After endless days of blue skies, it looks like there is a change in the forecast. A generally dry cold front will roll through early Sunday morning, bringing strong winds and, more importantly, mid-level clouds and a slight chance of precipitation in the Sierra. After a couple unsuccessful, but fun, photo excursions among the fall colors of Hope Valley, I had to take advantage of the change in weather, getting up high to experience the brief storm.
So, I am on the road, heading up Highway 88 to Carson Pass, in the dark of Sunday morning. Frog Lake, on the Pacific Crest Trail, south of the highway trailhead, is an easy hike and, having been there scouting and photographing previously, it is a nice place to visit on short notice as conditions warrant. Ledges northeast of the small tarn overlook the length of Hope Valley and peer southward from Mokelumne Wilderness into the crags of Carson-Iceberg Wilderness; wide open compositions abound.
It was 20°F when I parked my rig at the trailhead. Wind gusts whipped at the doors as I reached for my pack and tripod, there was one car in the parking area. I dropped into the dark forest, enjoying the little adrenaline rush of a dark mountain trail seen only from the tunnel-like beam of a headlamp—waiting for the reflected eyes of critters, small and large, that watch my passage, as the limbs of the tallest trees shudder and crack in the wind. I cover my headlamp at intervals to soak in the darkness and watch the clouds moving with promise against the stars. Soon I am at Frog Lake, the dark water riffling in the wind. I am now exposed on the tarn’s shore as I move to the ledges above its northern margins. It is here that ancient glaciers scoured the rocks before dropping into Hope Valley far below. Today, the north wind scours the ledges in the opposite direction, blowing a squall’s few snow flurries through the cone of my headlamp, hints of snow’s hopeful return to the mountains.
As the light glows the clouds form overlapping bands extending to the eastern horizon. A lower cloudbank rolls over Freel Peak and Jobs Sister at the north end of Hope Valley. This is what I came for. And yet, the mid-level clouds are the bane of sunrise light; they block the horizon and flatten the view. Without illumination, the distant rolling cloud is almost invisible against the intersection of mountain and sky. In my mild disappointment, I realize my hands are painfully cold. I need to acclimatize or succumb to the endless need for handwarmers. I have some fancy gloves and liners, but something is not working.
As I turn from the northward view, smiling at the pain in my hands—it is the feeling of mountain winter, I notice that the sunrise is aligned with a gap in the clouds much further southeast than I expected. I climb a few stepped ledges and tuck into a gap between boulders, out of the wind, sort of. The images of the red dawn were a challenge as my hands lost feeling. I want to focus on the image and enjoy its capture, but the wind at my hands, and whipping at my jacket and hood, reminds me that I am exposed at elevation, experiencing firsthand the change of weather. The images become secondary.
I am, however, happy with their capture. The images reveal the dark morning squalls and the brief glow of a red sunrise. The sun was masked by the mid-level clouds but there was enough gap to alter the scene for a moment. I could see that this would be a moody image with a “Mordor” drama on the horizon. These scenes were not my first idea walking into Frog Lake, but I enjoyed watching the sky develop, once I was looking in the right direction.
I look forward to getting to know the Frog Lake ledges in all conditions. Let’s move toward winter here.