Rose Lake

In 1959, when I was about sixteen years old, living in northern California, our brave explorer leaders organized a wonderful trip for us to Rose Lake. The lake is well above the timberline in the high Sierras, almost due east of Merced and maybe 40 miles south of Yosemite National Park. It is surrounded by national forest lands and other national parks.


At sixteen, I had no idea of the logistics involved in such a trip, or the weight of responsibility those leaders carried as they prepared to take 10 explorer scouts into what was, and still is, a fairly dangerous wilderness. I just wanted to have fun and catch fish. I do know now from my own experience that scout leaders feel deeply the need to keep their charges safe and be an example and a leader to those they serve.

This trip has been stamped indelibly in my memory since that time for two reasons. The first is the sheer beauty of the mountains and the lake. Much of the uniqueness of Yosemite is still evident in the country we hiked through and at Rose Lake itself. The second reason is the motivation for the telling of this story.

We started our trip early on Monday with a drive that covered most of a day, arriving at Mono Hot Springs in the late afternoon. Mono Hot Springs is at about 6,000 feet altitude. Our objective, Rose Lake, is at about the 10,000-foot level and about 22 miles upward and east from the hot springs. We hiked along a stream that ran east of the hot springs for most of the first afternoon, and camped the first night by the stream. We had some luck in the stream, and ate native trout for dinner.

We hiked for two more days through some very spectacular scenery that included a beautiful mountain meadow with a small stream running through it just below the lake. Beyond that, the trail was very steep for the last 500 feet in altitude.

Rose Lake was breathtaking! You can see from the picture above that it is surrounded by grey granite crags and is clear all the way to the bottom (about 30 feet). It is very small, probably no more than 100 yards across; just a dot on the map among hundreds of other similar such dots in the high Sierras. It was cold; the water was cold; the air was cold – the lake is snow fed. There was considerable snow around the lake, even in July. We could see big trout swimming all over the lake.

We shucked our packs, set up camp, broke out the fishing gear and went after those trout (ah, the energy of youth). I don’t know about today, but 50+ years ago, those fish were all native rainbows. What frustration! We could literally see the fish sniff our bait and swim away. Sometimes, they would follow a lure for a short distance, but always turned away without striking.

We had no fish for dinner that first night, which begins the story of the second reason I remember this trip so well.

The morning of the second day at the lake, we got up early and cooked breakfast. (13th Scout Law: A scout is HUNGRY.) Then we went after those trout again. No luck. We were frustrated to say the least. Our leaders were frustrated. They had assured us the fishing would be as spectacular as the scenery. We fished most of the day, but what we did not know, until it was explained to us by some other campers, was that the trout in Rose Lake were spawning, They were not eating at all during spawning. The other campers were as frustrated as we were.

The third day brought nothing but further fishing frustration. That afternoon, we noticed that the small stream by our campsite, no more than 3 feet wide and 2 feet deep, fed by the lake, was teeming with spawning trout. The temptation was just too much for us. Out of our disappointment, and aided by our leaders, we netted about 15 good-sized trout. Netting game fish is very illegal in the State of California, and carries a big fine.

We had trout for dinner that night. Maybe my conscience bothered me just a little, because it didn’t seem to taste as good as I thought it would. We put the rest of the trout in a snow bank about 30 yards away for breakfast the next day.

My still underdeveloped sense of right and wrong allowed me to sleep soundly that night, but based on later events, I am not at all sure that our leaders slept very much. When we awoke the next day (Saturday), the fish were gone, and there were bear tracks in the soft ground around the snow bank. (divine intervention?) This was our departure day, so we left without fish to have for breakfast or to take home.

Hiking out was much faster than was the trip into the lake, since it was all downhill. We reached our cars about eight hours after we left the lake, and arrived home late Saturday evening. This whole story is just background for what happened the next day – fast Sunday.

I gave little thought to our violation of the law. After all, our leaders helped us do it. What could be seriously wrong with it? No problem. But I was in for a big surprise in Fast and Testimony meeting. Our leaders stood up in that meeting and tearfully recounted the whole story. They asked for forgiveness from the Lord, the bishop, our parents, and us. I was astounded!

So the second reason I remember that trip is this: I began, in that fast meeting, to have a glimmer understanding for the first time in my young life of what true repentance means. I could recite the fourth article of faith, but I didn’t even start to understand the repentance process until I saw those good men, men I respected, shed bitter tears of remorse in front of the whole congregation. I certainly gained greater respect for them. The life lesson they taught me with their confessions and true desire to repent and be forgiven has remained with me long after the memory of the trip would have otherwise faded.

I believe that 3 Nephi 9:20 explains the mark of a true disciple of Jesus Christ:

And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit. And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost…

Those good men offered a broken heart and a contrite spirit to the Lord and to all of us that long-remembered fast Sunday. They were indeed true disciples. They helped me begin to understand. They taught me. They had a lifelong impact on me. I think often of that day. I am a better person because of their humble, sincere repentance.