Onion Valley

Haze from wildfires around Yosemite mixed with white, fluffy clouds over the granite peaks and tree lined foothills. My car struggled a bit going up the steep grades of the winding mountain road, but I wasn't in a hurry; 25 miles per hour was more than fast enough to putt along, arm hanging out the window, feeling the air steadily getting cooler. It had been a long while since I'd gone up that road, with the high, steep walls to one side and high, steep drop-offs to the other, but it was where I learned to drive and where I learned about how much I love hiking around alone.

Onion Valley is a lot more appealing a place than the name suggests; there are patches of wild onions growing during the warmer months, but the waterfalls, wood groves, and trails leading to various locations make is one of my favorite places in the Eastern Sierras. It isn't too far from where I grew up, and when I started getting an interest in hiking it was the home to the trailhead of one of my favorite day hikes-- Kearsarge Pass Trail-- and generally a fun spot to walk around and explore. Even after a few years of not bothering to make it up there, Onion Valley was just as pretty as I'd left it.

I parked my car, grabbed my CamelBak, and started walking. There wasn't a destination in mind, considering I wasn't even sure where I was going to go when I'd left my house, but I was there for a leisurely stroll in the high country to beat the heat of the valley below. I'd ended up on the Robinson Lake Trail; a relatively short but pretty steep trail to-- big shock-- a place called Robinson Lake. I found what looked to be a detour in the trail, so I started following it. After about 20 minutes I realized I'd been bushwhacking for a fair bit, and that the trail was nowhere to be found. I could catch glimpses of the parking area through the trees, but the ground was steep and covered with scree and vegetation. 

I walked less than a mile and managed to get turned around thanks to an animal trail.

Would anyone expect anything less?

It didn't bother me much, though; I could hear a waterfall nearby so I made my way to it. There was a nearby rock big enough to sit on, so I sat on it and listened to the rushing water while staring at the misty mountain tops, the surrounding trees, and the rolling clouds. It didn't matter that I wasn't too far away from people, or that I didn't even hike nearly as far or as long as I'd have liked (I started late and it was getting dark). I was after a day in the woods alone, and I got some meditation in somewhere I wanted to be. It was nice to go back to a place I considered a second home and to remember why I spent so much time there in the past.

After another 20 minutes of bushwhacking I got back to my car, with fresh bruises on my legs and the sky getting darker. The valley below and my old hometown came into view after a little while. Hand still out of the window and shouting lyrics by The Avett Brothers, I drove down the windy mountain road back to Independence and thought about when I'd make my way back into the mountains again.