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The broad sandy beach on the northeast end of Benson Lake was a delightful surprise to me. If it was easier to get to, it would be overrun but there is no terribly convenient access. It does involve a short detour from the PCT which, to my surprise, a number of hikers do not make.
Benson Lake (with a glimpse of the wonderful beach at the lake’s east end in the foreground) . . . how amazing to have the lake so calm that it resembles an ‘infinity pool’.
I have selected a few more of David Reneau’s photos to share from his PCT experiences between 2012 - 2016. As I mentioned in the first post of Dave’s images, I am reminded that we don’t include a fair representation of photos of lakes along the PCT. Help us correct that by sending some of your best PCT lake photos to pcttrailsidereader.com
I will post at least another photo set from Dave’s collection.
Statue Lake in the Russian Wilderness. Most hikers are surprised to see the return of so much granite!
Aloha Lake at sunrise. The distinctive Aloha Lake in Desolation Wilderness is actually a reservoir with a dam on the south end. The water eventually reaches the American River. The hundreds of dead lodgepole pine snags (Dave managed to avoid those in his photo) that poke above the lake’s surface once grew in the basin that was flooded by the dam. Aloha Lake now contributes to the water provided to the City of Sacramento
Benson lake just a half mile from the Pacific Crest Trail deep in the backcountry of Yosemite National Park. Surrounded on three sides by large granite domes a common site in the Sierra and on the fourth side lies a sandy beach lined with aspen trees that quake in the strong wind that blows consistently off of the lake. Luckily the wind keeps the mosquitos down and it was a major relief because the mosquitos in the Sierra were the worst of the entire trail. I was hiking in full rain gear and a bug net just to get a break from them. I would say Benson Lake is a must do.
Running at the lake today, scattering grackles and last season's sweet gum balls from the trail, I think of you.
You used to live just over there, I muse, gazing across the sun-bright water. I once spelled my name in forks on your kitchen counter.
I love the odd story of the day we met; how you charmed me with your disregard for social graces. And remember when you brought Anne to meet us all and we sat in the pub, waving smoke from our faces and toasting the future with vodka tonics, or whisky? I knew she was the one for you.
You used to live just over there, past the field with the faded blue pick-up truck and the little red barn; you know the one.
The air is filled with the smell of wild onions. I turn my face to let the sun fill up my eyes.
