Glacial Mystery

No place like this on Earth in deep winter

2012-01-21T08:35:00.000-08:00

When I saw this photo a few years ago, I remembered scenes in Yosemite Valley like this from the 1990s when I started covering Yosemite National Park as a beat for The Fresno Bee. It's the best place on Earth in deep winter. This photo tells you why.

The photographer, Kenny Karst, works for park concession, but not as a photographer. He was head of the public relations department when he took this shot. I think his photo work is really nice.

Anyway, Yosemite Valley is fascinating in winter. There are very few tourists in the valley when it snows like this. Sometimes the temperature drops into the teens after a big storm, and it really is a slice of icy heaven.

Surrounded by the ancient, granite cliffs, you can sense what it was like when this valley was filled with ice during glacial times. The largest glacier in the Sierra was in the next watershed north of Yosemite Valley. It's called Hetch Hetchy Valley on the Tuolumne River.

We'll talk a little more about the dam and the reservoir stashed in Hetch Hetchy.

Might not need to worry about snow patches this August

2012-01-15T15:15:00.000-08:00

Last August, there was still snow all over the place in the high Sierra. This photo was in the Southern Sierra, just east of the crest.

Trust me, unless the winter gets rolling a little bit soon, this snow patch will not be around.

The hiker's name is Tim Crosse, a 20-something guy who likes seeing nature up close. By the time we were finished with this backpack, he knew what a Sierra glacier looked like. He had listened to the gentle drip at night as the snow and ice melted. He drank ice-cold water from a glacial tarn.

He's one of those youngsters who likes to check things out before he makes decisions -- like casting a vote. I won't get into the connection between water and California voting. That's a subject for a different blog.

Back to the high Sierra, I think it's really important to show the next generation what's up here and connect the dots. I know plenty of people, young and old, whose world is inside four walls. That was true for me when I was 20 years old.

I'll have a few more blogs soon about seeing California up close. And you don't have to put your phone on vibrate. I'm hoping to get you into places where there is no cell coverage.

Southern Sierra may hold a climate key

2012-01-01T09:41:00.000-08:00

I'm heading again into the glacier belt in the Sierra Nevada to get a closer look at where California's water starts.

I'm not saying exactly where I'm going yet, but you will definitely recognize it a lot easier than the photograph I've loaded with this blog item. The photo was taken in August at Dusy Basin in Kings Canyon National Park.

The glacial wilderness above 10,000 feet in the Sierra is often quite arid during the warmer months. But the Southern Sierra is the highest part of the mountain range. The snow tends to stick around all season long on many years, no matter what's going on elsewhere.

What does that mean for California as the planet warms?

I asked a fishery biologist who has had a lot of influence around the Sacramento-San Joaquin River Delta. Peter Moyle told me these wind-blown plateaus and peaks may be the last place where a decent snowpack remains in the future.

And that means what to the state? Remember, there are two rivers flowing to the delta. The vastly more important Sacramento River carries a lot more water, while the San Joaquin is considered a kind of murky mess.

But a restored San Joaquin with real snowpack 70 years from now might become a more important piece for conservation.

More later. And, by the way, I've decided not to take experts with me this year. Instead, I'm going with a fresh-faced young man who represents our future. Again, stay tuned.

A friendly yellow-bellied marmot

2011-09-19T14:42:00.001-07:00

I had to sweet talk this yellow-bellied marmot for 20 minutes to come out from under a rock at 11,500 feet in August. I think he (or maybe she) thought I was going to toss out some food. No such luck for the critter.

Bugs were eating me alive as I shot this photo. Didn't seem to bother the marmot.

There were marmots, pikas and other small mammals all over the place. It looked like spring up there in late August. This was Dusy Basin in Kings Canyon National Park.

At night, there was not a breath of wind. It was a toasty 55 degrees. Loved the sound of dripping glaciers at night. And the daytime sights were equally amazing.

Next year's trek -- wanna go?

2011-09-05T13:03:00.001-07:00

A few ideas about the next trek to the top of the watershed:

* I'm not driving 250 miles next time. I want to backpack out of Florence or Edison lake in the San Joaquin River watershed.

* Buy the bug-proof clothing and a ton of bug spray. I will not go to sleep in my tent again staring at splotches of my own blood coming out of smashed mosquitoes.

* Get a scientist to go with me. Maybe a hydrologist. Maybe a geologist or a biologist. Might be a little more crowded. But it would make good conversation. And what about asking other journalists to join us? A few issues-oriented discussions over a campfire?

* Take another 20-something along. Mark Crosse and his son, Tim, came along and it was wonderful hearing Tim's thoughts. He's also amazing at quoting the funny lines in the film "Ghostbusters."

* The elevation-reading device from L.L. Bean does not work. It measured at least 400 feet lower than we actually were most of the time. But the temperature, time and barometer stuff was pretty helpful.

* Nothing else. Other than the bugs and the cheap elevation gadget, I had the right gear and the right distance at the right elevations. Too bad spring was just popping out at 11,500 feet in August.

Sierra trek: reaction to reactions

2011-09-01T08:06:00.003-07:00

Just a note after having a few conversations about the post on the high Sierra trek.

* For the folks who dearly love extreme sports in the Sierra, more power to you. I mean no offense by pointing out that many people would consider your passions to be slightly crazy. Your passions indeed are slightly crazy.

* For naturalists who appreciate all facets of the Sierra, including swarms of blood-thirsty mosquitoes, I see where you're coming from. I just don't want to be sitting anywhere near you when you're appreciating those maddening bugs.

* For the people who don't see why I fuss so much about the Sierra and its importance to California, I get it. And it's fine by me. But you breathe air. You turn on the tap, and the water comes out. Do we need the Sierra for those basic things? Yeah. If you live in California, you pretty much need that hulking mountain range.

* For you government wonks in various agencies dealing with the Sierra, thanks for your views on technical details. In your travels and work in the Sierra, I urge you to be as passionate as any one of the people I mentioned above.

The buzz in Sierra after monster winter

2011-08-26T11:47:00.000-07:00

(Writer Mark Grossi and photo journalist Mark Crosse trekked the high Sierra in the Inyo National Forest and Kings Canyon National Park. Even in August, the Sierra is still draining off snowmelt from the fourth biggest winter in 50 years.)

On a slanted snowfield in the late August sun, it looked like someone had spilled a bottle of glitter on the snow. With this spectacular backdrop, a stranger and I stood, hands on hips, and argued.

"No, the mosquitoes are part of the beauty, not some kind of plague," the young man said.

"But this is the only spot I found in three days where there is no buzz," I said. "Are you insane, or do you just like to bleed?"

"I think you're missing the point," he said. He left. I stayed.

I savored several moments at nearly 12,000 feet in the Sierra, just east of impressive Bishop Pass, which would take me into Kings Canyon National Park. And I wondered what the heck is wrong with some people. Beautiful, yes, but a complete bug nightmare.

Mosquitoes are everywhere up here. The whole Sierra Nevada crawls. Buzzes. Flits. Lands. Pierces. And, ultimately, sucks your blood right through your shirt.

I think I'm a quart low right now after spending three days up there. If my backpacking buddies hadn't remembered to bring the bug repellent, I might have needed a transfusion.

I was here to write about California water after the fourth biggest winter in the last half century. Why? For one thing, the winter is still draining out of the Sierra up here.

But, really, I'm here because this place gives California a bunch of water to fight over. And it will become more important as the climate warms, especially down here in the Southern Sierra -- the highest of the high country in California. This may be the last place where there is any real snow accumulation 50 or 60 years from now.

People hundreds of miles away argue about the places where this water goes -- cities, farms, the delta. To enter the argument, a trip up here should be required on a year like this.

In fact, maybe the people involved should have their arguments up here at a camp near a glacial tarn. The mosquitoes would move the conversation along. This is not a pleasant place when mosquitoes are out for their blood meal.

Yet there are people up here who pay hundreds of dollars to buy clothes and equipment to sit here swatting and smiling as if they're at Starbucks sipping an iced latte. Really? Is this really that good?

Yes, but you really have to think about it. At least, I do.

I walked to the 11,972-foot Bishop Pass and hung out a while longer, butting in on conversations.

"Is it better on the other side -- no bugs?" I kept asking.

"You're going to see mosquitoes in your sleep, dude," said another young guy, who raised a hand and shook a forefinger and a baby finger at me.

What does that mean? Mutant mosquitoes? Insects from beyond the grave?

Then downward I went to a stubborn patch of snow trickled water to patches of grass, mountain herbs and these tough little wildflowers. What a sweet spot to camp near a huge, unnamed lake.

A swarm of mosquitoes, black flies and those creepy helicopter bugs waited for me. I pitched my tent. Crawled in, slapping at bugs and seeing my own blood splattered on the tent wall as I squashed the bugs. I prayed for morning.

***

It was 4:30 a.m. The Kings Canyon National Park ranger called to our tents: "Sorry to wake you, but did you call for help?"

No, we hadn't, but someone did. We were sleeping close to the ridge leading into Thunderbolt Canyon where someone apparently was in trouble. Thunderbolt. Even the name sounded scary.

I had wanted to scramble the boulders into the canyon and then climb the Palisade Glacier there. But I changed my mind after passing through three little stretches of snow on the way up to Bishop Pass. That was enough snow in August.

The ranger disappeared toward Thunderbolt, and we never heard any more details. The Sierra is not some video game. There are some serious dangers.

Still, people do crazy stuff up here. This year, a lot of it involves water: slippery snow, running creeks, raging rivers. You've no doubt heard about all the deaths in Yosemite National Park. In one accident, three young people stepped around a guard rail and went over a waterfall.

Back at Dusy Basin, near where we camped, two women told us they saw a man carrying some kind of a kayak over the pass. He intended to ride the South Fork of the Kings River as far down to the San Joaquin Valley as he possibly could.

"Sounds pretty cool, pretty exciting," I said.

They gave me the kind smile and nod that I imagine psychiatrists use with a delusional patient.

Crazy comes in other forms for other folks. Some say it's insane to have horses on the trail. Piles of manure greet hikers coming out of South Lake, which is about 20 miles west of Bishop. But one hiker pointed out that many people couldn't see the backcountry any other way.

"It's not like horse poop is as obnoxious as people poop," he said.

The outdoors is one big bathroom, as one backpacker put it. People are told to dig a hole several hundred feet away from any body of water and do their business. Let's just say some people forget the shovel.

***

If you go up over 11,000 feet -- as we did -- you're in the alpine, which is mostly granite and small glaciers that drip all night long.

I've heard about tourists in Yosemite suggesting that the waterfalls close down for the night so people can sleep better. Nobody up here wants the glaciers to stop dripping. They understand this is not an amusement park.

The sound of those dripping glaciers is a glorious epitaph of another time.

And, let's be honest here, there's a world of difference between Yosemite Falls and these southern Sierra glaciers. Nobody drives up and parks a half mile from these glaciers. There are no roads, no tour buses, no crowds.

But there is a lot of water coming from the high Sierra, especially on the southern end of the mountain range. Scientists will tell you a third of the 14 million acre-feet of water in the Sierra snowpack each year comes from the high country.

What's an acre-foot? Your whole family can live on just one acre-foot of water for more than a year -- showers, lawns, cooking, dishwasher, laundry, everything. Just one.

I have a lot of trouble imagining 14 million of those things. Yet the 400-mile-long Sierra keeps them on ice and filters them for everyone down here who uses them. Sounds nice and neat in a scientific study or on a government report.

There's nothing nice or neat about any of it. This is not a commercial freezer with performance standards set by an engineer. It's a natural place with none of the certainty that science and government agencies sometimes give it.

It's a place filled with natural passion -- a raw life-and-death struggle among animals up here. That cute little yellow-bellied marmot is often on the verge of starvation.

They and the rest of the critters loved the monster winter. It rebuilt their food supply. They will eat, grow, multiply and wait for the next winter.

Scratching at welts all over my legs, I descended the headwall on the east side of Bishop Pass on the way out.

Yes, the monster winter was good for Californians. But the biggest winners might have been this little slice of nature. It's a symbol of hope for everyone -- including those little blood-sucking bugs.

Rise and shine above 11,000 feet

2011-08-26T06:06:00.000-07:00

I'll be posting a story about the high Sierra after the fourth biggest winter in the last half century. This photo was taken Wednesday morning. That tiny figure is me filtering water for coffee.

The photographer is Mark Crosse.

A photo from '95 on the way to Whitney

2011-08-18T17:48:00.000-07:00

This is the last time I was above 12,000 feet after a huge winter, like the one we just had.

It was 1995. This snow field was above Trail Camp. It was the beginning of the last leg to the top of Mount Whitney, which is about 14,500 feet.

I don't recall who is in the photo. Jim Wasserman, former Fresno Bee columnist, former Associated Press writer and former Sacramento Bee business writer, was along for the trip. My guess is that I snapped a quick shot of Jim as we worked through the snow and ice.

I'm not expecting to see snow this deep. But you never know. I'm leaving the crampons home. Can't stand the extra weight any more. But the glacier I want to see is probably close to 14,000 feet. We'll see if I regret my crampon decision.

Relishing the chance at Dusy Basin next week

2011-08-16T20:47:00.002-07:00

Above the treeline, I'm ready to see stout, stubborn little herbs and gorgeous little wildflowers. I look for a rosy finch and yellow-bellied marmot. And, if I'm really lucky, I see pika and hear its shrill objections over my presence.

But I haven't been above 11,000 feet after such a big winter since 1995. I'm not sure what I will see next week next week when I tour the alpine after a monster winter in the Sierra.

My memory of Mount Whitney in 1995 is filled with extraordinary sights -- deep snow fields, swelling tarns and more water in this arid alpine wilderness than I had seen before. And it was in late August, not June or July. I was astounded by the amount of water I saw.

But there were lots of people around. Whitney is a freeway, crowded and crazy. I was in a hurry, on a deadline for a story I was writing.

Not next week. Next week, I'm heading to a quiet Dusy Basin at the crest of the Sierra Nevada in Kings Canyon National Park. I'll get a good, up-close look at a piece of the Kings River watershed that most people don't see. And I won't be distracted by a steady stream of tourists or a short deadline, though it won't take a long time to write this story.

I'm planning a full description in story form, along with photographs. Right here on this blog. I'm not writing this for any publication.

If you're interested in water and California, I think you will like it.

A look at California's snowy roof top in late August

2011-08-14T07:13:00.000-07:00

We're planning to hike another glacial basin in a week, but we're not in search of frozen mummies. Check out the rest of this blog page if you want to know about our mummy search from 2008.

This time, I'm taking a look at California's rooftop after one of the biggest snow years in the last half century. In late August, what will we find at 11,000 and 12,000 feet in the rugged northern shoulder of Kings Canyon National Park?

I'm suspecting there still will be snow fields even in late August. Maybe not. Either way, it probably will still be wet even in the arid alpine of the Sierra Nevada. There's a peak called Columbine in the area we're hiking. Gotta be some gorgeous, high-elevation flowers.

We're going to Dusy Basin, which is the same basic neighborhood as Mendel Glacier, where we went three years ago.

We'll cross the crest from the east side, coming from South Lake. It's not a lot of distance and, unlike the Mendel climb, there's a trail.

But if we're going to get a look at Palisade Glacier, we'll be boulder scrambling again, I'm sure.

I've seen the high country during drought and during average years. I saw Mount Whitney after the big 1995 winter, and it was amazing. I'm expecting this will be incredible as well. Look for photographs and a lively rendering of what it looks like.

We all see the water coming out of our taps. I think it's just as important to see where it starts in California.

Freezing on Mendel Glacier

2010-02-10T20:18:00.000-08:00

I'm sorting through photos we took in 2008 at the Mendel Glacier. This is a photo of me, standing there chilling on the glacier.

And, I really mean chilling. It was downright freezing. The wind started howling about an hour after we climbed the talus slope to the top. We were just below 13,700 feet.

The fractured granite had obviously been tossed in many directions as this little glacier moved over the last few centuries. It is melting now.

Are there still more bodies in this frozen place? I wonder.

Glad I didn't see a body ... I guess

2009-01-05T14:51:00.000-08:00

We didn't find the other two bodies from the 1942 plane crash. I was relieved. I think I would have freaked out in this beautiful and terrifying place.

And just think of the video. It would have shown me huddled next to a rock, muttering "I'm ready to die. Just take me now." It would probably appear on Youtube under the headline, "He's no Indiana Jones."

I can only imagine how it would have looked to see the bleached hair and ragged sweaters of the first two mummified airmen whose bodies melted out of the glacier.

I was thrilled to see parts of the ill-fated AT-7 that went down in a roaring blizzard in November 1942. We saw both engines. A tire. Bits of bent metal.

We were hiking with author Peter Stekel, who is writing a book about this mystery. He's in the picture above at the glacier that day. He found a piece of the plane's wing.

These plane parts had been submerged in the glacier for more than 60 years. They were shiny. They looked like they had just come off an assembly line. I was amazed.

Remember, this plane went down just before Humphrey Bogart's "Casa Blanca" hit the theaters in New York City. "Wizard of Oz" was only three years old. The Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor less than a year before this crash. We're talking about a piece of 20th Century history that was preserved up there.

I remember seeing photos of the 1942 coins they found in the pockets of the two mummified airmen that were found in 2005 and 2007. The images came to mind as I climbed the rugged and dangerous talus field along the steep terminal moraine of Mendel Glacier.

Once we were on top, it looked like another planet. Massive boulders perched precariously on tiny ice pedestals. Sheered granite lay everywhere, like so much loose change. Any little seismic quiver would have brought thousands of tons of rock down from the immense, fractured columns of Mendel Peak, which stood 13,700 feet.

Sometime in the early afternoon, we heard rockfall. It sounded like a case of dynamite exploding. It might have been 250 meters from us, but it sounded like it was right next to us.

Several times, I bent down, pulled off my glove and touched the streams of pure glacial melt running all around me. These water molecules had been frozen thousands of years ago. The thought was compelling and humbling.

I never moved all the way up into the pristine ice. It was curving upward along with vertical slope of Mendel, and it seemed a little too dangerous to me. Stekel went up to see if he could find evidence of where the AT-7 struck the mountain.

We explored for a few hours -- first in sun, then under cloud cover. The temperature must have dropped 10 degrees and the wind picked up. We covered up, but we were shivering after a while.

Peter had a jacket and a good hat, but he didn't bring wind pants. In hiking shorts, he climbed all over the place, like a man possessed.

Photographer Mark Crosse and I climbed on a house-sized boulder to eat lunch. Getting down was a bit of a chore, but we made it.

We started down through the talus field later in the afternoon, picking our way along. Michele, Peter's hiking partner, fell. She is highly experienced. It reminded us that these boulders are actually in motion with ice and water below them. She knew how to fall and protect her head. She was fine. Thank goodness.

We went back to camp, next to Lake No. 5. The wind was howling. My tent was flapping everywhere. Mark huddled behind huge boulders. He didn't bring a tent. He put his sleeping bag on a large sleeping mat and wound a tarp around it for more insulation. The tent was a much better idea, in my humble opinion.

I had the best campsite among us. Peter and Michele were camped in a stout tent directly in line with the rushing wind from down canyon. They were sheltered a bit by boulders, but it was breezy over there. I was about 20 meters above Lake No. 5, perched in a spot behind a boulder and overlooking the water. It was gorgeous.

Peter and Michele came up to spend some time around my tent that evening. We ate and talked about the mountain, the crash and our adventure. He wanted to know why people would be interested in this stories. I knew the answer.

"It's the mummies," I said. "The mummies."

OK, I wish I had seen just one of those creepy things up there.

The trip log

2009-01-02T12:33:00.000-08:00

The trip started with our drive through Yosemite National Park to the eastern Sierra, across Tioga Road. I highly recommend the cruise from Crane Flat to Lee Vining. This is the longest high Sierra route, and the sights are incredible. Of course, we had our sights on a glacier 50 miles south. We're searching for the frozen, mummified remains of two World War II-era airmen who died in a crash at the glacier in November 1942. Two bodies already have surfaced from the crash. We're hoping to find the other two on this trek.

THE TRIP TO NORTH LAKE

Saturday, Sept 6: We just passed over the edge of Long Valley Caldera. It's a massive hole -- we're talking nearly 20 miles wide -- where the Earth opened up and spewed magma all over the place.

The eastern Sierra is a vast volcanic panorama, one of my favorite places. The caldera is a great example. The explosive eruption took place 700,000 years ago. Volcanic ash from the blast has been found as far away as Nebraska.

There are bubbling hot tubs hidden in the vast countryside. I've been here when it was 29 degrees outside and snow on the ground, yet there is still steam coming out of the rocks.

We're in Bishop now. And we're here for the granite and ice. Mount Mendel couldn't be more than 15 miles west of here. So our thoughts are turning to the plane crash and the missing victims.

But for a while, it has been a real pleasure to think about the volcanic past of the eastern Sierra.

We got to North Lake just before dark. Stashed the 4-wheel in long-term parking and set up camp about 60 yards from the trailhead.

LONG HAUL TO LAMARCK COL
6:05 a.m., Sept. 7, 2008, 42 degrees, at 9,300 feet at North Lake campground -- I skipped the tent, slept out under the stars. So did Mark Crosse. It was a beautiful glittering show overhead all night long. The temperature was still 50 degrees at 3:45 a.m. It didn't feel very cold to me. I imagine it will be a lot colder farther up. We'll make Lamarck Lake today, in a few hours, maybe less. That's good news. But you can't have a fire above 10,400 feet: No firewood.

2 p.m., Sept. 7, 2008: It's about 2 p.m, and we are at about 11,600 feet. The photo above is Mark Crosse at Upper Lamarck Lake, just before we left for Lamarck Col.

We decided to change directions and follow Peter Stekel and his climbing partner Michele Hinatsu up to Lamarck Col. We were scheduled to stop at Upper Lamarck Lake -- we've continued on.

Talking and hiking and huffing and puffing, we climbed with Peter and Michele. What a view of Owens Valley below. Finally, we reached the tarn just below Lamarck Col. I made this phone call just before dinner.

6:50 p.m. Sept. 7
Hello, I accidentally called my own voice mail. This is Mark Grossi.

I'm at 12,600 feet (wind blasting and voice quivering in the cold.) We're camped below Lamarck Col (which is the crest of the Sierra where the wind is howling and the world is primitive. Boulders everywhere. Dirty ice that has been sitting there for decades, perhaps centuries.)
(I've been hiking all day, climbing several miles straight up with the weight of a 4-year-old on my back. I'm basically comatose. But I'm determined to have a good time with this.)

It's Sunday night. Mark and I went a lot farther than we thought we would. It was a good idea. While the trail system is easily passable, it is hard to understand.

(The last sentence makes positively no sense. Here's the explanation: We would have been lost the minute we left Upper Lamarck Lake. We were going to stop for the night at the lake. Instead, we met author Peter Stekel and his hiking partner, Michele, who guided us up to the crest.)

Went about 3300 3400 feet vertical over 5.5 miles. It was a long haul.

The sun is going down, so we're going to eat our dinner, go to sleep and tomorrow climb over the top and go see Mount Mendel.

(At this point, I remember wanting to say something clever. The only line that came to me was a moronic "there's no Starbucks up here. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" I double clutched and punched out of the phone call. Pathetic.)

OVER THE TOP AND INTO THE CANYON

Good morning, wind
8 a.m. Monday, Sept. 8: The wind is an alarm clock here at 12,500 feet just below Lamarck Col. I'm remembering that last night, Peter Stekel told me he had scoured all the military records he could find.

There is little to tell us how the AT-7 crashed on Mendel. He said Mortenson, Munn and Mustonen were picked to fly that day as part of an alphabetical rotation. The trio may have even bunked together. Today we will climb the col and work our way down the Darwin Canyon headwall. It should take two or three hours on the other side. Mendel Glacier awaits.

Our destination has shrunk
2 p.m. Monday, Sept. 8: I'm in front of Lake Five in Darwin Canyon, almost directly in front of Mendel glacier. The glacier is smaller now than last year, and you can hear the rush of melting ice in the background.

This morning we went over Lamarck Col at 12,880 feet, and we had to boulder-scramble class 3 boulders, which is fairly difficult. We didn't go across the ice. It was frozen solid and too slippery. The canyon headwall is an intense downward descent of about 1,000 feet. We're looking for camp sites.

3:30 p.m. Monday, Sept. 8: I heard a whoop and a splash. Bee photographer Mark Crosse had dived into Darwin Lake No. 5. Icy-cold water made him surface and climb out quickly. But he's a polar bear.

The jagged peaks of Mendel and Darwin are directly above us now. It is ominous out here. The wind howls, clouds go overhead, and smoke comes up the canyon from some fire in the national park.

We'll be on the glacier in the morning. If all goes well, I will call and blog from there.

ON MENDEL GLACIER

7 a.m. Tuesday, Sept. 9: The temperature is about 39 degrees.

I've been smelling this strong scent all night long. Turns out it comes from a plant called old man of the mountain. This shaggy plant that I can't pronounce the technical name for, it's one of the few things -- actually there are many things up here that can survive, but there's not a lot of green in this canyon.

Today we'll be going up to the glacier. Peter Stekel tells me that he thinks there are many engine parts that we can find today, including a propeller. At least he hopes we can, and I do, too.

Noon Sept. 9, 2008: The wind is really bad today. I'm standing on a dirty edge of the glacier, not far from one of the two engines of the AT-7 that crashed here. Huge slabs of granite are perched on top of the ice, making them look like they're on pedestals. Water runs everywhere. The glacier itself has melted out far more than last year. We're not even on the clean ice itself yet, we're on the boulder-strewn ice. My advice for anyone who wants to come up here? Get in shape, get a guide, and get life insurance. We're not quite on the ice yet, we will be later this afternoon. It's a harrowing climb to get up here.

5:30 p.m. Sept. 9, 2008: Author Peter Stekel today found part of an aluminum wing to the AT-7. It was a gully-wash of pure glacial melt. He photographed it, then continued his search in a brisk wind, with clouds racing overhead. We followed and saw some of the most incredible pieces of the Sierra.

Huge slabs of granite in columns 800 feet tall climbed the sheer cliffs at Mount Mendel. There were Hummer-sized blocks of granite standing on pedestals of ice.

The trip to get here is tough and dangerous. I can see why nobody is touching the wreckage.

What a beautiful, rare and terrifying place.

STORM MOVES IN DURING DEPARTURE

6:45 a.m. Sept. 10, 2008: We're going to pull out today. It's very cold: windy all night last night, in the 30s. Clouds are moving in over the crest. Hopefully we don't ... (and then the rest of Mark's message was lost in the wind).

After this phone call, we had a harrowing climb up the canyon headwall. The wind went from merely bad to unbelievable as a storm moved in. We watched as clouds encircled Mendel Glacier across the canyon from us. The boulders were huge. Many were shifting. This is a simple Class III scramble for experienced people. We are not experienced. Picking a path, keeping your balance and fighting to keep your 40-pound backpack on. It was as tough as anything I've done in the Sierra.

4:25 p.m. Sept. 10, 2008: On the return from Darwin Canyon today, storm clouds gathered at the crest. As we boulder-scrambled 1,400 feet nearly straight up, it began to hail on us.

The hail was beginning to turn to snow and we realized that Lamarck Col, our destination, is one of the worst places you can be in lightning and a thunderstorm.

Photographer Mark Crosse found the proper route to get to the Col. Two days before, we had stopped for more than an hour to take pictures and make a satellite phone call.

This time, we passed without stopping.

We boulder-scrambled along the ice below the Col, and when we got down we just kept going. Thunder and lightning began about an hour later, and it hailed on us again near Lower Lamarck Lake.

It seemed like a fitting way to end this expedition -- lots of lightning and thunder but no real damage.

AFTER WE RETURNED, THESE THOUGHTS:

A serious downhill walk
Noon Thursday, Sept. 11: Mark Crosse and I took quite a hike to return from Darwin Canyon. If you consider that we climbed to Lamarck Col at 12,880 feet and walked down to North Lake at 9,300 feet, our legs absorbed nearly a 3,600 foot decent -- that's a very grueling walk.

Without a water filter
Photographer Mark Crosse and I returned from the Sierra about a week ago, so I think it's safe now to talk about this: We didn't filter our drinking water for a couple of days.

There just didn't seem to be a need when we were in remote and pristine Darwin Canyon, beneath several glaciers. We were drinking melted ice that had been up in those glaciers for centuries. Very few people are up here. But understand, I've been writing about filtering Sierra drinking water for 15 years. Here's a typical passage from a 2005 story:

In a mountain range boasting giant sequoias, Half Dome and Mount Whitney, Dr. Robert Derlet confirms there are bacteria linked to human feces in lakes and streams. There aren't many toilets in the backcountry of the 400-mile-long Sierra.

I brought my water filter with me on the trek to Mendel Glacier. I used it when we were around Upper Lamarck Lake and the Lamarck Col. More people, more chances of problems.

But Darwin Canyon? Nah. The water was so good.

In case fishing enthusiasts are wondering, I didn't see evidence of fish in those glacial tarns.

Hangin' with a pika
I kept hearing this kind of whistling chirp -- or maybe was a bark -- near my tent at 11,500 feet in Darwin Canyon. Turns out, it was a chubby little pika, and I was sleeping on his turf.

I had never seen a pika in the wild. They are rabbit-like critters, often called rock rabbits or whistling hares. Pikas can't live in warmer temperatures. As the planet warms up, they are forced to live at higher elevations.

The pika in Darwin Canyon was ticked off about my presence. I'm not sure, but I think he attempted a food raid while I was climbing to Mendel Glacier.

Who won this little tiff? Well, I packed up my tent and left Wednesday. Score one for the pika, zero for me.

Wondering about Wanda

2009-01-01T15:28:00.000-08:00

This is Wanda Lake, a little more than 11,000 feet. The glacier behind the lake on the 13,000-foot peak has been there centuries, perhaps thousands of years.

I have always wondered what this place looks like in winter. There are no Webcams at Wanda, which was named after one of John Muir's daughters.

When we camped at Wanda two years ago, it was late August. We were in the midst of an eight-day trek on the Muir Trail. The night-time temperature was in the high 20s. The silence was broken only by the dripping of the melting glaciers. So soothing.

It is a barren, treeless basin. It could be mistaken as a wasteland of broken granite and icy wind. It is not. It is the frontier, the place where some life retreats to survive. If the hearty creature or flower cannot compete at lower elevations, it can find refuge here. If it can find food. And if it can survive the night.

And the winter.

Beneath the snow and wind-scoured peaks right now, high-mountain flowers are hunkered down, dormant and waiting for better times. Deep roots sustain them, huddled in the shelter of talus and scree fields.

Burrowed deep in rock crevices, the smallest creatures hide from the cold. They live at the edge of starvation for weeks. They breathe the thin air and hold on.

It is a bright new year for us. For them, it is the long winter night in an alpine wonderland.

Watching the Sierra

2008-12-31T13:11:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here wondering what it looks like at 10,000 feet. I know what Fresno looks like right now: It's hazy, dark, wet, cold, unhealthy. Other than that, it's a real garden day out there.

But at 10,000 feet, the sun is shining. So I went online and found the photo above from a Webcam. It's at Tioga Pass in Yosemite National Park. I've been through there many times, but it has been a while since I've been there in winter.

That's because you can't drive the Tioga Road in winter. They don't plow it. I don't blame them. It runs about 45 miles on glacial rubble at 8,000 to 10,000 feet. By far, it's the longest trans-Sierra route in California. It is fabulous and virtually isolated in late December.

So Happy New Year in the high Sierra. We're watching those Web cams.

For the holiday ...

2008-12-25T12:19:00.000-08:00

A storm is supposed to dump 4 feet of snow on the Sierra today.

Merry Christmas.

It's not a pointy peak

2008-12-23T18:00:00.000-08:00

People think Mount Whitney is a peak with a point. Well, it sort of has a point, but it's mostly flat on top.

That's why I loaded this picture. It was taken from the air. There's a little hut on top. You can barely see it.

That's the hut right behind me in the other photo, which is goofy beyond belief -- the guy in the funky jacket, not the hut.

It may be the highest mountain in the continental U.S., but you don't scale it like it's a pointy peak.

One good reason to live in Fresno

2008-12-22T20:03:00.000-08:00

I'm not too subtle sometimes. I really like wonderful outdoor photographs. Whether they're mine or not.

I took the photo above at frozen Huntington Lake. It's at about 7,000 feet across the street -- Highway 168 -- from Sierra Summit, a Sierra ski resort in Central California.

I'm sure it looks like this up there now. When people ask me why I would live in Fresno, I show them photos like this one. This is about 75 minutes from my house. Merry Christmas.

Trail Camp on the way to Whitney

2008-12-20T08:13:00.001-08:00

This was the scene up at Trail Camp on the way to Mount Whitney. It's from the 1995 trip.

I didn't bring a tent. Crazy. I wound up bunking with one of my friends in his Boy Scout pup tent, which flapped wildly in the wind at night. Never really slept.

Trail Camp was an abomination. People were everywhere. The tarns were terribly polluted. You can't imagine what I saw on huge mounds of ancient ice. It was like a sewer in one place. That was 13 years ago. I hear it's worse now.

I remember seeing a lone woman who was probably in her mid-50s. Tough lady. Camped and climbed by herself. I'm in my mid-50s now. I wouldn't think of doing that trip alone.

Whtney in '95

2008-12-19T14:27:00.001-08:00

I'm still putting together the daily blogs -- the journal, if you will -- from the trip to Mount Mendel. I'm trying to put them in the logical order and parenthetically fill in the gaps that my elevation-addled mind left out.

Meanwhile, I found photos of our '95 excursion to Mount Whitney. I had never slept above 12,000 feet until then.

I took the photo above after we cleared the ice field above Trail Camp. I don't know if the ice is still there or not. Haven't been back since.

But I do remember how it felt at 14,997 feet. Cool and breathless. Incredible views on both sides. I kept my down jacket with me the whole way and it was late August.

I couldn't make my usual stupid remark -- where's the Starbucks -- when we reached the top. I was Starbucks illiterate at that point. There were something like 680 Starbucks locations at the time, none of them in places I frequented.

Now they're getting ready to close down my favorite Starbucks, and I'm thinking about going back to Whitney.

Those magical scenes in Yosemite

2008-12-17T08:03:00.001-08:00

I thought the Kenny Karst photo on the last blog item was so stunning that I thought I'd put out another one.

This is one is also in Cooks Meadow at Yosemite National Park with iconic Half Dome in the background.

I've been talking with Kenny on the phone for a few years now. Just met him in Yosemite Valley a couple of weeks ago when I was up there to do a story on the rockfalls at Curry Village.

I suppose I could turn this whole blog into a Yosemite forum. I've been covering the park for the last 15 years. A lot has happened.

Look for more photos from Kenny. I've also got a few shots of the Lyell Glacier in Yosemite. This is not exactly the stuff of Glacial Mystery, but it's pretty cool.

At last, snow

2008-12-16T13:56:00.000-08:00

I finally have a huge dump of snow in the Sierra, several feet of it above the 10,000-foot elevation.

Before I go snowshoeing, I have to change out the baskets on my trekking poles. A few years ago, I figured out that I needed the wider snow baskets to keep from making a post hole every time I dug the pole into the snow for balance.

I also have to find my snow boots in the garage. I usually have to clean out a few spiders.

Which reminds me, I carried a daddy long-legs spider all the way to Darwin Canyon in September. He was living in my rolled-up tent. I left him near a boulder above Lake No. 5 at 11,500 feet. He's probably pretty cold about now.

The photo above is Yosemite Valley in the snow. It wasn't taken during the current snowstorm, but I like the photo. It was taken by Kenny Karst, the PR manager of the concessionaire in Yosemite National Park.

Kenny, as you can see, knows how to take a photo.

Oh, that satellite phone call

2008-12-14T17:16:00.000-08:00

This one is hilarious when you consider I was trying to call my editor at sundown and wound up calling my own phone at work.

I immediately hung up after the recording, called my wife and asked her to tell the editors about the call. Which she did. That's the last I heard of the recording.

Never saw it on the blog. Maybe it's there. I'm tired of searching. These things are supposed to be easier to find. Anyway, I kept the recording on my phone.

The photo above is actually my last shot of the day from below Lamarck Col, looking east into the Owens Valley.

Here's the call:

6:50 p.m. Sept. 7

Hello, I accidentally called my own voice mail. This is Mark Grossi.

I'm at 12,600 feet (wind blasting and voice quivering in the cold.) We're camped below Lamarck Col (which is the crest of the Sierra where the wind is howling and the world is primitive. Boulders everywhere. Dirty ice that has been sitting there for decades, perhaps centuries.)

(I've been hiking all day, climbing several miles straight up with the weight of a 4-year-old on my back. I'm basically comatose. But I'm determined to have a good time with this.)

It's Sunday night. Mark and I went a lot farther than we thought we would. It was a good idea. While the trail system is easily passable, it is hard to understand. (The last sentence makes positively no sense. Here's the explanation: We would have been lost the minute we left Upper Lamarck Lake. We were going to stop for the night at the lake. Instead, we met author Peter Stekel and his hiking partner, Michele, who guided us up to the crest.)

Went about 3300 3400 feet vertical over 5.5 miles. It was a long haul.

The sun is going down, so we're going to eat our dinner, go to sleep and tomorrow climb over the top and go see Mount Mendel.

(At this point, I remember wanting to say something clever. The only line that came to me was a moronic "there's no Starbucks up here. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" I double clutched and punched out of the phone call. Pathetic.)

Aha, the Sept. 8 blog!

2008-12-13T07:23:00.000-08:00

Yo, I found the Sept. 8 blogs. Guess where? On the site of the newspaper where I work.

It has taken me weeks to find them. I feel like a corporate lawyer who has found a little-known codicil (is that how you spell codicil?) referring to double-secret internet site stuff.

Yeehaw.

Remember, the first items are later in the day. The lower items were written earlier in the day. Actually, I didn't write any of them. I called on the satellite phone and dictated off the top of my head. And it reads like that.

The photo above is from Upper Lamarck Lake. We got there in 90 minutes from North Lake. Piece of Cake. That's the last time we had a mellow stroll on this trek. The rest was straight up. Slippery rocks. Boulders that were in motion. Absolutely terrifying rockfall while we were on the glacier. This was one tough, scary trip.

Without further whimpering and complaining, I give you Sept. 8:

3:30 p.m. Monday, Sept. 8: I heard a whoop and a splash. Bee photographer Mark Crosse had dived into Darwin Lake No. 5. Icy-cold water made him surface and climb out quickly. But he's a polar bear.

The jagged peaks of Mendel and Darwin are directly above us now. It is ominous out here. The wind howls, clouds go overhead, and smoke comes up the canyon from some fire in the national park.
We'll be on the glacier in the morning. If all goes well, I will call and blog from there.

Our destination has shrunk
2 p.m. Monday, Sept. 8: I'm in front of Lake Five in Darwin Canyon, almost directly in front of Mendel glacier. The glacier is smaller now than last year, and you can hear the rush of melting ice in the background.

This morning we went over Lamarck Col at 12,880 feet, and we had to boulder-scramble class 3 boulders, which is fairly difficult. We didn't go across the ice. It was frozen solid and too slippery. The canyon headwall is an intense downward descent of about 1,000 feet. We're looking for camp sites.

Good morning, wind
8 a.m. Monday, Sept. 8: The wind is an alarm clock here at 12,500 feet just below Lamarck Col. I'm remembering that last night, Peter Stekel told me he had scoured all the military records he could find.

There is little to tell us how the AT-7 crashed on Mendel. He said Mortenson, Munn and Mustonen were picked to fly that day as part of an alphabetical rotation. The trio may have even bunked together. Today we will climb the col and work our way down the Darwin Canyon headwall. It should take two or three hours on the other side. Mendel Glacier awaits.

The missing blog items continued

2008-12-10T14:21:00.001-08:00

OK, more stuff from the disjointed presentation in September.

This probably seems a little disjointed as well. OK, it is. But I will pull all of these items together in a single posting a few days from now. Then you can read them together.

For now, this was the beginning of our Mendel trek. It was a travel day from Fresno to North Lake on the Eastern Sierra. Read this item first, then read the next item, and you'll have pretty good flavor of our trip.

There is one other missing blog item, which I will have to reconstruct from memory and notes. It is for Sept. 8. For now, this is Sept. 6 and part of Sept. 7.

6:07 p.m., Sept. 6, 2008: We just passed over the edge of Long Valley Caldera. It's a massive hole -- we're talking nearly 20 miles wide -- where the Earth opened up and spewed magma all over the place.
The eastern Sierra is a vast volcanic panorama, one of my favorite places. The caldera is a great example. The explosive eruption took place 700,000 years ago. Volcanic ash from the blast has been found as far away as Nebraska.

There are bubbling hot tubs hidden in the vast countryside. I've been here when it was 29 degrees outside and snow on the ground, yet there is still steam coming out of the rocks.

We're in Bishop now. And we're here for the granite and ice. Mount Mendel couldn't be more than 15 miles west of here. So our thoughts are turning to the plane crash and the missing victims.

But for a while, it has been a real pleasure to think about the volcanic past of the eastern Sierra.

6:05 a.m., Sept. 7, 2008, 42 degrees, at 9,300 feet at North Lake campground -- I skipped the tent, slept out under the stars. So did Mark Crosse. It was a beautiful glittering show overhead all night long. The temperature was still 50 degrees at 3:45 a.m. It didn't feel very cold to me. I imagine it will be a lot colder farther up. We'll make Lamarck Lake today, in a few hours, maybe less. That's good news. But you can't have a fire above 10,400 feet: No firewood.

2 p.m., Sept. 7, 2008: It's about 2 p.m, and we are at about 11,600 feet.

We decided to change directions and follow Peter Stekel and his climbing partner Michele Hinatsu up to Lamarck Col. We were scheduled to stop at Upper Lamarck Lake -- we've continued on.

The lost blogs from September

2008-12-08T18:55:00.000-08:00

I've found some of the lost Lost Flights blogs.

People who don't think we told enough about the hike. Well, take a hike. We did.

Check it out. These are the last two days. I have no idea why they didn't actually get onto the Web site. I could never find them. They were printed in the newspaper, which obviously folks didn't read.

I'm still pretty disappointed in the way our blogs were handled. For those who criticized us and our presentation, I'm glad I finally got these out. These two days were pretty dramatic.

I took the photograph above. It was our camp site just below Lamarck Col. This is about 12,500 feet. Cold. Windy. Boulders everywhere. We slept between boulders. That's Peter Stekel to the left and Mark Crosse closer to the camera. There was a huge ice field about 50 meters from us and a tarn where we got water. And we were still on the east side of the crest, not even within view of the glacier.

Could I have been more descriptive and make it more exciting? Sure. No excuses. I did my best. And I still have vivid memories of what happened. I can still write more. I might include some here.

Until then, this is what you didn't see.

On Sept. 9

Noon Sept. 9, 2008: The wind is really bad today. I'm standing on a dirty edge of the glacier, not far from one of the two engines of the AT-7 that crashed here. Huge slabs of granite are perched on top of the ice, making them look like they're on pedestals. Water runs everywhere. The glacier itself has melted out far more than last year. We're not even on the clean ice itself yet, we're on the boulder-strewn ice. My advice for anyone who wants to come up here? Get in shape, get a guide, and get life insurance. We're not quite on the ice yet, we will be later this afternoon. It's a harrowing climb to get up here.

5:30 p.m. Sept. 9, 2008: Author Peter Stekel today found part of an aluminum wing to the AT-7. It was a gully-wash of pure glacial melt. He photographed it, then continued his search in a brisk wind, with clouds racing overhead. We followed and saw some of the most incredible pieces of the Sierra.

Huge slabs of granite in columns 800 feet tall climbed the sheer cliffs at Mount Mendel. There were Hummer-sized blocks of granite standing on pedestals of ice.

The trip to get here is tough and dangerous. I can see why nobody is touching the wreckage.

What a beautiful, rare and terrifying place.

The next day ...

6:45 a.m. Sept. 10, 2008: We're going to pull out today. It's very cold: windy all night last night, in the 30s. Clouds are moving in over the crest. Hopefully we don't ... (and then the rest of Mark's message was lost in the wind).

4:25 p.m. Sept. 10, 2008: On the return from Darwin Canyon today, storm clouds gathered at the crest. As we boulder-scrambled 1,400 feet nearly straight up, it began to hail on us.

The hail was beginning to turn to snow and we realized that Lamarck Col, our destination, is one of the worst places you can be in lightning and a thunderstorm.

Photographer Mark Crosse found the proper route to get to the Col. Two days before, we had stopped for more than an hour to take pictures and make a satellite phone call.

This time, we passed without stopping.

We boulder-scrambled along the ice below the Col, and when we got down we just kept going. Thunder and lightning began about an hour later, and it hailed on us again near Lower Lamarck Lake.

It seemed like a fitting way to end this expedition -- lots of lightning and thunder but no real damage.

Am I asking too much? Let it snow in December

2008-12-07T08:30:00.000-08:00

Notice in the photograph, there are big, knarly campons on my snowshoes. The one on the right is turned to the underside, so you can see them. I would like to put these aggressive crampons to use on a tilted mountainside filled with snow.

Note, also, that there are weeds growing in my flower beds to the right. I'm so not going to pick weeds three weeks before Christmas. This is not weed-picking time, people. I'm tired of warm-weather activities. Do you hear me?

But we're caught in this late fall purgatory. No storms. Just gray days. I'm sitting here drinking espresso at my kitchen table and fuming.

We haven't seen the sun in the San Joaquin Valley for a week now. The high temperature yesterday was 49. The low was 43. This is boring and drippy cold.

This blog, at the moment, is no longer about finding mummified remains in a glacier. That came and went in September.

This is about waiting for a storm in December.

I want to see the Sierra pasted with about three feet of snow. Oh, we have snow already at 9,000 or 10,000 feet. But it's not that much, and I'm really tired of waiting for my snow season. I ordered it in July. Where is it?

More later.

This blog is basically a secret

2008-12-01T18:19:00.000-08:00

I'm going to be straight with you, folks. According to the sitemeter that logs every hit on this page, there have only been two of us visiting this spot since Nov. 2.

So, let's have a recap. There was one person in early November. There were two other visitors in October. Peter Stekel visited in September. But let's leave Peter out of the equation, because he's writing a book on this very subject and has good reason to look under every rock.

Of the three people from the outside world who hit this page in the last two months, none of them spent any time here. The duration of all three visits was zero seconds.

This page is virtually unknown, except to the other person and me. To that one person -- and I know you very well -- thanks for checking to see if I have a pulse. (If I knew how to make one of those sideways smiley faces, I'd put one right here ... wait, :)

Lost Flights page hard to find

2008-11-23T11:32:00.000-08:00

I've noticed I can't get at the blog items I wrote while we were trekking to Mendel Glacier.

The Web site where you can find the items is hard to navigate. I can't find the Lost Flights page unless I search with Google.

We still get e-mails once in a while about it. I even got a telephone call from someone who first burped in my ear and then raved about how much he liked the series.

I thought it was a great series, personally. But colleagues have told me they thought it went too many days -- 17 or 18. Others said it just didn't have the drama it needed from the stuff I wrote during and after the trek to Mendel.

Whatever. We put everything we had into that series. I think it packed quite a punch. Just too bad you can't easily go back and read it.

Bring it on again

2008-10-24T17:13:00.000-07:00

Rummaging through the garage, I came across my old snowshoes. They are battered and scratched from those magical days in December, January and February over many years.

I cleaned them up and stacked them next to my new pair -- these hi-tech Atlas snowshoes with very aggressive campons. They're wonderful for off-trail trekking, which is my favorite thing in winter.

Looking at the snowshoes reminded me of a day a little more than two years ago when I napped on a huge boulder in the waning afternoon sun at frozen Huntington Lake.

I had snowshoed quite a distance. I began making cell phone calls and e-mailing photos of my surroundings. Then, I ate my lunch watching the clouds stream in overhead. I got sleepy from the hike and the big meal, so I dozed.

A half-hour later, a huge clunk woke me up. I thought it was some critter checking out my backpack. Turned out to be a block of ice floating down Big Creek and banging into my rock.

I sat up. To my surprise, I had a thin layer of snow all over me. Those wispy clouds had turned dark and angry. It was still snowing.

I shook off like a big dog, stepped back into my snowshoes and hauled it back up the hill. I stopped and filtered a liter of water from Big Creek and drank deeply when I got back near my vehicle. I was still shivering and laughing at myself when I picked up my son, who was snowboarding at Sierra Summit.

I can't believe how much fun I had that day. I had seen nature go from a glittering, sunny morning to a slanting snowstorm in the afternoon.

OK, maybe it's not so bad to be in the ice and cold of the high country. Maybe it will snow by Thanksgiving.

Not quite the same, sadly

2008-10-21T09:27:00.000-07:00

When I think about trekking areas where nobody can drive, it is such a humbling experience. It brings a clarity that I can't find in my backyard or even in a lovely meadow in Yosemite Valley.

Yet, I was surprised by something in this trip. The hike didn't work the way it usually does -- didn't vaporize my demons and instill this soul-shaped glow.

I come from Bakersfield, land of oil derricks, renegade red necks, all-night bowling alleys and fist fights on Friday nights. In those days, I went to the mountains only for the purpose of fishing and drinking beer. I mostly hooked hangovers.

Most of the people I grew up with would either laugh at you or slug you if you suggested something bigger than your own daily functions was going on out there. I am relieved to say that I haven't fit that mold in decades.

So, lynch me from the top of Father Garces at the traffic circle on Chester Avenue where the kids cruise, looking to meet each other, purchase booze and discover their own brand of nature.

But I must admit that the buzz from the glacier adventure departed rather quickly. More quickly than this nature buzz ever has. The cynicism of the workplace, the economic downturn and the election year sapped me.

I've taken two weeks off to explore other ideas. Maybe something will spark. Can't wait for Nov. 4 -- election day -- to come and go.

Or, maybe there's another day that is more important. On October 22, I will be 55. Maybe that's the day I need to come to grips with.

Loose ends and impressions

2008-09-21T13:27:00.000-07:00

A few random thoughts about the Sierra/aviation project:

-- One long-time friend told me there was not enough of Cyndee and me in the newspaper over the 18 days of the series. He wanted to see more about the journey to Mendel, as well.

Well, we had seven consecutive days of my blogs in the newspaper. Sometimes, I wrote three times a day. Cyndee blogged as well, and her work found its way into the newspaper.

-- Another friend asked why the bylines sometimes had Cyndee's name first and sometimes my name first.

The first name in the byline was the lead writer on the story, though I must say I leaned pretty heavily on Cyndee in my stories. In fact, she made a huge difference in the last story. So, think of Lenon and McCartney, and you'll be pretty close to the relationship.

-- Someone asked if we had injuries from the backpack. It was a pretty intense hike.

My knees both hurt afterward, mainly because of osteoarthritis. But not a big deal. The bigger injury was whatever happened to my left hand. I think I banged it against a rock when we were boulder scrambling. It is still puffy, though it doesn't really hurt. Actually, for a guy who turns 55 next month, I came out pretty unscathed.

-- One other person asked how my family reacted to the trip and the danger.

As with all my treks, my wife followed closely and was most relieved when I came home. My Mom, two sisters, three children and assorted other relatives by marriage? Absolutely no response. I'm fairly certain they had no idea what I was doing. And, just as in the past, I can write about it in unflinching terms here because nobody in my family reads this or anything else I write. No sour grapes, actually. I might not read any of it myself if I hadn't written it.

What a thrill ... let's not do that again

2008-09-18T08:22:00.000-07:00

We've been back a week now since the hike to Mendel, which is one of the most beautiful, rare and terrifying places I've been. OK, I haven't been around very much. It's really not that bad.

But, for the unprepared or the beginner in the outdoors, it is dangerous. Even Michele Hinatsu, who I think is a wonderful backpacker, navigator and all-around outdoor enthusiast, fell at the glacier because a rock shifted underneath her.

Michele hikes with Peter Stekel. They are a dynamic duo, laughing, talking and enjoying the mountains. They were a true pleasure to be around, and I learned a lot from both of them about boulder scrambling and finding my way without a trail.

Yes, it's hard to believe I've been hiking the Sierra for so many years without really venturing very far off trail.

As a trail pounder, I'm still moving pretty well for my age. As a boulder scrambler, I'm a tentative snail. I'd like to say I faced true, harrowing times up there, but really I just followed Peter, Michele and photographer Mark Crosse, my long-time friend, colleague and backpacking buddy.

This was truely an eye-opening adventure, at once humbling and exhilarating. It has to be the pinnacle of my hiking experiences in the Sierra. I'll tell you more in later blogs about the thrilling search for ice mummies.

And yet, as Crosse says, we're not going back there again. Agreed, Mark. It was a terrible thrill that I am so pleased to have completed. Now, let's not do that again.

Back from Mendel

2008-09-13T07:02:00.000-07:00

Seattle author Peter Stekel found part of a wing to the AT-7 aircraft that crashed on Mount Mendel in 1942. That was quite a highlight of our trip to Mendel Glacier.

Great trip. Learned a lot from Stekel and his hiking partner, Michele Hinatsu, who is just a marvelous off-trail navigator and hiker. Both of them were so impressive.

Photographer Mark Crosse and I have been back for a couple of days now. The knee swelling is slowly going away. We did a descent of about 3,600 feet on the last day from Lamarck Col to North Lake.

I wish I hadn't been so cold all the time. The wind was incessant. On the hike out, we had to climb 1,400 feet to the Col. No trail. Lots of boulders. Near the top, it began hailing.

Worried about exposure to lightning, we blasted over the Col. Didn't even stop at the top. Then we boulder scrambled around the ice field at the Col. Actually, it was far less difficult than it had been two days earlier because I was learning more and more about boulder scrambling.

I will write more about the desolation and beauty of the Mendel Glacier. It was like being on the Klingon home world, if you ever watch Star Trek. Just another world. Nothing growing. Lots of ice and rock and scary looking combinations of both.

I'll write a little more about this in the next week before I give up. I loved doing this adventure.

Headed to Bishop

2008-09-06T07:58:00.000-07:00

Photographer Mark Crosse and I are driving to Bishop, then North Lake today. We'll camp at North Lake and begin hiking in the morning.

Looking forward to it. Weather seems fine. The forecast is 102 in the San Joaquin Valley, meaning it will probably be in the 70s above 10,000 feet. Very nice.

The satellite phones work. We tried them out in the parking lot yesterday. Now we need to figure out if they'll work up there.

Keep your eye on http://www.fresnobee.com/lostflights/. I will try to blog on the satellite phone from the glacier.

The photo above was taken two years ago at Evolution Valley, which is west of Mendel Glacier.

The flurry is hitting now

2008-09-01T10:46:00.001-07:00

It's crunch time in our reporting at The Fresno Bee. On Sunday, Aug. 31, we started the first of 18 days of stories, graphics and photographs on aviation and the Sierra Nevada.

We've been working on it for a solid two months.

Now, the marathon becomes a fast-paced finish. Graphics, editing, photographs, online audio, map data. Fellow writer Cyndee Fontana and I are trying to make sure we see as much as possible to help troubleshoot and find mistakes. At the same time, we're still writing and reporting.

It's tough. It means looking at stories that you've read dozens of times, trolling for that one preposition that you left out. Poring over that same map and trying not to miss something really obvious.

It is very humbling. I've worked with Cyndee for about 20 years, but I had no idea how talented she was in organizing stories, turning a phrase and hashing out details. She's really good.

I need to think about buying food, checking my tent for leaks, calling the forest service to hold my wilderness pass in Bishop. That sort of last-minute stuff needs to be watched carefully. I've messed it up too many times.

On Thursday, the satellite phones will arrive, unless the federal government has taken them for use in emergency operations in New Orleans for hurricane Gustav. Still have to figure out how to use them. We're leaving Saturday.

Lots to think about. I've almost forgotten about that glacier. Almost.

Separate phones for reporter and photographer

2008-08-24T08:29:00.000-07:00

Here's the deal on the satellite phone: We're taking two -- one for photos and one for words.

We're doing it just in case we happen upon an ice mummy and there's a national story that needs to be done right then and there. As the movie line goes, "Wouldn't it be nice to have a face to go with a name?"

News can be creepy. You should have seen the first homicide I covered in Bakersfield about 30 years ago. I'll tell you about it some time.

I'll be carrying the one for voice only. Supposedly, you can hit satellites easier with it. So I'll be calling regularly from the trail to dictate blog items, which you can follow. If you have questions, send them along. I'll answer you from the trail.

The other phone is heavier and doesn't hook up very well with satellites because of the mountains. It's for data. Photo data. This fussy contraption could be the source of much dismay from the photographer.

In the photo above, you see three of us from the Muir Trail hike two years ago. We're at the Muir Hut, near the pass. That is the one and only place that we connected on the trail with a satellite phone.

Hope there's no smoke

2008-08-21T09:52:00.000-07:00

There are some things you can count on in California.

In the winter, it rains in LA and house slide down muddy hillsides where people probably shouldn't have built their homes anyway.

In spring, people are on pins and needles about either a drought or a big snowmelt that will flood everyone downstream in May and June.

In summer, fire rages through overgrown forests, which are the continuing target of environmental lawsuit and gridlock over proper management.

Ah, but when fall nips the air. Sometimes you get blizzards, sometimes you get Indian summer.

I'm saying all this because September is right on the cusp between fires and blizzards or Indian summer.

I'm kinda pulling for Indian summer in September, but I know we're still in fire season. I just don't feel like breathing smoke while I'm hiking the eastern Sierra next month.

Leave the phone at home, I say

2008-08-18T08:40:00.000-07:00

The first time I backpacked for a story was in August 1995 at Mount Whitney. Quite a walk, as I recall.

But there were things I preferred about that hike to the one I'm doing in September. Recall I'm walking with a photographer to Mendel Glacier from the east side.

When we did Whitney, we didn't have a satellite phone. For photography, we were still shooting film, not digital. It was all good. I like photos taken on film. And I like not carrying a nonfunctional chunk of weight -- i.e. the satellite phone -- in my backpack.

Cell phones? Yeah, one guy had one. At about 13,500 feet, he climbed out on a ledge and called his girlfriend in Newport Beach. Whoopee.

Now for Mendel, we're carrying a satellite phone. Again. It was an albatross on the Muir Trail hike two years ago. I expect it to function better this time, but who knows?

At least, we are under no illusions about photographs this time. On the Muir hike, we brought some kind of palm pilot and tried to send photos. Never worked. Even when we got a clear shot at a satellite, it didn't work.

Look for us. We'll be the hikers trying to locate a satellite.

A few key words ... it's worth reading this

2008-08-10T14:12:00.000-07:00

Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. Inyo National Forest, Sierra National Forest and Giant Sequoia National Monument. Recognize any of those names?

OK, you recognize the marmot in the picture above, right? He's at Half Dome in Yosemite National Park. He's the one who meets everyone, begging for food.

Have I manipulated enough to get your attention? Yes?

OK, first my apologies. I'm just trying to trip a few key words out there on the Net to get you here. I did this a couple of months ago and a few people bit. It was worth a try again.

Here's what I'm trying to say: Next month, a photographer and I are walking up to Mendel Glacier where there may be the frozen bodies of two World War II airmen still in the ice. Two mummified bodies already have emerged.

Global warming and two years of drought in California make us think there's a decent possibility that we will find important parts of the plane, such as the instrument panel, which might tell us speed, altitude and bearing of the flight in 1942. Bodies would be a grisly but amazing addition.

I've spoken with relatives of those two airmen who are still missing. Believe me, folks, they want their loved ones returned for burial in their hometowns.

Even up here, you gotta read the signs

2008-08-09T11:47:00.001-07:00

I love the sign as you leave the Inyo National Forest on the way to Mendel Glacier: Entering Kings Canyon National Park, Lamarck Col, Pets and Firearms Prohibited.

You've just climbed 3,400 feet from North Lake -- off trail for a good portion of it. You've cleared the snowfield just below the col. Now there's a sign waiting for you, like you're merging with Interstate 5 at the Grapevine.

And they're warning you not to bring your bazooka or your Doberman into the park? If you could haul your pet and your weapon up that far, then this sign is for you. If you're like 99% of the rest of the world, it really doesn't apply.

By the way, that's Mendel Glacier in the background. See what I mean about dirty, little glacier? It's kinda filthy with fallen granite. It's really kinda little.

Crampons or no?

2008-08-07T20:14:00.000-07:00

Should you use crampons this late in the season on California's wimpy, little glaciers? Naw. No way.

That's what everyone has been telling me. Just take your trekking poles and you'll be fine.

I will. But I don't want to find myself bumping down a slope filled with sun cups and ice next month, wondering if I should have used the crampons to keep myself from slipping.

My backpacking pal, Mark Crosse, said he's not concerned. He's thinking about how cold it will get above 11,000 feet at night in September. Good point. But I'm always a cautious soul with cold -- down jacket, 20-degree sleeping bag, good gloves, good knit cap, et cetera, et cetera.

So I'm not worrying about cold, and I'm working on my quads with isometrics. I've been conditioning for the last six months. I think I'm just going to coast this month to stay fresh for this thing.

Anybody with suggestions is welcome to voice them here. If you missed what I'm doing, just read the next item. And I'll wait to hear from you.

The rest of the story ...

2008-08-02T20:19:00.000-07:00

Time to be up front with everyone. The photo above is where I'm headed.

I'm an environment and natural resources writer for a McClatchy newspaper, called The Fresno Bee. I'm telling you this because I am going to Mendel Glacier in the Sierra Nevada as a reporter for The Bee.

I'm going to meet author Peter Stekel, the man who found one of the frozen airmen who died in 1942. The airman's name was Ernest "Glenn" Munn, and his body was well-preserved in the ice for more than six decades. Another body was found three years ago by ice climbers. His name was Leo Mustonen.

I will be writing from the trail, using a satellite phone as we pursue the other two missing missing airmen. They were both in the front seats of this training plane when it went down, presumably in a blizzard in November 1942.

The glacier is at about 13,000 feet. The climb to reach it will be arduous.

In the next several weeks, I will explain a little about our writing project. Stekel is writing a book called "Final Flight." It is due out in 2009 or 2010.

Of course, there are many things to write about in this blog. Our approach, our reporting beforehand, our training to get in shape. If you have questions, please feel free to ask. If you have advice or comments, I would like to hear them.

This project will be anything but dull.

A small glacier is OK by me

2008-08-02T07:07:00.001-07:00

The glacier we're climbing is kind of small and dirty. Which is tough enough for me.

There's all kinds of talus. The moraine is huge. Ankle-busting granite, ready to turn my joints this way and that.

A twin-engine training bomber crashed here in 1942. All four aboard perished. The mummified remains of one airman were found in 2005. A second one was found in August 2007.

Now, the guy who found the second body is going back in September. We're going to tag along.

That photo I have above is not the glacier. It's a col that we will climb at the Sierra crest before we reach the glacier. I'll show you the glacier soon.

Cool, dangerous and fast?

2008-08-01T08:24:00.000-07:00

The guy had the cell phone thing stuck in his ear. He drove madly past me, jawing away with his arm draped over the steering wheel in a kind of driver chic that oozes, "I'm cool, I'm dangerous, I'm fast."

Being at the opposite end of cool, dangerous and fast, I wondered if there was any way to capture that feeling. I could have bought a phone thing to stick in my ear. But I have chronic ear wax buildup. Sign of middle age, you know.

I thought a little longer. Oh yeah, I know. I'll climb a glacier and look for the frozen, preserved bodies of military airmen who had crashed there in 1942.

Yeah, it's like that.

It's mystery. It's a glacier. It's mid-life. It's equal parts crazy and creepy. I'm in.

A photographer named Mark Crosse and I are walking up to Mount Mendel where this horrific crash took place Nov. 18, 1942. I've backpacked, hiked, snowshoed and otherwise hung out in the outdoors before. I've walked on a lot of ice and snow, but never a glacier.

There's more to tell, but I'm entering the freeway in my vehicle right now. Another sip of my French roast, and I'll blow the doors off this car driven by the guy with the cell phone thing stuck in his ear. I'll be back to this space later.