In July, nine of us—six scouts and three adults—set out on our annual 50-mile trek through the Emigrant Wilderness, packs heavy with gear, bear cans, and the food we had carefully planned and prepared the week before. Each day’s menu was as much a part of the adventure as the miles we walked: steaming bowls of instant oatmeal with dried fruit and nuts to warm chilly mornings; hearty tortillas spread with peanut butter and filled with banana chips for quick trailside lunches; and dinners that ranged from lentil soup with rice to quinoa tossed with black beans and peppers, couscous with chickpeas and curry, and even a barley stew simmered at week’s end. In between, we discovered the small pleasures of granola with powdered milk and berries, cold-soaked chia pudding with mango, and muesli stirred with raisins, while evening campfires brought us together over simple but satisfying meals like pasta with tomato sauce, rice and lentils with spinach, or mashed potatoes with peas. What we carried on our backs became part of the story, fueling every step across granite passes, shaded meadows, and alpine lakes.
On “day zero,” before the first trail miles, we finalized our route and supplies, stopped at Camp Hi-Sierra to visit old friends, and then drove into Emigrant, where we pitched camp for the night and tried to quiet the excitement buzzing in our minds.The next morning, our journey began on horseback, climbing eleven miles into the high country. The trail rose steadily, winding through dusty granite and tall pines, and the sun bore down with the heavy heat of mid-July. Even on horseback, the warmth was relentless—sweat dampened our shirts beneath our packs, and the horses’ flanks glistened in the sun as they carried us upward. Every breeze that found its way down the canyon felt like a gift, though it never lasted long. When we finally stopped for lunch at Deer Lake, tortillas with peanut butter and banana chips never tasted so good, if only because it meant we could rest in the shade for a while. Afterward, we continued on foot for another six miles, passing Buck Lake before finally arriving at the shimmering expanse of Emigrant Lake. Exhausted but exhilarated, we could not resist plunging into its clear, blue water before setting up camp along its shore.
Day two brought us higher, six tough miles up to Bigelow Lake, one of the largest in the wilderness. With an extra day in our itinerary, we lingered there, swimming, fishing, climbing a peak to watch the sun sink behind distant ridges. It was at Bigelow that we learned to catch, clean, and cook fish with nothing more than a pocketknife and a pan—lessons in both resourcefulness and patience. That evening, a hiker named Jim approached us, worried for his missing companion, Pete. Though we hadn’t seen him, we searched the next afternoon for nearly an hour, combing the ridges and shorelines before moving on.
By day four, we were pushing toward Huckleberry Lake under relentless sun and still air, each step heavier than the last. When at last the lake came into view, we pressed through the final mile in just fifteen minutes, spurred on by the thought of rest. Our campsite there, a small clearing tucked against the water, proved one of the finest of the trip. That night, firelight flickered across tired but smiling faces as we told stories—some funny, others ghostly—before the wilderness grew quiet again.
From Huckleberry, we continued to Gem Lake, a shorter but demanding hike that left us weary, though laughter and cool water soon revived us. Our last evening around the campfire carried a bittersweet tone; tomorrow would be the end.
On the final day, we hiked the last three miles back to Crabtree Trailhead, shoulders sore, boots dusty, spirits full. The tradition was complete only after a celebratory stop for pizza and ice cream—one last feast together before parting ways. What remained was more than miles walked: it was a week of challenge and camaraderie, of learning, laughter, and the shared rhythm of trail life.
-Nandana N., 15, Star Scout
