Bighorn Sheep Area – Shepherd Pass Trail

Shepherd Pass, John Muir Wilderness, CA – 1972

My next five day patrol, led me up to Shepherd Pass, and happily for me, no bears. This time I started at a 6,300 feet trailhead. Although not quite as hot and dry as Sawmill Pass Trail, it’s a good second. A constant 5,700 foot climb to the top of the pass at 12,000 feet. It has many really steep switchbacks and one part of the trail you descend about 500 feet then have to climb back up!

On my hike up to Shepherd Pass I brought along the paperback book “Black Elk Speaks” by John Neihardt. It is a story told by a Sioux medicine man of spiritual visions he experienced in his lifetime. Black Elk was but a child, but he was present at the Indian encampment during the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

While working on my undergraduate degree I took a course in Native American studies. I was one of only a handful of non-Native Americans taking the course. This class, however, opened up my mind and soul to a “natural” belief in religion; one that is closer to nature rather than “man having dominion over every living thing”.

After a first night spent at Anvil Camp, I hiked well above timberline to Lake Helen of Troy. Looming overhead was 14,018 foot Mt. Tyndall, first climbed in 1864, by Clarence King and Richard Cotter while working on the Whitney Geologic Survey. Above me and Mt. Tyndall, and my personal favorite, stood 14,375 foot Mt. Williamson. I had climbed this mountain in 1970, with James Q. Brown from the George Creek drainage. A magnificent mountain. Second highest in the Sierra Nevada, and sixth highest in the contiguous United States.

As I sat along the edge of the lake, eating my lunch of cheese and crackers, I became fascinated watching John Muir’s favorite bird. Known as the water ouzel or dipper, this slate grey, wren-shaped bird easily brings a smile to one’s face. It is known as a dipper for two reasons.

First, when it stands on a rock next to a fast moving stream or edge of a lake, it literally dips up and down on it’s legs. Second, it is known to actually dip below the surface of the water in search of insects.

I had seen numerous water ouzels in the High Sierra, but I’d only seen them bobbing on a rock or reaching down and snatching an insect with it’s beak at the water’s edge. That moment I stopped in mid-chew while eating. I watched the ouzel walk down a slab of rock and go underwater into the lake. Before my eyes, with the help of open wings, he went running along the shallow bottom of the lake. I was ecstatic. I had read about the antics of the water ouzel in one of Muir’s stories, now here I was living it!

In a short while, the dipper surfaced and flew off. It seemed like 15-20 minutes, but it was probably only a few seconds. It’s experiences like that which makes wilderness so special. Nature’s surprises. The sounds and smells of the natural world. Seeing the land so little impacted by man and having experiences which will last throughout one’s life.

I continued to eat and went back to reading “Black Elk Speaks”. I felt it getting cooler and looked up to see the sky was growing darker. In fact all that I could see were dark, heavy rain clouds. I thought it best to retreat to my campsite set up in a small grove of krummholz or an elfin tree forest.

Leaving the lake and nearing my tent, a blinding flash of light followed by an almost simultaneous clap of thunder, awakened by sense of survival. A few raindrops and then a deluge just as I reached my shelter. I quickly threw myself in through the tent flap to a dry sanctuary. I couldn’t help but reflect back to what I had been reading moments before. Black Elk’s vision had come to him with horse riders out of a stormy sky; what he called “Thunder Beings”.

The next morning was beautiful and sunny. I left my base camp and hiked up Shepherd Pass overlooking Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Park. Around lunch, as I ate, I became absorbed reading more from “Black Elk Speaks”.  Again the black ominous storm clouds returned and I had to push it to return safely to my camp before I had an encore of the previous day.

On into the night as I ate my freeze-dried dinner of Mountain House beef stroganoff, I read more of my book by flashlight. The thunderstorm continued and at one point I had to rush outside when one of the tent poles and metal stakes were blown over by the high winds. (In 2004, the highest ever recorded tornado, at 12,000 feet, was observed at Rockwell Pass which is a short distance from Shepherd Pass)

When I finished reading my book, I noticed the rain, lightning, thunder, and wind had all ceased. I stepped outside my tent and was assailed by a full moon flooding the brilliant, light-colored granite of Mt. Tyndall. There are times in the wilderness when you feel like your legs have been knocked out from under you because of something so wondrous or utterly spectacular. I remember two photos in a magazine taken from Mt. Adams when Mt. St. Helens erupted in 1980.  The first photo has a person standing and watching the volcano start to blow. A second later, the second photo shows the same person flat on their butt trying to comprehend what they were watching.

In a way, that was how I felt. I was speechless, not because I was alone, but because all my senses seemed focused together in this moment of time. I felt like time had come to a standstill. I was completely overwhelmed by the spectacular beauty of the moment. And then I felt a warmth and a feeling of calmness as I looked up at the moon which seemed so close.

My deep seated thoughts about the natural world seemed to flow out of me and found myself promising to dedicate myself to wilderness and our wildlands. This moment guided my life towards my next journey. I had joked that my goal in life was to become the oldest wilderness ranger. Now, however, I knew that I didn’t want to just work in the wilderness. I wanted to help preserve and protect the wilderness as a career and a life choice. I knew I needed to take the next step.

Before I took that literal next step, I still had to finish my wilderness patrol. I hiked down to the trailhead to my appointed pickup time for my ride back to Lone Pine.

I was surprised when my supervisor Ernie DeGraff was waiting for me in his truck. He told me all the seasonals were busy so he decided to come himself. He asked how my patrol went, if I contacted other hikers, any bighorn sheep sightings, and did the trail need a trail crew to maintain the path? I gave him a report then told him about the two days of stormy weather. I did not elaborate on my feelings of spiritual power or the promises I made to myself while under the wilderness moon.

Ernie then said, “You know. That was strange. The only storm clouds were centered right over Mt. Williamson and Mt. Tyndall, and no where else”.

I still have my paperback copy of “Black Elk Speaks”, but I keep it safely put away. Maybe I should keep it under lock and key.