Rediscovering Winter Wonderland in Hope Valley

Date: February 21, 2026
Place: Hope Valley, Markleeville, California
Coordinates:
Length: 1.9 miles
Level: Flat terrain but challenging deep fresh snow.

 

This recent winter has been strange here, in California. It started very early with several powerful storms in October, continued into November and December with great promise of a truly wet season and a superbloom year, and then dried up completely in January and the first half of February. The end of February saw the biggest storms yet, storms that dumped huge amount of snow in the mountains and caused some serious troubles there, including the deadliest avalanche in the history of Tahoe area. Nearly all of that snow is now gone, since that last storm was followed by the hottest heat wave ever recorded in March in those regions.  

I was looking for a window in my busy schedule and between the storms to go skiing. I found that window on Friday, February 20 right after the storm was finished. I hurried up the mountain as soon as the road was opened again and enjoyed a lovely skiing day in Kirkwood. The beautiful weather after the storm and the high fresh powder invited the multitudes of snow lovers to come as well, and the narrow and winding SR 88 was jam-packed with slow moving cars. I stayed that evening in Minden, NV, and decided that the following Saturday I'd go snow-shoeing instead of skiing again on all too crowded slopes. I looked up a few sno-parks along SR 88 and eventually stopped at my previous love of Hope Valley Wildlife Area. This time however, I didn't go on the usual trail I walk on but stopped at a pullout further west with the thought of exploring a different area of the valley.  

The 'Trail'head

There are several trails in Hope Valley, most of which are used by OHVs and in winter time - by snowmobiles. The snowmobile users were already crowing the Hope Valley Sno-Park area but there were none at the pullout where I stopped. There were only a few other cars parked there. My neighbor was preparing for back country downhill skiing on the wild slopes west of the road. I was preparing to snow-shoe on the flat area east of the road. I could see three small figures moving slowly eastward on what looked like a thin trail, and decided to follow them. 

My hike as captured by my GPS

The pullout I was parked at was on the west side of the road, and both sides were pretty icy. I displayed my pass in the windshield, took my snow shoes and poles by hand and walked carefully across the road to the place where I assumed the other people descended into the valley. 

It took some work to ascend the high and icy snow curb built by the snowplows over the last few days. Up on the curb I strapped on my snow shoes and carefully descended town to where the trail was. 

The snow was virginal and smooth. The temperature was in the high 20's meaning the snow was also dry and light. Soft wind blew the top layer of snow, shifting it across the plain of the valley floor. 

Small willow bushes, completely bare of leaves decorated the snow-covered valley. The willows' red twigs added a lovely and lively color to the bright whiteness of the scenery. 

Willow bushes

The valley looked flat but wasn't completely flat, even when its features were evened by the snow. I ascended a small mound and  saw the trail disappearing between a grove of pine trees. 

The trees still carried on their branches much of the snow that was dumped on them during the recent storm. As I walked between the trees I tried listening for birds but all I could hear was the sound of the boughs swaying in the light wind and the whooshing of my own steps. 

A little further down the trail I did hear another sound, and in the middle of the pine grove I came upon another human - he was moving on cross-country skis. I saw the path that he cut through the deep fresh snow before connecting with the trail I was on.  

The skier was on his way back. I asked him how far did the trail go and he duly informed me that there was no trail here. The path we were on, he said, was blazed by the tow other people I've seen earlier with him. They were packing the snow with their snowshoes. He wasn't in a group with them but like me, he found it easier to follow a path crated by others rather than blaze his own. 

View East

 

So I learned that the trail I walked on went only as far as the other two snowshoers went. I said goodbye to the skier and continued south on the path. At the same time I started contemplating the possibility of going off on my own in any direction I wanted.  

View Northeast, Picket Peak

The day was slowly warming up. It wasn't anything resembling hot of course, but the chill seemed to have lost its bite. There were little icicles draping from the tree branches, like little sharp fangs, evidence for yesterday's partial melt. The temperatures haven't reached melting point yet today - the icicles weren't dripping. 

I am well familiar with the eerie silence of winter wonderland. Still, I expected to see some evidence of wildlife, as I know quite a few species stay put and even remain active throughout winter in the mountains. Everywhere I looked though, I saw nothing indicating wildlife activity. 

View Southeast

The ridge bordering Hope Valley on the east had a prominent peak rising ahead of me. The peak, Hawkins Peak according to the map, seemed like a good mountain to climb at a warmer time of year. 

Hawkins Peak

The snow was pretty deep. Ahead of me I could make the nearly faded curves of Red Lake Creek. I wondered if there was a flow of water under the snow and if so, would I be able to cross it without sinking through the ice. The path however, clearly crossed that creek. 

I still didn't know if there was flow below the ice when I crossed the creek. The ice covering was pretty solid and I didn't sink through nor even heard any cracking of the ice. 

Red Lake Creek

I followed the curves of the creek with my eyes all the way to the north. There, at the northern end of Hope Valley were the mountains beyond which lay Lake Tahoe, the gem of the Sierra Nevada. I had the urge to drive back through Lake Tahoe but thinking of the weekend ski traffic there cleared my mind of that thought. 

Hope Valley

To the southwest my view reached the mountains where Carson Pass was, behind which was the Kirkwood ski resort. It must have been full of skiers that Saturday. 

Hope Valley

Ahead of me and a bit off to the left was a pile of large granite rocks that were already partially exposed of the snow. Behind the rocks I could make out the shapes of the two snowshoers that blazed the trail. They were making their way back on the same path they created. 

I diverged from the path and made my way to the rocks. From there I also had a very nice view of the mountains on the west - Red Lake Peak on the left and Stevens Peak on the right. 

Red Lake Peak (Left) and Stevens Peak (Right)

As the snowshoers came close to the rocks I hailed them. They stopped and we chatted for a couple of minutes. They told me that there was indeed no discernible path other than what they stomped with their snow shoes, and that path stretched only to the first hill on the east where they had decided to turn back. The did not see any wildlife either, but they did see some tracks. I thanked them and the continued on back toward the road. 

Red Lake Peak (Left) and Stevens Peak (Right)

I returned to the path in the snow and resumed my walk eastward. A few steps down the path I turned and viewed the rocks again - the southeastern side of those rocks was nearly completely exposed. 

The southeast boundary of Hope Valley was nearby now. The snow was no longer flat or nearly flat. Mild-sloped mounds and hills, some covered in pine groves undulated all the way to the mountains that bordered the valley, with Picketts Peak on their northeastern end. 

Picketts Peak

The wind picked up, blowing the dry snow in wisps across the white surface. This created moving ripples. I tried capturing the ripples on camera but I'm not sure it came out right. 

Moving Snow Ripples

Ahead of me the slope was rising. I followed it up, step by step. The slope wasn't steep enough to merit raising the heel lifts which make ascending easier. I did however, have to dig harder with the prongs of the snow shoes into the snow to avoid sliding back on my steps. 

The path led me to a large pine tree with a bare top and then it ended. That was as far as the two other snowshoers go before turning back. As I was making my way up there I thought that it would be a good place to have a little snack break. When I arrived at the tree it turned out there wasn't and convenient place to sit there so I figured I'd move on and have my break at a different place. 

I looked around a bit and saw a line of animal tracks on the hillside. It could have been a small rabbit. It was not a convenient place to get to and check out at a close distance. 

Animal tracks

I thought about returning also but when I checked my navigator it indicated a forest trail just ahead, so I thought it might by nice to get to it and return on the round. I started descending down the other side of the hill and into a thick grove of pines, blazing my own path through the deep snow. 

Snowshoeing through fresh, deep snow is hard work. The snowshoes are designed to widen the base of the feet but I was sinking nonetheless into the deep snow all the way to my knees. I was very glad that I was wearing my snow gaiters, I didn't get any snow into my shoes or up my trousers.  

The wind intensified. The trees swayed, dropping blobs of snow from their boughs. I consistently chose the path with the widest gap between the trees until I eventually aborted my efforts to reach the forest trail and started curving back to the west. 

Eventually I spotted a fallen log that was almost clean of snow and I made my way there. It was a good spot for my desired break. I sat down and pulled my little stove from my backpack, stuffed my pot full of fresh, clean snow and after melting and boiling it I enjoyed a cup of hot miso soup followed by hot tea.

I took my time enjoying my break and the peaceful, silent winter wonderland scenery. Eventually however, it was time to get up and move on. As I clambered through the deep snow I passed a large, new-looking cabin. I later found out that that area was a Boy Scouts Camp and I wondered if they did winter camping there as well. 

At that point I was no longer trying to expand my loop of exploration but set my way directly where I knew the path was, even though I wasn't able to see it. 

I arrived at the path about an hour and a half after leaving it and found it nearly full of freshly blown over snow. 

Knowing how deep the path was I appreciated the amount of snow that was carried by the wind. I assumed that by the end of the day that path would be completely erased. 

I continued on westward. Ahead of me towered the mountains and my thoughts drifted to the skier that I saw earlier heading hp those slopes. I hoped he was having fun.  

Red Lake Peak (Left) and Stevens Peak (Right)

The snow blowing in the wind was more visible along the crest of the low hill I was ascending. I paused and took a moment to appreciate the visibility of the wind gusts. 

I passed near a low, bushy tree that was definitely not a conifer and that I couldn't identify without its leaves. 

I didn't stop again. The wind was so strong now that it got from mildly unpleasant to truly bothersome. Also, I was conscious about the passing time and the very real possibility of getting stuck in the traffic that'll be going west from Kirkwood after the ski lifts close for the day. In a short time I was back into the pine grove, this time not meeting any other hiker about. 

Out of the woods - I was crossing again the flat with the red willow bushes. I could see that there were more cars now, parked on the eastern pullout. Small human figures were going along the icy snow curb. They looked pondering whether to go out on he snow or not.  

Near the road was a grove of aspens, now completely bare. Hope Valley is one of the nicest places to go and see the fall colors. On autumn those poplars are aflame with yellow golden leaves. 

There were also pine trees near the road and as I walked underneath them the wind blew light snow from their high branches down on my head and shoulders. Looking up that snow dust looked like fairy dust. 

The fairy dust didn't make me fly. I clambered up to the curb and released the snowshoes from my shoes. Two women approached me and asked about the path. They were from Nevada so there weren't concerned about making it home through traffic, so after hearing what I had to tell them they eagerly pulled their own snowshoes from the car and strapped them to their feet. 

From the curb I took one last view of Hope Valley, appreciating its serene beauty. I would have loved to stay more but I had to get back home that evening. I made it out just in time, sneaking past Kirkwood just before the lifts closed for the day. 

Taking A New Direction at Hope Valley

Carson River

Date: August 11, 2016
Place: Hope Valley Wildlife Area, South Lake Tahoe, California
Coordinates: 38.778331, -119.924538 
Length: about two miles in and out
Level: easy

This year we went on our summer road trip with very little planning. I had a semi-solid plan for the first three days to explore the Gold Country, but only a vague idea of where to go next. Then Papa Quail came up with the idea of visiting the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, because it has been a while since our last visit there, and it rained then. I immediately went with his idea - there is much to see in the Eastern Sierra on the way to and around the White Mountains where the ancient trees were. So after visiting the Calaveras Big Trees and the Indian Grinding Rock State Parks, and rafting down the American River, it was time to drive east across the Sierra Nevada.
At first I thought to stop at South Lake Tahoe and hike Emerald Bay State Park, but a couple of big traffic jams caused by road construction, plus a huge crowd of vacationeers and not a single parking spot had caused us to give up on that hike before even setting a foot outside of the car. In fact, we didn't even wish to stay in town for lunch. So we purchased some supplies and fled south on CA-89 to Hope Valley Wildlife Area.
I had discovered Hope Valley a couple of years back when I looked for a place to snow-shoe while my chikas were at ski school. Since then I visited that place a few more times, during summer, with the family. I knew it would be a perfect place to stop for a picnic lunch and for a short hike to break our long drive (we had planned to get all the way to Bishop that night).
On all our previous visits we hiked on the old paved trail that crosses the Carson River and extends to the mountains on the north. This time we stayed on the southern river bank and hiked along the water (and some of us in it).

Carson River, a view east from the bridge

A year ago when we were there with our friends the children spotted a muskrat in the water. She was busy collecting nesting material and carrying it to her burrow, the opening of which was under water. This photo of the muskrat is the only one of that visit I post here. All other photos are from our latest visit there of August 2016.

Muskrat, September 2015

We had the perfect hike that day. The weather was perfect: warm, clear, and calm. We strolled lazily along the river bank, appreciating the beautiful mountain scene and the sound of the slow-moving river.

There are a couple of fishing docks on the south bank, connected by a narrow, paved path with benches. The chikas looked for fish (they found a few dead ones, I guess the 'catch and release' approach doesn't always work for the fish). I focused on the plants and the views.

Pine (Pinus sp.)

I wasn't expecting any rigorous hike there, and indeed it wasn't. We walked very slow, stopping often to explore. Papa Quail's nieces were taking in the sights of the Sierra Nevada - they were very young when they'd been in these mountains before and they enjoyed it like it was their first time.

Very early on we lost Papa Quail. He went after a bird he'd spotted and soon vanished around the curve. My chikas, on the other hand, took their shoes and pants off and went into the creek to explore it up close. I told them they'd have to come back to fetch their things but Grandma Quail picked up their clothing articles and followed them along the bank.

The only big fish we saw there were dead, but there were many living fish - very small fish in good size schools.

Back to School day

Then I heard an excited cry: "Snake! Snake!"
I hurried to where Papa Quail's nieces were and saw them pointing at a small striped snake that was moving quickly on the muddy creek bank. I gave them a little talk about garter snakes and that they shouldn't worry about them. We saw another one later on the hike too. It was a nice, warm day - perfect for snakes.

Mountain Garter Snake

Mountain wildflower season is on until later in summer. There wasn't big bloom spectacle there, but there were numerous little wildflowers hidden among and under the shrubs. Many of them were of the aster family which aren't easy for me to identify at the species level, but I did try to get close!

Arnica (Arnica sp.)

The Carson River flows slow and shallow at Hope Valley and the chikas took advantage of it and were wading upstream in the water. It was very tempting to follow them in but there were flowers blooming so for the time I remained outside on (almost) dry land.
I did have to run ahead of my chikas in order to get a nice shot of the beautiful reflection in the creek before they stirred up the water.

Carson River

Under the surface strands of algae billowed in the gentle stream. It looked very pretty and lush, like an tiny underwater forest.

Cladophora Alga

And on the river bank some goldenrod plants in full bloom added bright colors to the general greenery of the area. At the slow speed we were walking I had the opportunity to appreciate in person every blossom I saw, pretty much.

West Coast Canada Goldenrod (Solidago elongata) 

Meanwhile Papa Quail had his own route of discovery further upstream. Later he told me that he was following a sneaky sandpiper along the river bank but his best bird photos of the day weren't of that sandpiper.

Song Sparrow, juvenile

An osprey was circling the sky in the distance. Every now and then this fisher bird of prey would dive into the river.

Osprey

While we didn't see the osprey catch anything, Papa Quail did get to catch it as it shook the water off its feathers after a dive, just like a puppy :-)

Osprey

I made a different discovery on ground level: the river was blocked by a dam of tightly interlaced willow branches. A beaver's work, no doubt.

A Beaver Dam

Behind the dam, as one might expect, the river widened into a large, breast-deep pool. How do I know it was breast-deep? Well, I saw pink flowers on the opposite shore and my zoom wasn't strong enough to take a photo from were I stood on dry land. That was a good enough reason to shed some clothing articles and wade across.

Wasn't it worth it?
It was, even if there was no flower on the other side. The water was surprisingly mild in temperature and the dip was very refreshing. While I was in the water Papa Quail returned from his solo hike and took some shots of the flowers with his high zoom lens, without setting a single foot in the water. Still, my close-up photos are better.

Oregon Checker Mallow (Sidalcea oregano ssp. spicata)

The small pebble beach by the beaver-dammed lake was dotted with little lupine plants, so well camouflaged that only their blue bloom stopped prevented me form stepping on them.

Brewer's Lupine (Lupinus breweri)

My elder chika, always in search of critters, has found the molt of dragonfly nymph. These are little Nature treasures that are always fun to discover. This small, discarded skin encompasses the big story of the dragonfly's fascinating life cycle.

The Shodden Skin of A Dragonfly Nymph

While pines dominated the tree scene in Hope Valley, it was primarily willows that grew near the river. Not quite trees, but thick, round shrubs. In winter they are bare and show their rust-red barks. The willow flexible twigs were used by the Native Californian women for basket weaving and the willow bark was used as medicine.

Willow (Salix sp.)

Usually when I see yellow flowers of the Brassicaceae (Crucifer) family along the coast I disregard them as invasive species. In the Sierra, however, I do not make this assumption.
Even if they don't look fancy, these little crucifers can be quite adorable.

Draba sp. 

We lingered by the beaver-dam pond for a while. Papa Quail eventually got bored and started back toward the parking lot, leaving the rest of us to dry up and get dressed. He had some nice photographs of the blackbirds that hopped around us, possibly in hope that we'd leave them some crumbs (which we wouldn't, even if we had any food with us. Feeding human food to wildlife is very bad for them.)

Brewer's Blackbird, female

Brewer's blackbird is a very common species, and they don't get featured often because of that. Still, they are pretty birds and they seem even prettier in the mountains. Everything looks prettier in the mountains.

Brewer's Blackbird, male

We took our time but eventually we were all dressed and ready to go. We said goodbye to the calm beaver pond and started making our way back along the water.

Papa Quail must have been waiting for a while because soon I got a phone call from him, inquiring when we expect to be back. Feeling a bit rushed I took off from the river and led everyone on a shortcut route through the meadow in the direction of the parking lot.

Away from the river the meadow was already dry and brown. There were a few pine trees and some awesome boulders that the chikas and their cousins enjoyed climbing on. We were slow in getting back to the car and when we did, there was still no sign of Papa Quail there. I called him and found out that he was waiting for us by the river.

Yellow-Rumped Warbler

It was late in the afternoon when we were all finally reconnected and ready to go. We had spent, almost without noticing, over three hours at Hope Valley. Three hours of leisure and Nature fun, of exploration and relaxation, and we could have easily stayed more. Like other on-the-way Nature jewels we had found, we'll frequent Hope Valley in the future as well. Maybe when it's wearing white once again :-)


Many thanks to members of the California Native Plants Society for their help in identifying plants!