day’s march of the Muir Trail Ranch here, or Florence Lake even (a popular trail-head). But I confidently turned and began ascending the clear trail up Piute Canyon, enormously gratified by the extent to which my stamina had returned.

Afternoon, climbing Piute Canyon

The trail climbed fairly steeply through scrubby chaparral, the rushing creek deep in a forested cleft to my right. I was loving this, a feeling of adventure rising bubbly within me as I climbed, all this being Terra Incognito to me. I largely had the trail to myself, although a wiry German woman hiked down past me, and a few minutes later a shorter sturdy fellow. The canyon rose dramatically up before me, with vast sun-dappled granite domes. Turning around the canyon I had climbed out of already seemed far below.

After stopping for lunch I continued, and rounding a corner practically gasped as I was confronted with an ominous mass of dark dark storm clouds filling the broad U shaped valley above me. Incongruously the immediate area I was in was brightly sunlit, seeming like one of those dramatic 3D tourist scenes you’d look at on a toy ViewMaster. Thunder rumbled in the air—looked like the weather report back at McClure Meadow had been legit! But my trail led there—I had no choice but to hike up into it. And yet as I hiked towards them the storm clouds seemed to keep pace, receding before me.

I stopped for a rest at a spot where the creek tumbled over some low granite shelves. There was a small puddle in the rock, which contained a few small stones, and reflected the dramatic blue and storm cloud sky above. It was uncanny in a way, as if looking back upon a microcosm of our planet, captured in a puddle. It began to sprinkle a bit as I took some photos of this, and I thought “uh-oh, here it comes!” But as I donned my pack again and began hiking up into a pine forest, still the rain stayed at bay.

On the verge of this forested section there was a blasted tree snag/stump, raw chunks and spikes of yellow-orange wood opened up to the elements. But growing at its feet two small saplings bravely grew. I couldn’t help feeling a connection with where I am in the cycle of life (although I am not yet blasted, I don’t think 🤔).

I walked up through an open forest of tall conifers in a broad dry grassy slope. The trail wound invitingly before me, soft light creating an impressionistic effect. Near the junction of the trail to Pine Creek Pass I came upon two young men desperately trying to dry their gear. They seemed somewhat thrashed, traumatized by the passing storm they had recently endured. They asked me if there were any campsites behind me, and whether they were buggy. I told them yes, but that I couldn’t speak to the bugginess of them having only passed them by. Their focus on that question seemed incongruous to me.

Continuing past them the forest became darker, the ground wet, the trail spotted with shallow puddles. The air felt fresh, cool and damp. I was delighted to see an abundance of hail collected on the ground all about. The trail crossed an area of many shallow feeder streams which descended to the main creek out of view to my right.

I was staying alert to possible campsites now, and finally spying a rock formation off to my right I made my way over to it through the trees. It seemed like a really pleasant camp, with an obvious flat sleeping spot, and nice rounded granite rocks dropping down to the gushing creek. I walked down to a little pool to wash up and fill up on water, then set up my rain tarp. The sun peaked out from behind dramatic cumulus clouds. But it turned out those guys’ concern over bugs was not so out of place: numerous giant ants were crawling all over the granite, and there were a surprising number of mosquitoes (the trip to this point had been pretty free of them). Ah well, there’s always something!