Lake Tahoe - Emerald Bay - Day 2

One of the best parts of camping is waking up to the natural light that filters into the tent. Ours faced east, so the first thing I saw every morning was the sunrise over the lake.

On Saturday, after a bagel and a cup of coffee (brewed in a 10 oz. press), B and I filled our packs with snacks and water and drove to the Eagle Falls trail head located on the eastern edge of Desolation Wilderness, part of Eldorado National Forest.

The plan was to hike to Dick's Pass by way of Middle Velma Lake. The pass is east of Dick's Peak, which stands 9,974 feet above sea level. The trail head sits roughly 6,800 feet above sea level.

We completed the day use permit and began our hike at 7:50. The trail wasted no time ascending. Stairs led to a vista point with a view of Emerald Bay and Fannette Island. We reached the bridge overlooking Eagle Falls in short order and with one last look behind us, entered Desolation Wilderness.

The climb continued as we followed the shaded trail that wound between Maggie's Peaks and Eagle Lake. To the west was Phipps Peak and to the southwest we could see Dick's Peak and Jack's Peak, all of them white with snow.

By this time, we had hiked about a mile and had gained just over a quarter mile of elevation. The climbing lasted until we emerged from the alpine forest and reached the first split in the trail, roughly 2.6 miles from the trail head.

We followed the split to the right and began a gradual descent. The forest gave way to a vast gray valley of granite that reminded me of Kings Canyon and Yosemite, Tahoe's Sierra cousins. The trail up to this point had been relatively well marked, but as we traveled into the valley, the markings began to blend into the landscape. Only random piles of rocks kept us from straying too far afield.

We quickly came to a second split. The three-foot-tall signpost indicated Dick's Lake to the left and Velma Lake (they didn't specify Lower, Middle or Upper) to the right. We took the right branch and were soon in the forest again. Here, the trails began to resemble drainage ditches and we passed a number of ponds a.k.a. mosquito havens.

We soon came across a lake that I thought might be one of the Velmas. I couldn't be sure because it was difficult to match our surroundings to the map. Fortunately, we saw another pair of hikers by the lake and asked them for help. Unfortunately, they were also lost. They had ventured from their camp at Upper Velma Lake and couldn't find their way back.

Luckily, an elderly couple came along right then. They were camping by Middle Velma Lake, our midpoint destination, and they helped clear things up. Apparently, we were at one of the unlabeled lakes on the map and were less than a quarter-mile from Middle Velma.

We thanked the elderly couple and headed in the direction they indicated. The lost campers tagged along. We soon reached the river that fed Lower Velma Lake and paused to take photos while the lost campers forged ahead.

From what we could tell, the river had washed out the trail and there wasn't an easy way across. I suddenly spotted the lost campers tenuously crossing a fallen tree over the water. Seeing no other option, we made our way to the improvised bridge. At the crossing, the river was perhaps twenty feet wide and a foot or two deep. The tree was maybe six inches wide. A second smaller tree rested against the first.

B crossed first, making use of both trees. He was a third of the way across when the second tree rolled, causing him to slip, plunk his foot into the river and soak his boot and sock. B recovered swiftly and made it across safely.

I went next and luckily had my hiking stick. Up to then, the stick had been more annoying than useful. I'm not a fan of carrying things in my hands on a hike, but I'm glad I had the stick that day. It saved me at least once as I crossed.

With the excitement of the river behind us, we tried to locate the trail, but couldn't find it. There was a fast-flowing, unmarked stream to our right and more fallen trees in front of us. According to the map, if we kept moving forward, we would eventually encounter the trail again, so we pushed ahead and stumbled upon it by accident.

The trail was becoming muddier and wetter. We crossed more snow mounds that threatened to obscure our way and finally reached the pristine Middle Velma Lake. I was stoked at the sight of it until I realized the lake was on our left, which wouldn't have been a problem if the map hadn't said it was supposed to be on our right.

At that moment, we encountered another hiker. He wore green shorts, a National Park Service cap, a backpack and no shirt. We asked him for some help and he said, "That lake is Upper Velma. Since you guys are already here, you might as well check out the waterfall not too far off. It's worth a look."

I asked him the best way to get to the Tahoe Rim Trail/Pacific Crest Trail and he pulled out a Forest Service map, much nicer than what we had, to show us. "When you get to this spot," he said, pointing to a trail intersection. "Keep right. You don't want to go left. It's still covered with snow."

Of course, our destination required us to go left, but I didn't tell him that. We thanked him and headed towards the waterfall, which I must admit, was a welcome sight. We scaled the granite slope and soon had a view of the lake below.

We then had a decision to make - press on or turn around. Snow buried our desired path. Even if we made some progress, our ultimate goal was 800 feet higher, which meant the conditions would worsen. We weren't familiar with the territory and weren't equipped for the snow.

Then again, the source of the waterfall was Fontanillis Lake, which bordered the trail we sought. We were more than halfway up the waterfall, so if we climbed just a bit further, we could at least claim to have been on the Tahoe Rim Trail. Common sense said to turn around, but my sense of adventure said to press on.

So, we pressed on. Two hundred feet up, we encountered snow. We kept trudging uphill, sinking and sliding, but making steady progress. Near the top, we looked back and had a magnificent view of the water tumbling down the mountain, the tiny lake beneath us and the tree-lined slopes that nearly formed a bowl, but stopped just short to reveal a slice of Lake Tahoe in the distance.

I don't know what Fontanillis Lake normally looks like, but when its shores and surrounding cliffs are white and snow a foot thick floats in its waters, it is stunning. It's how I imagine the Arctic looks - a spectacular world of whites and blues.

The trail along the lake was clear of snow, so we followed it for about a half-mile before we came across our first snowfield. There, we saw a steady line of footprints, which we kept to across the field, over a ridge and into less traveled snowfield where the line of footprints diverged.

Since we were still some ways off from Dick's Lake and further off still from Dick's Pass, we decided not to push our luck any longer. We took a photo of where we stopped and turned around. It was just after one in the afternoon.

We retraced our steps down the waterfall, across the river, through the desolated valley, until we reached the very first split in the trail. Instead of returning directly to Eagle Falls, we took the Bayview Trail. This brought us over Maggie's Peaks and gave us a better view of Eagle Lake. We then hiked a series of switchbacks, skirted Granite Lake and came out on Highway 89 about a mile from B's car.

That last mile to the car was probably the most dangerous leg of our hike. The highway had no bike lanes, only skinny shoulders. We somehow managed to get back without an RV, SUV or boat trailer sideswiping us. We reached the car by 3:50.

In all, it took eight hours to hike a total of fifteen miles with a cumulative elevation gain of nearly 3,000 feet. It was disappointing not to reach Dick's Pass, but we got as far as we could without taking too many foolish risks. We'll have to attempt it again someday, but next time, do it later in the year, after the snow has time to melt.