Almost to Gumboot Lake

June 13, 2011. I work in an office, but every once in awhile I get a perk to go outdoors with the field biologists, a business-related outing. On this day I was invited to a field meeting of amphibian biologists to learn about the research they are doing, talk about permits, and really to get away from the computer and get a breath of fresh mountain air. Gumboot Lake is in the Shasta-Trinity forest, just west of the town of Dunsmuir and southwest of Mount Shasta. From Mount Shasta City, the road to Lake Siskiyou becomes a forest road providing access to a string of mountain lakes, as it follows the canyon containing the south fork of the Sacramento River.

The plan was to camp at the Gumboot Lake campground and to try to catch some Cascades frogs. However, we were met with a very large snow pack just about a mile down the road and could drive no further. We set up a group camp just off the road to Cedar Lake, and pitched our tents near the rushing streams of snow melt feeding into the Sacramento River. My colleague Shawn cooked up some fresh-caught Humboldt fish and then we started popping open the beers around the large campfire. Biologists like beer.

Biologists also love to hike. The new plan was to hike up the snow pack the mile or less to the lake and see if we could spot frogs in the small patches of melted ice. I donned my hiking boots and gators and recalled my days on great gray owl crew in the Sierras when hiking a mile or more up steep banks of snow was just another day in the office. But that was six years, two cancers, and a four-year desk job ago. I, the out-of-shape, cube-dwelling permit coordinator, suddenly found myself gasping for breath at a snail's pace compared to the avid hikers, bikers, and field scientists. They were gone and out of sight before I could even count to ten, except for those who decided they ought to stay behind and make sure I was still moving. The leader of the team of scientists loaned me her hiking poles, and I trudged up the deep snow under the blazing high-altitude sun. Trudge, find shade, rest. Trudge, find shade, rest. My colleagues were more than patient.

I was always slow in the field. My owl crew partners would be several ridges ahead of me until I completely lost track of them and followed flag trails to meet up with them again. But this was just a bit more embarrassing. So much so, I almost forgot to realize where I was. On a snowbank, in an incredible beautiful forest, climbing a peak, in a place I had never been before. I was less than a 1/4 mile from the top when one of the researchers came down and said the lake was iced over and there were no frogs. So I turned back and didn't get the photo. I can't even say I was there. But I was almost there! Almost to the top.

Spectacular views down the slope and another night next to the rushing streams waited at the end of what seemed like a long and difficult trek to my now untrained body. When wandering from the camp, I did discover a bog of pitcher plants. I hadn't realized our cold, dry mountains in California contained bogs, let alone carnivorous plants. This time, I got the photo. As well as a pretty commanding view of Mount Shasta on the way out. The Goat brewpub in Mt. Shasta City served up gourmet burgers and tasty microbrews, which topped off the trip nicely.